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nanabrainrot · 4 days ago

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cw: omegaverse, mating.

simon ghost riley knows well that you're a really skittish omega, his mate, too, which makes it all only more problematic, but it's shouldn't be an issue for him, not at all, he's sure that if he'll treat you right, pamper and stroke over where you tense in defense, you'll rub your face against his neck and purr sweet little sounds only for his ears alone, so he makes it his mission.

he let's you hiss and scratch all you want, slap his outstretched, offered hand, rumble like a fierce thing when he brushes a thumb down your neck, thumbing over the sensitive curve where your gland hides, blooming ripe and mouthwatering with the most luscious scent ever, and when you see the way his searing, amber eyes eclipse with dilating, opaque darkness, tracing a path of shivers over your skin from his gaze alone, you flee.

you make simon stalk you all around, to dig in the littlest corners you hide in to make sure you're nourished and feeling alright, no fever, no heat, no bite mark from someone who would dare to try, and the unmistakable care that sizzles calmly in his softened eyes makes you warm up, just a little bit, enough to not bite his hand off when he smoothes a palm over your head, or brings you some food he thinks you should have in your ration to be a healthy omega.

reluctantly, he get's to court you, as much as it can be called so, holding his hand barely from touching the small of your back as you walk beside him, the distance between you two getting smaller and smaller, but still there, when you glare daggers at him should he try to smell you, or tense as he touches you accidentally, only a brush, yet, you shiver and lean away, suppressing the flutter of warmth that creeps up your belly.

simon learns that you panic at the permeating scent of alpha pheromones the hard way, when he let's them out, noticing the lingering gazes of the unruly mutts around him that eye you like some bone, and he can't stand it at all, the lurking gazes, how oblivious you are, walking around unmarked, not mated probably, a shame to him, but he tries to be gentle, to take his time with you, yet he can't control the menacing sourness of his scent, acrid against your sensitive sense of smell.

it's scares you, the tang of menacity you pick up on, the way his lips pull up in a snarl, and when he growls, gravelly and loud, you let out an uncontrollable, instinctive whimper, shrinking in the bow of your body, trying to curl, hide, shield yourself with a sharp distress to your pleasantly sweet scent, whirling around your shivering form in waves that reach out to simon, distracting, forcing the haze of an possessing anger dissipate, leaving behind a pang of a quilt.

simon would apologize to you in private, properly, where he'd be able to persuade you to let him show how sorry he is for making you so uncomfortable, with your quivering legs spread wide, dangling at his broad, stretched out shoulders, and his drooling mouth devouring your sweet cunt, pulsing and soppy all over his twisting tongue, the pitch high keen of your voice a delight to his ears, and maybe, just maybe, you'll let him stick in with a tip, perhaps.

he just wants to make sure you'll be safe if he's suddenly wouldn't be any near you, and he was acting so good all the time, even with his gums aching to bite into the tender flesh of your neck, lick over your scent gland, make it swell, and when he does makes you gush in his mouth, swallowing gulps of your slick until dry, limbs boneless, toes spasming in a curl, you don't fight off the feel of his crooked nose digging in the curve of your sweaty neck.

your glassy eyes flutter shut, nails clawing up from simon's shoulders to his cropped hair, sharp, unsure, trying to pull him away and as close as possible, listening to the gravelly, almost purring coo of his voice, soothing your tangled, wracked nerves, and you let him, garbling, mewling, until his sharp canines pierce deep in, chapped, tissued lips suck down to soothe the sting that makes you sob, spine arching painfully, until your body sags completely, useless.

he'd wait for a next, better time to warm you up to try and take his knot, there's no pleasure in forcing you, rushing things, for now, his inner alpha is sated enough, seeing those imprinted dents of his teeth bruising over your neck like a brand, your body cradled close, deep asleep and letting out unguarded, barely audible purrs, humming something illegible as his palm cups over your gland, face nuzzling in the crown of your head, and yes, it's more than enough.

main masterlist. quidelines.

#omegaverse #simon reblog #cod reblog #drooling.

