please do not send me asks for donations or to put it out for ppl to donate. I only come here once in a while and I don’t have enough money at this time.
Civilian!reader giving ghost a portal pussy because he's always talked about how lonely long ops are. You're more than happy to cozy up and watch a movie with your beloved simoms cock snug inside you, warming him from thousands of miles away. He's been in for practically the whole day, not really moving much besides the occasional twitch and has long gone soft. Mostly, you just like physical being near him, like a comforting hug.
Vs
Ghost, who just realized he can take a leak on an eight hour watch without compromising his sniper position. Nah, he's not gonna wait or anything, he's sure you'll understand. In fact, he went ahead and packed extra water now that he knows bathroom breaks aren't a worry. He's just letting you know he's alive.
he’ll have you in prone bone, the weight of his body heavy on top of you as he fucks you slow and deep. the pudge of his tummy would lay upon the small of your back, while he left wet kisses across the back of your neck.
“mm, that’s it…f—fuck...” he’d grunt in your ear, making you whine in response. “takin’ me so well, baby. so fuckin’ good.” his thick, girthy cock was stretching your pussy out, your hole gripping his dick each time he pulled out and slammed right back into you.
your head fell between your shoulders, the feeling of being crushed on the bed made you feel dizzy. your whimpers and babbles didn’t go unnoticed, it was music to his ears as he began to roll his hips a little harder. his breathing was staggered and heavy, melodically mixing with the squeaking of the bed.
you were rendered speechless as your orgasm pulled on your core, about to send you over the edge with a few more sloppy and languid thrusts. he felt your slick cunt tightening around his dick, his heavy balls slapping tirelessly against your clit. it was impossible for either of you to hold off any longer.
his moans resembled a growl almost, as you both reached your climax. you’d cry out as he stuffed your pussy, thick, hot spurts of his cum filling you up to the brim. he’d continue leaving sloppy kisses across your shoulder blades, beads of his sweat dripping onto your warm skin. he was absolutely spent, but he couldn’t pull out just yet.
it wouldn’t take long before he’d fall on top of you. he tried his hardest not to suffocate your smaller body, caging you between his big, bulky arms. he’d breathlessly rut into you slowly, fucking his seed deeper and deeper inside you.
Soap, who keeps your picture tucked into his vest, the edges soft from being folded and unfolded a hundred times. He shows it off to anyone who’ll listen, grinning as he says that’s his bonnie back home.
He was done for the first time he met you- the moment you smiled at him, something locked into place. He knew then he’d keep you, that he wanted a life with you, a house full babies he bred into your cunt.
He knows everything about you: your favorite foods, your exact coffee order, the dreams you only admit out loud at night, even the name of the cat you had growing up.
He worries about you constantly thanks to his job, carries that quiet, gnawing fear with him, but all it takes is pulling out his phone, checking your location, seeing that you’re safe to calm his nerves. On the really bad days, he’ll glance at the security cameras at your place, just to see you moving around, alive and okay.
He’s counting down the days until he can see you again- until he can trade a worn photograph for the real thing in his arms.
Nancy? Do you think your mom might be fucking Ms. Byers?
Where did you get that idea from Robin?
I don’t know… she’s been a lot like how you were when we started going out.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
:readmore:
Karen Wheeler is fucking Ms. Byers like Robin suspects.
It had started short after the graduation. Joyce hit on her with a subtle remark on her haircut and Karen found herself burried fingers deep inside the woman on her couch later that night. Ted was sleeping in the bedroom and Karen couldn’t feel less guilty about it.
And now Joyce Byers sits on Karen’s kitchen counter top with a cocky expression on her face.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Max, Robin and Nancy in the living room, it’s finally thursday, the “girls night” Karen had been planning for some time.
“Joyce, I think you should go inside before the girls start suspecting something’s up.”
Joyce bites behind Karen’s ear. The blonde’s flushed expression is every reason for her to keep going.
Her hand travels up Karen’s dress, groping her thigh when they hear Robin calling from inside.
“When will the dinner be ready Mrs. Wheele- oh. Am I interrupting something?”
Robin stands by the doorway, looking to the women with a-little-too-obvious one foot stance between them.
