#nik cod x reader

[pricegouge]

the erotic pin up thought but imagine nikolai tattooing his favourite pic and surprising his lover with it :3

he's already been away for two weeks when you get a text from an unknown number. you don't need the contact to discern who it is, anyway. in istanbul. things are running long. don't expect me back so soon. you're not expecting a reply when you tell him not to worry, to just keep himself safe, but you're delighted when you get one anyway.

>>You too, milaya.

he messages you at least once a day, just to check in. you've never been able to contact him like this while he's been on mission before and you don't want to ruin it by being too needy but the temptation of your phone lays heavy in your pocket all week. you'd hate to interfere but he makes it hard when he keeps up a slow, steady means of communication. you wonder about the mission, don't dare ask. it seems unlikely that he'd let himself be so distracted if it were something high stakes, though. it's possible he's been relegated to glorified taxi while bigger pieces make their moves and you can't help but sympathize when you picture him waiting around, dining in the quaint kind of cafes he'd never really seemed to find an appreciation for - at least, not on his own. he was always happy enough to take you but it had always been very clear where his interest lied, dark eyes trained on you even as he ordered. observant, filing away each little reaction he could pull from you with savory dishes and select deserts. you flatter yourself, imagining his patience breaking, just a little more each day, just enough to text you, earlier and earlier each day until two weeks have come and gone and you've basically fallen into a constant rapport.

you ask for pictures of the city and he obliges, little peeks into the life he's living while away. yet more evidence this is some bizarrely political mission he doesn't really need to be present for. you note when he moves locales a few times but he tactfully avoids telling you his location again. he stops sending you pictures altogether when you start guessing correctly.

so you start sending him pictures instead. they start out innocent enough, testing the limits of what you're allowed to say on this line. he shows gives no intent to stop you when you show him the view from the summit of a local hike, nor even when you snap a picture outside a local restaurant, its logo left carelessly in frame. he only tells you to enjoy, doubles down when you send a selfie with your cheeks stuffed full of spanakopita.

you start to think he deserves a reward, being on the clock for nearly a month straight and still finding the time to check in with you.

his hangar is a sacred place, one you rarely enter without his accompaniment. too many expensive tools, machinery pulled apart with all its fragile bits exposed. you're always afraid to touch, afraid to break. nik had told you once that every item there was made of sterner stuff, that you couldn't hurt a swashplate if you climbed up on it. funny how you might be taking him up on the offer now.

(you wouldn't know really, the knowledge about what a swashplate even was having gone in one ear and right out the other. not your fault when he looked that good, jumpsuit folded down to reveal a sweaty, clingy tank top, wiry hair visible through the thin ribbed material.)

but you're getting ahead of yourself.

the tarp kicks up a mess when you pull it free, concrete dust having settled in nik's absence. it sends you into a sneezing fit and you curse, smudging your makeup as you try to wipe away the moisture collecting on your lash line. you decide to roll with it when you catch a glimpse of yourself in some nearby chrome, see the kind of effect it brings to your overall look.

your makeup is classic, a bright lip and exaggerated liner. even a painted on beauty mark to really knock it home. the outfit was harder to settle on, your every instinct telling you nik always appreciated when you looked your finest, all dolled up in expensive labels he'd bought for you. but ultimately you'd decided what was good for the goose was good for the gander, pilfering from his closet until you'd found what you were looking for, the exact same outfit which drove you mad.

nik's a big man, his jumpsuit made to reflect that. it drapes away from your waist when you let it hang but it's nothing that a clever safety pin corset can't fix, the top of the suit left to hang over it, hiding it away. long legs are easier to remedy, hems tucked into a pair of hiking boots you hadn't cared about in years, now painted to look the part with the same gear grease you'd smeared all over yourself, tasteful swipes meant to accentuate your soft curves, here on display under the dirty tank top you'd sworn you'd told him to get rid of, now tied tight around your waist to show off your chest. and now with your smudged makeup you think you've finally got it right, the look exactly what you'd been going for when you'd first got the notion in your head.