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nanabrainrot · 4 days ago

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fuck u simon drabble go to hell

no beta no proofreading stfu

ghost & his bird, a nonspecified narrator’s perspective

a consideration: mrs. riley, his mythical wife, is as close to elusive as catching your receipt on a windy day. it felt like looking for a glimpse of the last animal in a crowded forest, its skin camouflaging and steps silent.

he never said it but his phone had a picture of a the silhouette of lady in a tight tee, nipples pressed through the fabric, with the words enscribed on her breasts: “I love my husband.” tight navy dolphin shorts with a british flag embroidered near where the thigh meets the fat of the pubis - it’s a blurry photo and probably caught on accident: she’s opening a fridge door, leaning like she’s looking down at the camera near the ground with lips in a giddy laugh, face above the lips out of shot but with a body like that her face was of no concern. leaning with her right hand on the door and her left hand on her knee as he leans toward the camera like she’s laughing: a huge ring on her ring finger. by her tits, silver dog tags.

price sees it so quickly as simon switches his lock screen to a background of a silhouette barely visible in the light of a tv under a blanket. it looks like some aesthetic stock photo but frames on the wall tell another story: a couple together and mementos line the shelves by the tv. he doesn’t mention it, his mind may be playing tricks on him, he’s half out his mind from returning finally from that shit mission and everyone is gathering their belongings at base to go to their barely lived in flats.

1. voice

he hears her voice once as she’s hanging up, the sound of comical cooing and crooning as if simon was a baby on the other end. giggly and girlish like chatting with her crush about homework; she says bye and simon hangs up and walks past him to pack his shit from the office, walking with more intention than he did earlier that day.

2. tattoos

simon has some tattoos on him, numbers, dates, a lipstick kiss mark, a bite mark, and a pair of eyes. tattoos are tattoos, sometimes people get one randomly and others really brew on it. there’s a tattoo with a woman’s name made out of tiny words you can’t see; only seen it passing as simon’s flesh breathed air a fleeting moment and vanished back under the shirt while he took off some gear. he’d never seen him without gloves but a fat band of black ink stains most of his ring finger. nothing is said or asked either.

3. scent

why he smelled like freshly baked cake and had some glitter in his hair was none of his business; it’s like the phantom of a smell. girlish and childlike, like a birthday party as a kid. simon puffs on a cigarette, eyes lost on nothing ahead but the pair of dark eyes aren’t mad or sad: they’re tender and swimming in a fantasy elsewhere. he smells like cigarettes and dirt and a bakery. you had to stand real close to smell it or see the dust of glitter in his hair.

4. glimpse

in a bar, the parking lot, simon is driving out while he’s driving in: her silhouette is animated, bobbing and hands gesturing wildly, before leaning into simon’s shoulder. her face is obscured, unclear, but his shoulders aren’t tense. he sits there worry free with his only concern making a right onto the route home.

walking into the bar, sipping on some 90 proof, he doesn’t mention it. the man’s soul looked peaceful even for a fleeting moment

5. a whisper

a phone call in an empty hallway, giggling from the other line while simon chuckles heartily into his phone, you coo on the other line as if you’re fussing over a puppy’s face while your brutish baby on the other line is in his gear.

“I love you too baby.”

he hangs up, phone vanishing into his pocket, pausing like he’s soaking up the moment and turning the memory in his hands like inspecting the hope diamond. when he calls out to ghost, he turns around and walks as if nothing happened.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #nana writes cod #in my burly grimy fuck era #fuck militarist propaganda BUT also show me giant men who are hung

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nanabrainrot · 9 days ago

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she's so cute, the poor thing. what the fuck is he supposed to do with a pretty girl like this? (18+, a little smidge of dark!simon)

she's so dumb. she nods when he talks, says yes, simon, yeah when he asks her if he can take her home. she purrs yes, simon, m-more when he buries his masked face between her thighs as he makes her ride his covered mouth. she sings when he touches her, cries when his gloved fingers fuck her open, and she whines s-so good, simon, please, more, simon when he bottoms out into her soft cunt with all of his clothes still on.