Joyce fidgets with her shirt.
Karen replies with a smile.
“No dear. Nothing. The dinner will be ready in a minute.”
Robin is looking at Joyce as she says a little too knowingly.
“Nice lipstick Ms. Byers. Didn’t know you wore any. It suits you.”
With that Robin is out the door, a huge smirk on her face.
Joyce and Karen are left to look at each other in concern, wondering what Robin knows about their little- something.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The dinner flies by. The girls are bouncing back jokes and stories as the older women watch and occasionally join them with awe.
Joyce doesn’t miss the way Karen’s leg had stroked up her leg a little too many times to be accidental.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
“Thank you Mrs. Wheeler.” Max beams at them outside the door.
Max and Nancy are waiting on the porch as Robin talks to Joyce.
“I can drop you off by your place if you’d like Ms. Byers. I’m driving Max to her house too.”
“Ugh… No thanks Robin but I’ll help Karen clean up a bit.”
“Are you sure? Cause I remember me and Nancy clearing away the kitchen just a while ago.”
“Oh- yeah… I had a few stuff to talk with her anyway.”
Karen gleams at Joyce, her apprehension noticeable.
“Ookay… whatever you say.”
The three of them walk off to the car.
“Goodnight girls! Drive safe.” Karen calls from behind.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Robin closes the door of the driver’s seat, turning to Nancy.
“What did I tell you Nance?! Definitely fucking. Did you see the way she was eyeing up your mom the whole dinner?”
“You can’t know for sure Robin.” Nancy huffed out.
“I don’t know Nancy…” Max speaks up from the backseat. “Seemed pretty obvious even to me.”
They all giggle and drive off.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Inside, Joyce was already steering Karen by the hips, directly to the couch.
Karen grabs the other woman’s jacket by the collar, pulling her in for a kiss.
Joyce sits down on the couch, Karen looking down at her with sultry eyes.
“Nice lipstick Ms. Byers.”
“Oh knock it off Wheeler.”
Joyce grabs her by the hips, lowering her down. Karen’s legs at either sides of her lap.
Karen’s nails get lost in brown curls, tugging a little harshly, revealing Joyce’s neck.
Joyce’s hands strokes up Karen’s soft thighs, underneath her dress and-
“Karen- where are your panties?”
Karen sucks on the other woman’s jaw, a throaty moan leaving her lips. She whispers against her skin.
“Dropped them by the bathroom just before the girls left. Thought it might help-”
Joyce captures her lips with hers, sucking her bottom lip, shivering at the taste.
Karen’s hands behind the brunette’s head as she guides her face to her chest.
“Kiss- mhhm- kiss them.” she whimpers on top of her.
Joyce immediately catches up to the mood she was setting for tonight. Nights like this when Karen wants to be worshiped, wants to forget and wants to forgive. Forgive herself.
And Joyce would give it to her, kissing every inch of her body, every scar, every mark the years left. She would let the woman ride her face till her knees no longer supported her up. She would praise her, telling her all the things she needed to hear. She would let Karen degrade her with her words and honestly, she loved it.
So she would give Karen everything and anything, all of herself.
Ted could never.
So Joyce sucks on her skin, starting up from her neck. The ragged skin meeting the softer parts. Karen squirms on top of her.
“You’re so beautiful honey. So beautiful, all for me.” as she unbuttons the top of Karen’s shirt.
Karen’s hands scrape her scalp, moaning softly as the woman underneath her sucks one of her nipples into her mouth.
Joyce can feel the heat of her throughout her denim pants.
“Touch me.” Karen mutters. Who is Joyce to deny her?
Her fingers find the other woman’s heat, spreading her wet folds through the curls.
Karen buckles under her touch.
“Please…”
“Please what baby?” Joyce smirks.
“Please- fuck me.” she says with a low hiss.
Joyce licks a line on one of the scars on Karen’s neck, the long, deeper one. Her fingers circling her clit with slow pressure. Karen’s heady.
She plunges two fingers in, her thumb working on her clit. Karen whimpers. Her other hand sliding out from her blouse to guide her.
Joyce’s hand finds her ass, sliding up her skirt on the way. The cool air hits Karen’s now revealed pussy, making her moan.