with the stage already set, the photoshoot goes easily enough. the poses are almost instinctual, the big wrench you wield almost natural in your hands as you lean provocatively over the engine block, tits to squished you doubt he'll ever even notice the size isn't right for the bolts in front of you. you try a couple of different styles, positions which are obviously designed with aesthetics in mind interspersed with more competent looking ones, even though it makes you feel ridiculous when you think of how obvious it will be to him that you don't know what you're doing.

you just have to remember how little he's going to mind it, all told.

editing isn't your strong suit. you're racked with doubt all the while, hyperfocused on every little flaw you spot. it gets easier when you remember the whole shoot is meant to be quite grimy and in the end you settle on a decent collection. you even remember to upload them to a file sharing site to avoid compression, sending him the link with a wink and a warning not to open in front of his comrades.

he calls you naughty immediately, but it's long hours before he can properly respond, a call that wakes you up in the middle of the night so he can pant and moan in your ear about how much he wants to bend you over that engine, peel his suit off of you and eat your cunt from the back. it's the first time you've heard his voice in weeks and the low rumble of it conspires with the slickness in your panties which never fully righted itself after your little photoshoot, the anticipation of his reaction keeping you primed for him. you come together before trading quiet reassurances. how much you miss each other, how you can't wait to see him again. he makes a vague promise to be home soon and you're still so sated that the twinge of loneliness feels like nothing really.

you think that's the end of it. that maybe he'll request more, at most. but then you wake up days later with a furnace at your back and a hairy arm draped over your side. it's still early, the sun not even up yet. you should let him sleep but you can't help rolling within the age of his arm and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. even in the low light you can see how haggard and hollow he looks, run ragged for too long. his beard is overgrown, the short stubble he usually keeps filling out into a decent beard.

really it's unfair how handsome he looks even now.

"go back to sleep."

you huff a laugh and press another kiss to him. lower now that you know he's awake. above his cupid's bow, your own lips drawn tight with your smile. "but it's morning."

"can't be," he counters, voice thick with exhaustion. "i only just fell asleep."

you hum, distracted as you trace the wrinkles of his forehead. was that one always there? was it new? "maybe it's not wherever you were," you concede. "where were you, by the way?"

"where wasn't i?" he sighs as he rolls away, a great puff of air that cuts through the easiness of the morning, reminds you of what exactly he's likely returned from. the culmination of the mission, even the easy one it seemed to be. he was rarely ever trotted out for emissary visits, after all.

but you don't want to think about all that so you follow him as he rolls, laying yourself across his chest to keep him grounded as you rub against his far shoulder. "well you're home now and my vote's for sleeping in."

his chest rumbles beneath you, a quiet laugh you can feel more so than you can hear. he takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your fingers before setting it back down in favor of reaching much lower to pull you more properly onto him. your grip shifts from his shoulder to his bicep and you pause when you feel the edge of a bandage there, worry settling low in your belly as you trace the edges of it. "you're hurt?" you demand, but you don't give him a chance to respond before sitting up and leaning across him to turn the lamp on.

it takes you a moment to make sense of what you're looking at, the bandage you'd felt before nothing more than four haphazard lines of tape holding a square of black plastic against his skin. he laughs at your confusion, thumbing the furrow between your brows away as he also sits up, pulling you onto his lap as he reassures you he's not hurt.

"what's that then?" you ask, afraid to peel the edges up and see for yourself.

he's chuckling as he does it for you, the wrap pulling away to reveal the neat black lines and bold color of a traditional tattoo, a plump little pinup in a barely-hanging-on mechanic's jumpsuit, her cartoonishly circular tits squeezed between her own arms as she leaned confidently over simplified engine block. it's good work from what you can tell. his bicep is a big canvas, the tattoo itself appropriately sized, leaving the artist enough room for minute details, smudges of brown oil accentuating your curves and a wry smile below demure lids.

still.

"you didn't," you scoff, too blown away to even know if you're actually mad or not. you don't think you are, but what if he -

what if -

"well it was either this or i get you airbrushed on the side of the blackhawk, but you are mine, and i do not want just anyone to see you like that."

[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?