vest strapped, thigh holsters still buckled, cargo pants still around his waist, nothing but his belt buckle open and his zipper down when he fucks you into the cushions of your couch. you're drooling, positively cock-stupid, bouncing with the rough rhythm he keeps. it's salvation, coming home to a pretty girl underneath him, and he wants to hold you hard enough to make you bleed when he grips the meat of your hips and watches your ass push back against him.

so dumb. so stupid. the prettiest girl he has ever seen, and she has no idea what it is that fucks the shape of them into her so that they will know if someone else has been here. she has no idea what the thing on top of her has done, has no idea how deranged and terrible his mind is, she doesn't know.

she never asked how he knew where she lived. she never asked how he knew which button to press in the elevator. she never asked how he knew to turn left instead of right. she never asked where he got that key, or why it worked when he opened up the door of her flat.

all she asks for is for him to fuck, please, simon--m-more!

she's so cute. she'll do just fine.

#ghost #a tear fell down my leg #ghost reblog

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nanabrainrot · 15 days ago

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my history teacher tried to get me to stop using it but its just like seasoning to a meal.

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

#my em dash #moans

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nanabrainrot · 16 days ago

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bruh planning wedding, buying house, grad school, like im ten breaths away from making walter white look like a pussy

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nanabrainrot · 17 days ago

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nanabrainrot · 2 months ago

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CW: 18+, size kink, soft dom Anakin

the first time he fucks you, he can tell you’re a little freaked out by the way his generous size impales you. He’s picked up the pace after the initial aches of first-penetration wears off, and your curiosity leads you to look down and watch as his thick length pulls out, impossibly long, and then stuffs back inside, stretching you out beyond what you thought was possible, beyond any previous comfort levels. He’s literally impaling you, over and over and over, soft squelching sounds being met with each contact of your hips flushed together. It feels good— much better than what it looks like— and Anakin can tell it makes you nervous.

“Hey,” he calls your attention to him with his voice; your favorite sound in the world. He cups your jaw, gently guiding your face to look at him, his hold just strong enough to prevent you from being able to look down. “Eyes on me, alright? I’ve got you, just focus on me.” You have no choice but to stare at his face, his eyes, his lips, how pretty he looks, instead of the way his thick cock is messing up your insides below. Your muscles relax around him, not gripping quite so hard anymore, and it only makes the slide of his cock along your walls easier, heightening the pleasure for both of you.

“There you go,” he praises with a small uptilt of his mouth. True pride sparkles in his eye. “That’s my girl, doin’ so well. You trust me, right? Fuck, you’re so beautiful— feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, clinging to him. You have no choice but to let him envelop you completely; his voice in your ears, his face all you can see, his cock stuffed deep inside you. You’ve never felt so full, so stretched, never had anyone so deep—

It’s impossible to be scared with Anakin; he talks you through it the whole time. After all, he’d never let anything hurt you.

#anakin reblog #bulge #bruh. bruh

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nanabrainrot · 2 months ago

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𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬.

pairing. anakin skywalker x f!reader

synopsis. anakin finds loopholes in the jedi code.

warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. cock warming, p in v penetration but no movement. whimper-y anakin, if you move i'll leave the jedi order type beat.

an. just a little something i wrote for the kinktober i never did. I thought i'd post instead of letting it collect dust in my drafts. the prompt was cockwarming! hope i did anakin justice<3 pls comment & reblog.

You find him at the window.

Sitting, with his thighs open and chest bare, staring out into the abyss. The night glints at the beads of sweat sliding down his chest, and his fingers drum endlessly against his thighs.

He heard you wake up, so he’s expecting your company, and has leaned back against the chair – thin black gown falling open – ready for you to climb all over him.

It happens often.

It’s not uncommon to wake up without him.

Most nights, you startle out of your slumber – as if even asleep, you’d sensed a shift – and blink at the space on the mattress beside you.

Finding him was easy.

You pad through the living room and wordlessly reach him in his post-nightmare state. His hair is tousled, sculpted chest is slick with sweat -- there’s an energy vibrating off of him, and you can taste it in the air.

Stepping behind him, you gently run the tips of your fingers over his shoulders, and the whirlpool in Anakin’s belly settles for a second. When you move into frame, it’s gone completely, replaced by a warm heat that has roots. He breathes a smile.