Karen’s hands are everywhere on Joyce. Holding on her for leverage. Her eyes roll back as the brunette’s fingers work inside her. Her fingers curled up, hitting the soft sponge of nerves inside her with each thrust.
“That’s right. Keep going baby.” Joyce murmurs between open mouthed kisses on the woman’s neck and chest.
Karen’s nails scrape Joyce’s jaw, lifting her head up to lock eyes with her.
Joyce looks undone, doe eyes staring up at her. She pulls her in for a breathless kiss. Joyce plunges her tongue inside plump red lips in sync with the movements of her fingers.
Karen moans into her mouth, grabbing on Joyce’s hair and neck with unrest.
Joyce adds a finger inside her, Karen’s getting closer. She can feel it.
She looks up to her, Karen’s not looking at her. Her head thrown back, paired with lustful moans.
“Joyce- don’t stop- please-”
“Spit in my mouth.” Joyce tells her.
Karen looks down, something mixed with shock and want in her gaze.
She holds her chin up. Locking their brown eyes, filled with pure desire.
Joyce’s mouth wide open as she adds pressure to Karen’s clit.
Karen groans as she spits inside Joyce’s open mouth.
Joyce laps it up, licking a dribble that escapes her lips. She moans low at the taste.
“Good girl.” Joyce tells her, her fingers never faltering.
Karen’s a whimpering mess, chasing her climax, pinching her own nipple.
“Ride my fingers.”
Karen does. Moving on top of her. Joyce stretching her out, hitting that spot inside her each fucking time.
She moans out Joyce’s name, over and over again.
“God- you’re so beautiful like this baby.” Joyce bites on her chest. Karen drives two fingers pinching her nipple in Joyce’s mouth.
Joyce sucks on them. Matching the pace of her own fingers.
Karen’s so close to seeing stars. Her breath coming in hitches, struggling to form any thought other than the feeling of the other woman’s fingers, her lips, the tension coiling low in her belly.
Her breaths quicken, chasing release.
“I wish Ted could see you like this.”
That almost does it for Karen. Almost.
“See how good I’m fucking you. How good you’re riding on my fingers.”
Karen’s desperate for release. For anything that would come out of her mouth. She’s bouncing on her. Going at a fervent pace, raising up and down on Joyce’s fingers.
“My pretty, desperate girl.”
“Yes- yes I’m your girl-” Karen mumbles. Her orgasm takes her. Eyes rolling back with a scream of Joyce’s name on her mouth.
Joyce rides out her orgasm. Holding her close.
Then she takes her fingers out, rubbing circles on Karen’s back.
Karen collapses on the brunette’s lap. Joyce tugs her in.
“That was amazing.” Karen mumbles, her head empty, thoroughly fucked.
“So were you.” Joyce responds, cleaning her fingers with her mouth.
Karen smiles up at her and pulls her in for a kiss.
She tastes herself on Joyce’s mouth and in that moment she swears they could be happy.
Really, truly happy.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
lemme know if anyone would be interested in a pt.2
changed my writing style a little with this one idk
Remember how all of his wives said that nobody does so much to please a woman (in bed) as James Wilson
Well I wish I could break this pattern for him myself I would do so so so much to please him first I would literally have him trembling and moaning and begging for more and sure I won't leave my sweet pretty baby unsatisfied I would do whatever he asks and knowing that he might be shy in bed and would be creative and do something myself to see if he likes it and I would do everything possible doing to a man in bed and even get him pregnant if I could (lmao) and he would lie there covered in sweat and his own release his hair stuck to his forehead his neck and chest blooming with hickeys his nipples and stomach covered in my saliva and he would be absolutely undone panting and feeling like he's in heaven and I would lie beside him on my stomach kissing his temple and playfully whispering in his ear something like "baby wanna go for another round" and he would just mumble something incoherent like "yeah but you haven't even come once gimme a couple of minutes i'll just catch my breath and return the favor" and I would just chuckle and nibble on his ear and nuzzle his jaw and maybe pin him to the bed and do all the work myself just so he can enjoy being pampered in bed a little more
if ur taking requests i would love a blurb or smth about gregory house dating a reader who is too sweet for their own good, maybe they stop by the office at lunch and everyone is like who is this angel and why are they with house
Ok, this one was a hard one because honestly I had a hard time trying to imagine a scenary that would fit someone sweet to be House's soulmate (In my head, he had to be paired up with someone just as sarcastic -and maybe also a pain in the ass). When I finally figure the sceneraio I just couldn't help but mix completly the time line because the characters I need were the original team but I also wannted so much to do a iconic sentence said by Wilson so... you see this incredible and, hopefully very funny, piece.