[tempfrangit]

content: scent kink, degradation, dom!nikola, subby!reader

Has someone already pitched Reader with a scent kink and Nikolai? Reader who absolutely loves Nikolai’s scent, because his natural smell and his cologne are so deep — musky and thick amber notes — while his aftershave was so sharp you could always know when he was near. And he loves how much you love the smell of him. He’ll hold off on showering before the long flight to see you, arriving with a slight burn of motor oil. He’s the perfect guy for you for so many reasons

He’d guide you by your hair to get your mouth where he wants them on his big, heavy balls. His hair is matted down by your drool, your cheek smeared with it from when he’d dragged your face across them. Just before he’d slapped you with his cock. Remind you why a slut like you is down there. He’s so mean but you can’t help how much you love the way he treats you :( When you’re with Nik you don’t have to think too hard, you don’t have to make decisions

All you have to do is your favorite thing: shove your nose into his fat sack and loving lather each of his balls with until they shine

You swear the smell gets you drunk

At least this time he warns you before he cums all over your face

[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

[injestedsoap]

The 141 + Nik and watching Bridgerton with you

Soap: Oh Soap curled up with you episode one and hasn't left your side. Sure he tried to play it off like this is beneath him and he's not actually interested but oh come on, bonnie, there's only two episodes left this season, let's finish it out. He loves the smut scenes, of course, but he also really likes the dance scenes and is going to 'complain' about you signing them up for dance classes until you actually do sign them up for dance classes.

Gaz: Gaz has also been there since episode one with you. He never even tried to pretend he wasn't having fun, he was a Gossip Girl fan in another life and as soon as he understood what Lady Whistledown was doing he was all in. You stopped between every episode to debate who she could be and he gasped when she was revealed. He gets really excited for the premieres and will go looking for themed snacks and drinks for your little two person party.

Ghost: Ghost does that thing where he tells you this is a waste of your afternoon while he stands in the kitchen watching, then moves to stand behind the couch watching, then sits on the couch with you, and then by the middle of the season he's got his arm over you and is talking shit about the characters like he knows them. Ghost weirdly knows way too much about textiles and one of the first things he said was about how the dresses are period accurate but that fabric isn't. If you're the kind of partner who wears dresses.... be careful because you might have a handmade dress waiting for you for the next season premier.

Price: Price has a bit of a secret.... he's read all the books, all of them, Bridgerton was never his favorite series but he's s sucker for a historical romance and these hit like cheap sweets. He has known about the series for ages and when you curled up on the couch to watch it he tugged you into his lap without being asked. He likes the books better but he really enjoys watching the show with you, just be ready to read the books with him between each season and be even more ready to hear him tell you about the differences in the show and the book.

Nik: Nik isn't really one for binge watching but he knows how excited you are about this. He has all the blankets on the couch and your pajamas freshly laundered, lights some candles, makes sure to have tea and whatever else you like to drink on hand, and orders way too much food for the two of you. Nik is just naturally a bit of a gossip and he loves how messy Bridgerton gets, he has a great memory for all the dumb shit everyone gets up to and loves talking about it with you. When he finds out these are books too he places an order for the set and between seasons he will snuggle you up in bed and read aloud to you.

[bitchin-beskar]

hehe now that I have your attention 😌😌😌 pleasure dom nik......crooning in your ear about how you've been such a good girl for him, can't you give daddy just one more, please?

BESTIE PLSSSSS

I know you're asleep rn, so you'll see this when you awaken, but goddamn does this thot have me in a VICE GRIP

god just imagine you're so shaky and weak that you can't even hold yourself up, it feels like your nerves are electrified in the best way, you're delirious with pleasure, and nik keeps telling you how good you've been, sending all kinds of delicious shivers up your spine

every time he promises it will be the last, you're just so pretty when you come, he can't help it, he just wants to see it again, be a good girl for him, come on, just a little more

and then you come, and think for just a second that you might get a reprieve, but no, he's playing your body like a harp, fingers moving this way and that, sending you soaring back towards that peak, and you feel like you're going to cry, and you've long since gone hoarse from shouting your ecstasy, and he

just.

keeps.

going.

[pricegouge]

thinking again about nik and his big mitts... he'd show you exactly where you need it most and then patronize you when he catches you struggling to do it yourself, batting your hands away as he takes over. he's got his fingers sunk to the webbing and they're not leaving, massaging against you insistently just there, right over that spot that makes you twitchy and breathless. talking all i't's right here, milaya. can't you feel it?' as he works you through your second orgasm with no regard for a breath in between.