“Like clockwork.”

You give him a sheepish grin in return and fiddle with the fabric of your small nightgown. There’s a moment where Anakin gets to look at you – all sleepy and cuddly – and he’s ready to escape with you off of this forsaken planet.

His will holds strong.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” he asks, raising a scarred brow, and despite your groggy state, you still manage to roll your eyes. Stepping closer, you use his broad shoulders as anchors to slip onto his lap.

“Don’t make that face,” Anakin hushes, and while you settle back onto his thighs, his metal hand comes up. He traces the line of your jaw, “You know I let you do what you want.”

His spare hand steadies your hips, and it’s still warm from his lightsaber. Calloused fingers run over your skin, reminding you of the fight that’s leaving scars – the war that’s brewing, both inside and outside of his mind.

In moments like this, though, there’s a subtle calm.

An impenetrable force that hums over the pair of you.

You lean into his palm and whisper, “Not everything.”

There’s a haunted edge to your gaze, and your words are loaded. Anakin knows what you mean, knows all the intricacies of your subtle dig, and yet, he still manages to smile.

Well, smirk.

“What do you want? Just say the word.”

You wouldn’t, and Anakin knows that. He’s caught your bluff, and you manage a bashful smile before gently leaning forward, dragging your hips against his lap.

Anakin’s cloth-covered thigh nestles against the thin fabric of your underwear. Your smile falters, lips parting. You push your forehead against his, and whisper, “If I say the words, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I know,” he breathes, “I know.”

I want more.

A life together, not stolen moments when the sun is down.

An attachment. A bond.

But it’s forbidden.

It’s why it can’t go any further than this.

“What’d you dream about?” you wonder. Anakin pulls his eyes away from you, instead looking to where his thigh sits. The silence is your answer.

“I’ll still ask, even if you never tell.”

He takes hold of your bare thighs, rubbing his hands up and down, and you hum his name, reaching out to push his hair behind his ears.

“Pretty boy.”

“Stop it,” he huffs, cheeks reddening.

But how can you? When he’s all sharp lines and long hair. You run your hands up the bare panes of his muscular chest, feeling the deft of his muscles, and the dampness on his skin.

The air changes – hums electric – and it buzzes as you push his gown off his shoulders.

Carefully, you lean forward and place a chaste kiss against his collarbone.

“That’s better.”

Anakin hums a laugh. His hands snake around to your lower back, dig into the fat of your ass, and using the grip there, he gently rocks you forward once, forcing your clothed cunt to drag against his muscular thigh.

You whimper. It’s quiet, but Anakin can hear it, even if it’s muffled by his shoulder.

“’ S’what you came out here for, huh?” he whispers. The electric flooding through the walls hums, but the room is still eerily silent. Anakin’s voice is a roar.

You lick your lips and drag your face up to see him. “No,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss against his top lip, “I like being with you, even if we don’t do this.”

Anakin has to close his eyes. Words like those are fuel to the fire brimming in his chest, and it doesn’t help that you wrap your arms around his neck and fiddle with the tail end of his hair.

Arching your back, you slowly roll backwards, then forward, teasing the bulge between his legs.

Releasing a shaky breath, you repeat the motion, again, and again, near humping his leg.

A familiar ache begins to swell, coiling between your thighs and up into your belly. It makes you clench around nothing, and you mewl quietly, wishing for more – always wishing for more.

Still, you continue, slick pooling into your underwear and against his thigh.

Anakin can’t look at you. If he sees your face, his resolve will falter.

His nerves are shot. If he couldn’t feel how wet you are, he could smell it, and it makes a groan bristle behind his teeth.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and busies himself with kissing at the soft shell of your throat, careful not to leave marks.

Once, you left a mouth-shaped mark against his stomach, and he looked at it every day for a week.

Caught himself with his top up in the mirror looking at the reflection, eyeing the way the mark sat on the firm lines of muscle, fading away with time.

A dark part of him wanted the mark on the slope of his neck.

“Wanna be inside of you.”

His admission rests heavily against your throat, and you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed.

Though, he does feel you tighten your grip on the back of his head. Feels you shift up against his thigh, and the warmth pooling in your underwear burns against him.