Too Sweet
Sumary: Gregory House never expected to meet someone who could tolerate him, let alone scold him, calm him and make him… smile.
Word count: 1617
Read at AO3 | Masterlist | Masterpost
Wilson froze mid-step.
Through the glass wall of House’s office, he saw something that made his brain short-circuit.
House was smiling.
Not the cruel, corner-of-the-mouth smirk he reserved for human suffering, but an actual, soft, dare-he-say-it fond smile. And he was directing it at a woman.
She stood in front of him, sunlight catching on the twirling hem of her light-pink dress. Her hands moved as she talked expressive, animated, completely at ease. House was listening. Listening. And not once had he rolled his eyes.
Wilson blinked hard. “What. In. The. Actual. Hell?”
Cuddy joined him at the glass, eyebrows arched. “Is he… being polite?”
“I think so,” Wilson said, voice strangled. “Unless I’m hallucinating. Which, honestly, would be a relief.”
“That’s House’s girlfriend,” came a voice from behind them.
They turned to see Foreman, arms crossed, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. Chase and Cameron flanked him, both watching the scene with morbid fascination.
“You’re lying,” Cuddy said flatly.
“Wish I were,” Foreman replied. “We don’t get it either.”
Chase shrugged. “He mentioned meeting someone while jogging, but when his pain came back, I figured that ended like everything else in his life. Tragically and with excessive Vicodin.”
“You know House,” Cameron added gently. “He doesn’t talk about his personal life. Ever.”
Wilson was still staring through the glass. “No. No, this isn’t possible. I would’ve known. He would’ve told me.” He squinted. “Are you sure she’s not a…”
“Don’t,” Cuddy warned.
“Hooker?”
Foreman rolled his eyes. “Does she look like a hooker to you?”
“She’s a teacher,” Cameron offered. “For kids. I overheard him on the phone the other day.”
Wilson’s jaw dropped. “Children? She teaches children? And dates House? That’s just…”
“Impossible?” Chase supplied.
“Reprehensible,” Wilson muttered. Then, snapping upright: “I’m going in.”
“Wilson, don’t…” Cuddy began, but it was too late.
House didn’t look up when the door burst open. The woman jumped slightly, spinning around.
“Oh!” she said, startled. Then, she smiled so brightly it could’ve lit the entire diagnostics department. “Hi there!”
Wilson blinked. She was all soft edges and kindness. Wide kind eyes, warm tone, the kind of person who apologized to inanimate objects after bumping into them.
He recovered quickly and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m James Wilson. House’s best friend. So nice to finally meet you. He’s spoken so much about you.”
The oncologist shot a sideways glance at the diagnostician. Anyone who truly knew him would recognize that Wilson’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, but she didn’t catch it.
House rolled his eyes, unimpressed.
The woman, however, beamed. “Oh, that’s so sweet! He talks about you all the time, too.”
Wilson froze mid-handshake. “He does?”
“Mhm! He said you’re very caring but have terrible taste in women.”
Chase’s muffled laugh outside the glass was audible even through the door.
House finally looked up from his paperwork. “She listens,” he said dryly, “but she doesn’t always filter.”
The woman giggled, as if he’d just told the most charming joke in the world. “He’s teasing again,” she said softly.
Wilson’s brain was short-circuiting. “You… find that endearing?”
“Of course! He’s funny. And he listens when I talk.”
There was a beat of stunned silence. Cuddy’s jaw dropped. Foreman whispered, “She’s delusional.”
House twirled his pen. “See? Finally, someone with taste.”
She turned to him, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder. “I brought you lunch, by the way. Turkey sandwich, no mustard.”
Wilson blinked, then proceeded stuttering: “Wait. You-you make him lunch?”