'need me to show you again?'

[gothghostiie]

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

[pricesloove]

I might .. have to take a small hiatus for the time being. My mental health isn’t the best, and autistic burn out has hit hard. As much as I want to write, the idea of it feels overwhelming right now and I don’t want to disappoint the people who’ve sent lovely asks.

I’ll still linger, I think, might reply to a few things, but I need a break away from this life, so I can focus on my life. I hope you all can understand. I know I’ve just started, but I underestimated how difficult this truly would be for someone in my mindset.

I truly love you all, and I hope to be back one day better.

[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.

[thechaoticcheese]

TWs: Hallucinations, PTSD(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), Depression, Anxiety, Nightmares/Night Terrors, Relationship Doubt, Mention of Past Burns, Body Dysmorphia/Self Degrading from Scars, Mention of Potential Suicide.

Word Count: 3,350

Wrongfully Accused - Chapter 6 - Recovery Part 2

You woke up with a gasp. You didn’t sleep well last night. Between the nightmares of the interrogations, the darkness that consumed your dreams when you weren’t having nightmares, and for some reason your burn sight was acting up for the past two days despite taking care of it like you should've. Of course the first day when you mentioned it when Gaz asked how you were feeling, he was quick to take you to the hospital to get some antibiotics for it along with pain killers. Both helped a lot with it, so last night was at least bearable. Though when you looked around, Gaz wasn’t sleeping in his cot, though it was neatly put up and out of the way. You got up, tightly holding onto the stuffed bear as your thumb gently rubbed against the red fabric, feeling the white stitching sewn into the slightly fuzzy fabric as you meandered through the flat. It wasn't big so it was easy to go through to see if Gaz was there.

Nothing. Not even a note nor text to where he went.

So you stop in front of the bedroom door. Gaz insisted on closing it until you felt like you could open it by yourself without panicking. Though the fear that coursed through your body of being alone prevailed over the anxiety that demanded you leave the door shut. You reached out a shaky hand as you gripped the door knob, the metal steadying your hand as you hesitantly turned the knob. It squeaked softly as you opened the door and took in a deep breath as your eyes looked through the room.

Nothing here either. You had refused to open the door more than necessary, keeping the chair out of view. Part of your mind told you to open it more. What if Gaz was sitting there? He would've answered. But what if he was taking a nap? Why would he nap in here? Maybe to get away from you.

The thought sat heavy in your mind. He wouldn’t want to get away from you… Would he? He probably felt shameful for letting things go too far and not being able to properly intervene. That or maybe disgusted. You were burned heavily on the face. The two patches of white pads were plastered to your face to let the burn and graft sight heal faster. Scars marked your legs, arms, stomach, sides and back. You were left ugly. Scarred by people you thought you could trust.

Your mind didn't even register that your hand had opened the door more, but your eyes sure latched onto the chair. It felt like it changed as your eyes settled onto it. The chair flashing white, rust showing through the paint that was chipped off. Then it’d quickly flash back to normal, then flicker between the two.

Your heart started to race as you were quick to close the door. Your throat tightened as your mouth went dry as you gripped the teddy bear even closer to your chest as you started to breathe deeply. Every grounding technique you had you tried. The breathing, counting, the five senses. Your brain just wouldn't shut up.

The pain. The fear. Being alone in the apartment. It was too much. You quickly went underneath the table, pulling the chairs close to hide your body as you tightly hugged the bear to your face as hot tears streamed down onto the teddy bear. Your eyes closed tightly for only a moment as the flash of the interrogation room filled your mind so you snapped your eyes back open and focused on the chair cushion in front of you. Your eyes focused and unfocused as you stared at the slightly frayed material that was barely sat on. You weren’t even processing that you were doing it.

Time passed. You weren't sure how long you had spent underneath the table just trying to calm down.

But when you thought you were good, the door opened to the flat. You froze and hugged your only source of comfort tighter.