He can sense you’re hesitant.

“’ can be like last time. Just – Just --” he stutters, licking his lips and struggling to release the words from the back of his throat. Finally, he manages. “--Sit on it.”

“Anakin.”

He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.

“We can use it as an exercise.”

A laugh bursts from your throat, “To test your will?”

He smiles, and because you have to, you push your cunt against his crotch, uttering, “Want me to make It difficult for you?” and white flashes through Anakin’s eyes.

He grabs your hips to steady you, tensely pushing his fingers into your skin.

“Hardest challenge I’ll ever encounter.”

“You eager to impress?”

He kisses your jaw, “Don’t I always?”

“Mm,” you hum, cradling his chin. You shift back so he can pull his trousers down, and when you take his cock in your hand, he melts. His commanding aura switches for a moment, and you watch Anakin still his breathing.

You push your underwear to the side, and as you lift yourself to sink onto him, Anakin breathes, “Just the tip – just a little bit, j-just—” and he chokes on his words, gasping as you brush the leaking head of his cock through your folds.

You halt. Whimper. Have to grip his shoulder to steady yourself, or you’ll push him inside of you all at once and hurt yourself.

You inhale steadily.

“Have to – have to go slow,” you spurt, trying to calm your tremors.

“It’s been a while since…”

You don’t have to finish your sentence. Anakin knows, and he feels a mix of pride and guilt. Only me, he thinks, and then, like a flash, only me, he swallows. And I can’t give her everything.

This. This is as far as it’ll go. He knows he’s pushing it. Knows that he’s come up with some convoluted rule to both have his cake and eat it too.

If he fucks you the way he wants to, he’ll fall in love with you. As if it hasn’t happened already.

Anakin has made lying to himself a speciality.

You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You stop. Pause and curse yourself.

A slow burn builds in your thighs, and you clench down to try and mediate the burn. Anakin grunts.

“Maker,” he utters. “Sorry—” you splutter, sucking in a tight breath.

Anakin wraps his metal arm around the back of your hips, hoping to steady you. “Lemme,” he mumbles, and gently, he flexes his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked pussy.

Your lower abdomen immediately burns.

He’s being calm about it – using all his training – but there’s nothing calm about the words trickling out of his mouth.

“Oh stars,” he groans, voice wrecked, “You gonna take all of me, sweet girl? Gonna let me fill you up?”

When you finally sink to the hilt, your resolve snaps. The pair of you moan out in unison, loud and high-pitched.

Anakin buries his face in your chest, and the heat of his mouth against your breasts adds to the tension coiling in your belly.

“Don’t – don’t move,” he grunts, and you shake your head, “I won’t – I’ll come on your cock if I do,” and you don’t mean to say it like that, don’t mean for the words to come out like that, but you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you, warm and hard and wet.

He manages to laugh.

“Tryna kill me,” he shakily breathes, shaking his head. His wet lips brush against your breasts, and you want more – want all that he can give you – so you clutch the back of his head, pulling him closer, hoping he gets the message.

His wet kisses make your skin prickle.

You’re full up. Can feel him stretching you out, this feeling something that’s only happened a few times before.

“If you move,” Anakin begins, out of breath, “I’ll leave the Jedi order and spend my days inside of you.”

“Don’t t-tempt me.”

He laughs, and you accidentally clench around him, causing him to groan deep and long against your tits.

“If you do that again, I’ll come inside of you.”

You imagine it. Imagine him spilling out, the wet white of it dripping out of your cunt and back onto his cock, and the mere image of it has your clit throbbing.

Keep still. Don’t move.

But he wraps his tongue around your nipple and begins to suck.

You cry out, and all of your muscles tighten, forcing you to clench tight around his cock. Anakin jolts and whines your name against your tits.

“S’your fault,” you mewl, moaning. You hang your head back, “Stars, Anakin.”

“Try and stay still,” he mumbles, and you stutter a laugh, “Impossible.”

“It can’t be,” he responds, and while he speaks in jest, his words are sincere. The line between love and lust runs thin, and if Anakin is being honest with himself, it’s close to snapping.

#anakin reblog #anakin.

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