“Every day,” she said, pulling a neatly wrapped container from her bag. “He forgets to eat when he’s busy.”
House took the sandwich, biting it with zero embarrassment. “She’s also right. You could learn a thing or two, Wilson.”
Cuddy rubbed her temples. “I’m living in a simulation.”
“Nice to meet you all!” she said cheerfully to the crowd now gathered at the door. “Greg told me you’re all wonderful, even if you drive him crazy sometimes.”
House snorted. “Lies. All lies.”
She just smiled at him, unbothered. “He says that, but he’s fond of you. He has a good heart.”
The room collectively froze.
House coughed, eyes darting anywhere but her face. “Okay, enough sentimentality. Don’t you people have patients to misdiagnose?”
The others began to scatter, still dazed, whispering among themselves. Wilson lingered by the door. “I don’t know what witchcraft you’ve used,” he muttered, “but congratulations.”
“Thank you!” she chirped, oblivious.
House gave her a long, assessing look as the door closed. “You realize you just terrified them, right?”
She smiled serenely. “That’s okay. They’ll get used to me.”
House smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re too sweet for this world.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe. But I’m exactly sweet enough for you.”
He paused, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured, but there was no denying the faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
🧬
In the following of the week, the team gathered in the conference room, trying and failing to focus on the whiteboard. Through the glass, House was back in his chair, tossing a tennis ball against the wall and humming under his breath.
“He’s humming,” Foreman said. “He never hums.”
“Maybe she’s a hallucination,” Chase muttered.
“A collective one?” Foreman retorted.
Cameron didn’t look convinced. “If she is, we should probably be checking him into psych instead of his patients.”
Before anyone could answer, the office door opened.
“Hi, everyone!” she greeted brightly, stepping inside with the kind of confidence only pure-hearted people or clinically oblivious ones possessed. “Gregory, you forgot your phone again.”
House didn’t even glance up. “Maybe I wanted to forget it. The world’s quieter that way.”
She smiled sweetly, setting the phone on his desk. “You say that, but then you complain when Wilson doesn’t answer your texts.”
Foreman choked on a laugh. Chase turned away to hide a grin.
House eyed her. “You know, this room was designed for medical professionals, not… pink explosions of optimism.”
“House,” Cameron warned under her breath.
But the woman just blinked, tilting her head. “That wasn’t very nice, Greg.”
The room went dead silent.
Even House paused mid-sarcasm, tennis ball frozen midair. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she said, perfectly calm. “We’ve talked about this kind of behavior before. You don’t get to be mean to people just because you’re uncomfortable with kindness.”
Foreman mouthed oh my God.
“So she isn’t completely oblivious to his demeanour. She just handles it like a pro?” Chase whispered to the others.
House leaned back in his chair, staring at her like she’d just rewritten physics. “Uncomfortable with kindness? Please. I’m allergic to it.”
“And yet,” she said softly, stepping closer, “you keep it around.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The team was watching, rapt.
Finally, he muttered, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You are lucky I’m patient.”
A stunned beat passed. Chase coughed into his hand, Foreman smirked, and Cameron was clearly fighting back a smile.
The woman turned to the team as if nothing happened. “Nice seeing you all again! Oh, and, Gregory, remember to take your ibuprofen before dinner. You know what happens when you don’t.”
House rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
She only smiled and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving.
As soon as the door closed, the room exploded.
“Did she just scold you?” Foreman asked, half laughing.
“She did,” Chase said. “And you didn’t bite her head off.”
House shrugged. “She feeds me. That buys her some immunity.”
Wilson appeared at the door just in time to catch the end of the exchange. “You mean she cares about you, and your fragile emotional ecosystem doesn’t know what to do with it.”
House twirled his cane. “No. I mean she’s a terrifyingly effective manipulator who uses affection as a weapon.”
Wilson smirked. “She told you to be nice, didn’t she?”
House didn’t answer.
Wilson grinned wider. “You like it when she does that.”
House’s gaze flicked toward the door where she’d gone, a hint of something unguarded in his eyes. “She’s persistent,” he said finally. “Annoying habit. Almost… contagious.”