“Angel? ‘m home. Sorry I didn't leave a note, I realized we were out of a few things and thought it would just be a quick trip. I texted ya but I don't think it went through… Darlin’?” You heard Gaz’s voice and footsteps move through the apartment. The rustling sound of plastic bags being placed on the island countertop was faint, but noticeable. You should respond to him. You know you should, but your mind kept your tongue in a vice grip. So you gently knocked on the table.

Quick footsteps were heard before Gaz squatted down by the table, eyes flickering with worry.

“Another nightmare?” He softly asked, his hand carefully gripping a chair. His keen chocolate brown eyes were glued to you, watching every movement you made as if he was attempting to not startle you. But you stayed still. He moved a few other chairs out of the way, giving you some options to flee before he scooted under the table. You didn’t nod or shake your head to answer his question. Gaz sat by you pulling his knees close to his chest as he nodded, glancing around. “Huh… Kinda understand why ya like it underhere. Kinda cozy.” Gaz paused as his smile faltered for a split second. “Do you wanna tell me what brought you down here?” You shake your head. “Tha’s alright. Wanna come cook breakfast with me?” You nod

“Alright. C’mon angel, let’s go make some breakfast.”

-

A week later, you and Gaz were walking in a park nearby the flat. You had finally felt comfortable enough to leave the flat, provided you were wearing long sleeves. You still had bandages on your face from the burn and graft. The skin graft was working, the infection being gone thanks to the antibiotics, but it was taking its time to heal, along with the sight the skin was removed from. It didn’t bug you as much as you thought, or well, less than last week. But you kept your eyes on the ground, avoiding stranger’s faces, not wanting to know what kind of face they’d be making. Especially not after Mrs. Graham screamed in horror when she came in as you were changing your bandages in the kitchen. She invited herself in, and hopefully that was the last time, because you were left to pick up the broken glass pieces and the casserole in front of the door. Of course Gaz was taking a shower when this happened so he got an earful after he put on clothes and then helped you pick up the rest of the glass from Mrs. Graham. It was words that made you shuttered every time you remembered them. The way people looked at you with worry or fear is whenever they would pop back into your head.

At this point, you weren’t sure how Gaz put up with the elderly lady who always bugged him about anything and everything. He was clearly getting upset at her but kept his cheerful smile around her. You know he’d pop one day. Then your head went back to her suggestion. Would you be better off in a mental hospital until the nightmares were under control? It felt like a somewhat silly question, but her suggestion wormed its way into your head every time you woke up from one. At this point you’d seen a psychiatrist who gave you medication to help with the nightmares, but you needed to give it more time since you had only picked it up and started to take it a few days ago. Gaz had stayed by your side as the two of you walked down the dirt path. The quacking of ducks is what made you look up at the pond, the thoughts of doubt and Mrs. Graham’s words disappearing. There were benches that dotted the pond as it stretched quite a bit. Ducks were happily quacking at each other, moving around in the pond or in the grass besides the pond. You couldn’t help but smile. A real smile, not one that barely tugged at your lips. “I miss that.” Gaz’s soft comment catches you off guard. You glance over at him, your smile quickly fading. “Miss what?” You asked. His eyes widened as he softly blushed, putting a hand at the nape of his neck as he smiled slightly.

“Your smile…” Gaz said sheepishly, it seemed like he didn’t mean to say it outloud.

Your chest fluttered. Had you really not been smiling much? Was that the first time you actually smiled other than just the corner of your lips going up for a few short seconds. It’s been almost three weeks since you two had made yourself home in his flat. You weren’t very positively expressive after everything, but it seemed like you were finally bouncing back.

You feel your cheeks flush as another smile parted your lips as you looked down. Gaz’s hand gently reached to touch yours and you flinched away, clenching your fist in regret as the smile you just had faded again. “Sorry…” You murmur softly, regret starting to eat at your stomach. “No. Don’t be. I should know by now that you’re the one that needs to initiate physical contact.” Gaz’s soothing voice was calm with regret. “If anything I should be sorry.” You didn’t respond, but grabbed his hand instead, your arm twitching as he slowly interlaced his fingers in yours. You could feel his uncertain gaze on you before you started to walk, him quickly following.