Wilson’s expression softened. “You know, House, most people would just call that love.”
House snorted, pushing himself to his feet. “Most people are idiots.”
Wilson shook his head and, as if having an epiphany, started, “You know…”
“Oh my God, here it comes,” House huffed.
“I’ve been trying to figure out why she works with you. Then it hit me…”
“Oh, please,” House muttered. “Here comes the armchair psychology.”
“She is sweet, has kind eyes, slightly manipulative to bring out your best,” Wilson continued as if House’s interruption hadn’t happened. “Not too long ago you made a remark about me and Amber…”
House groaned. “Don’t you dare.”
“—‘Oh my God,” Wilson continued, grinning, “‘you’re sleeping with me.’”
House threw his red ball. Wilson easily dodged it. “Face it. I may be sleeping with you, but you are dating me.”
For a split second, House almost laughed. A low, reluctant sound that escaped before he could stop it.
“Congratulations. That might actually be the most disturbing thing you’ve ever said,” he muttered.
“And yet,” Wilson said, “you’re smiling.”
“I’m grimacing. Different muscle group,” House replied.
Wilson stepped closer, softening. “She makes you happy, you know.”
House called after him, “You’re delusional!”
But as he limped toward the door, the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
John won’t go to the club with you. But he will drag you to his old man bar.
It’s the type that has street signs and car parts stuck to the wall. They don’t have any of the nicely flavored liquor you like, but the drinks are half price on Thursdays…and there’s pool tables.
Which. Wouldn’t matter. You’ve never been known to play pool, frankly you don’t know how to. But that’s kind of part of the appeal…because now John wants to teach you.
So, he drags you to his old man bar where you’re the only thing that’s not aged, and buys you your drink of choice (though, without the fun flavor you like), gets himself a whiskey, and then drags you to the pool tables.
Then, when you absolutely whiff your first shot, he comes up behind you, pressing his whole front into your back, and caresses down your arms to place your hands properly. He slides the stick back and forth to show you how it should glide through your hands, and you try to ignore the image that creates.
Once you’re both griping the pool stick properly, he bends you over the table, pushing you against it with his hips, and bring his head around to your ear to whisper about aim. And you pretend like you’re listening, but all you really catch is a whispered “juuuust like that, sweetheart.” His breath is hot against your neck, and it makes goosebumps shoot up.
When he finally takes the shot, he jerks forward with the force, jolting himself into you and squishing your hips harder against the table. The force makes a small noise leave you, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, just gives you a peck to your neck and a “perfect, baby.”
And then he’ll pull back like nothing happened, like you’re not sweating and feeling the effects of that in…other places. And the rest of the bar will look at him like he’s a perv…which he is, but you like him like that.
No thoughts just ghost who avoids sparring with you at all costs, right?
He is doing everything to avoid it, even on days when you're technically supposed to train together. Either sneaking off conveniently before you two are supposed to fight, or goading soap into sending him to medical.
Not because he thinks he's better than you, or that he's scared of being shown up. Rather, he's not fond of the...consequences that will result from a spar.
All his efforts are in vein, however, when price notices and forces you two to spar. He's distracted, it's not hard for you to get him onto a headlock, chest pressed to his back with a laughed "this is the big bad ghost? I've fought rookies better than this!"
You, being behind ghost, do not see the raging boner he's sporting or the blush peeking from under his balaclava, but the rest of the team does.
....yeah. they decide to let ghost explain that one to you....privately.
Sending all my love to abuse survivors, especially rape and sexual assault survivors, as this new wave of just genuine vile disastrous waste that is the new Epstein files hits the public. Sending all my love to those who are watching it turn into a joke. Sending love to all of those who are triggered by anything mentioned in the files that is being widely discussed. Sending love to those who will be triggered by watching waves of evidence be exposed and yet see none of the perpetrators being punished.
John "what the fuck that's humiliating" price who acts like buying pads in public may actually kill him. He insists that its your responsibility to buy all your supplies in advance. He will joke about what a hassle you are with the cashier and guilt trip you for not 'thanking' him with head.
Vs
Simon "what size pussy you got?" Riley who will loudly call you to talk explicitly about what stuff you need. He's coming home with snacks you didn't ask for. He will scoff at men who act embarrassed about something that means their partners healthy. He comes home to eat you out as an apology for not already having stuff for you when you need it.
No thoughts just omega!reader who nests not in a place, but with a person. More specifically, soap.
Most omegas tends to have a space or room they feel the most comfortable in and nest there, usually a bedroom but living rooms or in their mates den is also common. Few omegas, however, feel absolutely no connection to a place. You are one of those omegas.
Instead, you feel connected to soap. Not in the normal 'I love my mate' way, but in the 'I only feel whole when I'm with him' way. Meaning, no nest feels right without soap, and soap tends to trigger your nesting instincts.
Yes, this means if he decides to lie down in the recroom then you are using whatever fabrics available to make a mini-nest surrounding him. Price always knows when a meeting is dragging too long because you'll start fiddling with your jacket lying across soaps shoulders.
How does soap feel about it? Oh, he's in heaven.
Soap loves nothing more than to pass out wherever and whenever his body decides. On the couch, floor, table, the roof. Nothing is safe. He loves waking up surrounded by your scent.
Soap even begins to carry a bag of simple blankets and fabrics that you've scented so you always have materials.
The one time someone dared to joke about you being a 'broken wind-up toy' when you started nesting during movie night, soap spent an hour running laps and the poor sod spent three days in the infirmary.
Imagine! Being a villanous little demon in the dark forest, loyal to your creator and savior the demon king.
Wearing skimpy lingerie, sharp stilettos, laces, nails, everything. You live in the small corner of the dark forest in your little manor, being served by your evil minions. You constantly torment the nearby village, sending your minions to burn and destroy houses.
Everything was perfect, and then he arrived. The hero and savior, Simon Riley or his loyal followers call him 'Ghost'. A big, meaty man, taller than any human male you have ever seen. He wears thick heavy metal armor, a massive shiny sword and a black mask covering his mouth and nose, his eyes the only thing visible.
During one of your usual raids at the village. You were happily burning a house when suddenly a minion beside you falls dead, decapitated. Turning around and you faced him, a hero from one of the human kingdoms you have grown to despised, Ghost.
You recognized him, a new hero quickly rising in the ranks and defeating other powerful demons. But you weren't afraid of him, you were ready to get rid of that pest. Or maybe enslave him and make him join your harem, it would be a shame to kill such a sexy man.
You laugh at his face, confidently yapping about your power and evil plans. He was a silent man, just staring at you as you blabber about villanous things. Finally you attack him, throwing a dark energy ball at him. It hits him square at the chest as he did nothing but stand there and stare at you. Smoke covered where he stood and you laugh to yourself about the foolish hero, shame he died so easily.
Suddenly he dashes through the smoke and grabbed you by your throat. Just like that, you were defeated. Your minions all slain by a swift slash of his sword, then he burned your manor with villagers chanting happily at ruins of your home, and then he held you prisoner in his home.
Your prison was strange. Walls with intricate wallpaper, soft carpeted floor, a fluffy big bed in the middle of the room and a big window that had a beautiful view of the garden. You had a magical shackle on your leg that disabled your powers and limit your reach. Only being able to barely touch the glass window. Your provocative clothing switched with flowy pastel nightgowns and fluffy bunny slippers.
You hated it, you felt like a fool, a joke. When Ghost finally entered your prison, he didn't have any armor on. Wearing a simple black long sleeve shirt and brown pants. His simple outfit made his muscles and veins more visible, almost making you forget your anger for the man.
You snap out of your trance, you scream at him, yelling profanities, demanding for your freedom and throwing pillows at his face.
Next thing you know, he angrily pushed your face down on the soft mattress, ass up in the air and his thick cock stretching your pussy as he drills you into the bed.
He smacks your ass, pulling your head back by your hair and he grunted to your ear. "Get used to this you cheeky little slut, this is your new life now. " He grunts, his balls slapping at your ass as he thrusted angrily into you.
Saliva dripped out of your mouth, eyes rolling back to your head. He made you feel so amazing your brain turned to mush, unable to fight him. You could only moan from the pleasure and pain, claw the sheets and cum on his cock as he fucks you with intensity and never ending energy.
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