You two found a park bench to sit down at. Your hand felt like it was itching, burning to be let go from Gaz’s gentle touch, but you insisted that you were fine. It was your mind. Of course it was your mind. The mind that was convinced that Gaz’s hand was molden metal that threatened to burn you at the slightest touch. You knew it wasn’t true. Maybe you were just shoving down the feelings and forcing yourself to deal with it because that’s what he wants. Gaz and you were always physically affectionate, so going from that to none must’ve been killing him.

You needed to break down this boundary. For Gaz.

-

But breaking that boundary backfired heavily.

You had insisted on cuddling just a week later. Gaz was super uncertain, saying that you need to take it slow, and that maybe you two should just stick to hand holding, but you were determined.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you laid on Gaz. It was supposed to be your normal comfortable position, but your body was tense. You couldn’t relax. Your eyes were wide as your mind was nothing but screaming and panic. Your thoughts were disorganized and any clear thought could not be heard. “Angel… I think we should stop.” Gaz murmured, he hadn’t even wrapped his arms around you. “N-No… I… I need to do this.” You responded desperately, as if trying to not just convince Gaz, but yourself. Though you didn’t dare look at him as your eyes bore into his chest. “No. You need to stop.” He replied firmly, sitting up slowly and gently touching your shoulders that soon made you scream and you pushed him away. You sat up quickly before falling back, kicking out your feet slightly to push yourself off the couch. Your back collided with the floor as you just laid there. Nothing hurt, but your body refused to move.

“Shit! Y/N! Are you ok?” Gaz quickly got up to check on you, crouching down as soon as he could, checking your frozen body over. There wasn’t any blood, but you hadn’t reacted in any way. “Angel… Angel. I need you to move.” His voice was shaky, fear trying to butt its way into his calm-ish tone.

Move. All you had to do was move. But you felt frozen. All you could do was blink in response. You couldn’t even move your eyes.

You could feel the fear emanating from Gaz as he quickly brought out his phone to dial the emergency number without saying a word, but that was the push your brain needed to gasp you back to life and shove his phone away before he could hit the call button. “Jesus fuckin- Don’t… Don’t do that angel…” He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched you slowly get up. “Do you hurt anywhere?” “No.” You respond, feeling light headed, having not realized that you were in fact holding your breath that entire time. Your back didn’t hurt, but that might be the adrenaline talking. “Ok, let me know if you do start feelin’ anything… And love?” “Hm?”

“No more physical touching.” “... Okay."

-

It was time for Gaz to go back to base. You still had a week left of off time and your body was wracked with anxiety. Your depressive episodes had started to get worse, mainly with neglect to body hygiene and eating very little. You were afraid of it getting worse when he left. You begged him to take you back to base with him, but he was informed that he was going immediately into a mission when he got back, so he wouldn't be able to help either way, so you hugged him tightly before he left for the airport.

“Don't fucking die, or I'll kill you.” Your murmur softly, fear lacing your voice.

Gaz chuckled as he hugged you back, “I won't. Oh! Here.” He removed his cap before putting it on you.

You looked at him confused.

“Since I can't be with you physically, my cap will have to do. Watch over ‘im for me, I'd be crushed if he got ruined.” Gaz joked with a big smile. You playfully punched his arm before he continued, “Hey, I told you only one hug, no more physical contact angel.”

“You put your hat on me first.” You retorted before smiling slightly.

“Mmm… I'll allow it. Alright angel, I need to go before I miss my flight. I'll contact you as much as I can. I promise.” Gaz said with a small wave.

You waved back, nerves making your eyebrows turn up slightly as he closed the door behind him.

This week was going to be hard.

10 minutes after Gaz had left, you were already pacing around the flat, holding onto the stuffed bear like it was your lifeline. You were squeezing and massaging it as if it was a fluffy stress ball, and like a clock, you checked your phone every 10 seconds. He had texted you that he got to the airport, but he had to run to his gate due to the flight being pushed up.

A knock on the door startled you, almost dropping your phone that you were checking. You set down your phone before heading over to the door, checking through the peephole, seeing a slightly nervous Nikolai on the other side. You open the door with a tilt of your head.

“Nik?” You asked, sounding somewhat relieved.

“Ah! Y/N! Did I just miss Gaz?” Nik asked, sounding like his cheery self, accent clear as day, but understandable.

“Yeah. He left about 10 minutes ago, he's at the airport now… Did you need to contact him?” You asked, wondering why he didn't just contact Gaz himself.

“No, well, not right away anyways. I've heard that Gaz was a little nervous leaving you alone so I decided to come and help out.” Nik proudly said. “Without contacting him first?” You asked suspiciously. “Ah, well…” He was caught red handed, which made your mind start to work a bit, and the thought you were about to speak did not warm you in the slightest. “Fucking Price sent you didn’t he?” You growled out as your hand shook against the knob, fighting the urge to just slam the door in Nik’s face. He wasn’t to blame for Price’s insistence on trying to get back on your good side. He was just the messenger trying to help out. “Da… B-But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about you either!” Nik said, sensing your hesitation to slam the door, so he inches closer a bit, his foot sneakily sliding its way against the doorframe. “To tell you the truth, everyone is worried about you.” His voice got quiet, almost soft. You’d never seen this side of Nik before. “Not just Price, but Ghost, Soap, and Laswell. They’re worried you’d have to be stuck with office work or… Or leave… Permanently. N-Not that they’d blame you of course, but… We worry for you.” You paused, lips curling inward as you thought, a nervous habit you picked up recently. Though before you can get your thoughts out, a familiar older woman’s voice greeted the two of you. “Now just who do you think you are sir? Don’t you know that they’re taken?! What is wrong with you trying to get into that flat you-” It was Mrs. Graham. With everything you’ve heard from her about you, you’d figure she’d hate you. Maybe it was just concern from her side, and that’s just how she showed it. It didn’t matter because when Nik turned around, she fully stopped waddling towards the door. Her cheeks flushed as Nik flashed his award winning smile, his attention going to her.

“Oh, sorry Ma’am. I was just talking to my friend about making sure they stayed safe while Kyle was away. I did not mean to disturb you.” He calmly said, lowering his head ever so slightly and raising his hands as his eyes closed. “O-Oh. Oh my. I see. Well. I assume you must be close friends because Kyle doesn’t bring around many friends. I apologize.” She said flusteredly.

“No no. Do not worry Ma’am. I scared you. I should be sorry.” Nik replied before giving out a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry about it young man. Have a great day!” Mrs. Graham excused herself and went back into her flat as you stood there, the stuffed bear still flush against your chest.

“Well uh, if you don’t want me here, Y/N, I’ll go.” Nik softly addressed you as he brought his head back up, understanding in his brown eyes flicking towards you before he started to walk away. Your hand tightened against the light brown fluffy fabric before your voice croaked out, “Nik wait.” He stopped and looked back at you with a questioning smile. “Da?” “Stay… Please.” The thought that you could’ve just thrown away your chance of not being alone for the next seven days was frightening. While you knew when you got back you’d stick to the offices. On the field was off the question, mainly because you more than likely couldn’t handle seeing Price and they didn’t want to risk a suicide due to pushing you too far. But they knew you couldn’t bear leaving Gaz, so office work on base would have to do until you either were deemed mentally fit for duty or you left. Permanently. Nik’s smile widened, before he nodded, “Alright, I will stay. Mind if I come in then?” You paused, realizing how you were body blocking him from entering the flat, so you moved out of the way and allowed the large man in. He seemed to instinctively duck into the flat before glancing around. “Oh uhm.” You closed the door behind him as he shuffled inside. You should show him around the flat. “If you want to, you can sleep on the bed in here.” You said, gesturing at the closed bedroom once you finished the quick tour of the place. “Hmmm… What was Gaz doing?” He asked, his face had returned to its neutral expression, although slightly calculated. “Sleeping in a cot in the living room near me.” You responded, thumb rubbing against the handmade heart for comfort. “I will take the cot then.” Nik looked over at you and flashed a small smile. “Teach me your routine and I will follow it.”

And so you did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I was writing the ending then realized, the Reader needs to let off some steam. And well. Nikolai is riiiight there... Hehehe.

Inspire by this post. << First < Prev >> Chapter 6<< Next > Latest >>

[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]