#cat!nikto

[mi-i-zori]

With Love and Purrs

CoD - Shifter!AU - Cat Shifter!Nikto x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : A kind of headcanon-like thingy about Cat Shifter!Nikto meeting his reason to live.

WARNINGS : Mention of Nikto thinking about how deadly his job is for a moment. Otherwise, this is pure fluff.

Author’s Note : I’m back, and I’ve got a few things to share, starting with this ! The worms have been wiggling about hybrids and shifters lately. Maybe it’ll become a new AU.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Nikto catches sight of Reader multiple times during a long stay at the base they work at. He quickly learns that they have a job in the administration, and comes to appreciate the aura they exude. Their smile seems engraved in his mind both day and night, refusing to leave his thoughts. He finds himself wishing to be the source of their happiness, even if just for a fleeting moment.

Yet he can’t stop his mind from lashing out against this feeling, screaming about how doing so could lead him to another path full of pain ; like it always seems to be.

Which is why he decides to find a compromise with himself and approach them in an… Unconventional way.

He comes to them in his animal form - a black, rugged little stray cat with piercing blue eyes and patches of scarred skin lingering among his already unruly fur. As always, he stays silent ; making them jump when someone points out that a peculiar feline is following them at a distance, never letting them out of its sight.

They immediately start cooing at him, lowering their voice as if to not startle him. They stay where they are, calling him with a hand outstreched towards his form. Despite his usual wary self, he immediately grasps the opportunity between his paws, giving their fingers the tiniest sniff before timidly snuggling against them.

Still, it takes him quite some time before he manages to not instinctively shy or jump away from their touch. Yet they never seem to get tired of him - smiling and slow blinking at him as he lays on what quickly became his special chair and blanket in their office, sometimes talking to him quietly, allowing him a glimpse of their thoughts.

They respect his space, which he is constantly grateful for. They ask for his permission before petting him, slowly coming to hold a hand in front of his nose, and never getting upset when he doesn’t feel like cuddling. They apologize whenever they accidentally spook him, and try to calm him down with a few peaceful words and coos. They try to contain their excitement whenever he allows them to pet or kiss him, yet he can feel it radiating from them.

He become the source of their joy more and more, and he can’t help but feel a little smug about it.

However, he isn’t really fond of their colleagues. Some of them try to force their need for feline cuddles on him despite Reader’s warnings. They make a show of lightly scolding him when he scratches, bites or hisses at the idiots, but never fail to smile and reassure him when he grumbles about it after the unwanted attention-seeker leaves.

« They never learn the lesson, do they ? » They say. « I’m sorry, Baby. » Nikto wishes he could tell them they are not the one who needs to apologize, especially not when they are so good to him.

He also likes that name. Baby. But don’t tell anyone.

One man, though, is worse than the others. He never comes to try and pet him, and Nikto doesn’t care about the way he looks at him, as if he were the scourge of the Earth - he is used to the negativity dancing in the eyes of others on his path, even more in his human form. But the man flirts shamelessely with his human, and he loathes it. He can feel Reader’s discomfort the second that arrogant bastard’s footsteps echo down the hall, and sees the exasperated sigh that crosses their lips just before he automatically makes his way through the door as if he owns the whole place. Nikto makes his point by glaring at him until the idiot gets uncomfortable enough to leave, and hisses when he breezes past his chair on his way out. He relishes in the satisfied smile they give him, the kisses they blow his way as a relieved thank you.

Then comes the day he has to go on a mission again. He doesn’t know how long he will be gone, if he’ll even be able to see them again. His shoulders are heavy as he boards the plane, glancing one last time at the door beyond the tarmac wondering if, somewhere in the building, the one that holds his heart will be waiting for his return.

And said heart leaps with delight when he finally steps on the base’s grounds again ; battered and bruised, exhausted and sore, but alive. He doesn’t waste a second to let his little paws follow the lines of the corridors leading to his Reader’s office. The arrogant flirt is there when he arrives, and Nitko is more than happy to tear their attention away from him the second he walks through their door. He rubs his entire side against their legs, his face against their fingers. He preens as the idiot bites back a snarl and almost runs out of the room ; his love doesn’t even notice, to busy running their hands through his fur as they ask him where he’s been.

« I’ve been thinking, » they say, sounding like they are about to make him the most outrageous of confessions, « would you like to come home with me ? »

Nikto is too focused on trying to quell the erratic beating of his heart to register their nervous babbling about how they asked around and learned he was a stray hanging around the base, and how they have been thinking about it for months. He cuts them off with his first meow in what feels like an eternity. It’s rough, and almost sounds nothing more like a disgusting gurgle in his ears ; but their eyes lit up with happiness, their excitement wafting off of them in unrestrained waves as they pick him up. And he lets them, his claws digging into their shirt as if they were going to vanish right before his eyes.

His new reality settles in as they put him down on the floor of their apartment. The scents are the first thing that hits him. It smells like them, feels like them. The cushions on their sofa are the softest against his rugged pawpads, but so are their carpets and their bed. They let him explore every single corner of their home - his home, they insist on saying, and Nikto’s heart threatens to burst out of his ribcage.

He now spends his days lounging in their office, learning to indulge in his teasing side more as he rolls around on their desk, and his nights in whatever free space of their apartment he feels like invading. He learns to meow more, his voice sounding the tiniest bit clearer every time, and to purr too. The rumbles are awkward and raspy, but he happily lets them out as Reader combs through his erratic fur.

He sighs dreamily whenever they turn their back, wishing he could give them everything they offer him back tenfold. So he takes it upon himself to « groom » them whenever they try to detangle his fur, showering them with his own kind of kisses and silent love. He fights his aversion for touch to cuddle more, savoring the smiles it brings out on their face. He goes to sleep next to their pillow, and wakes up sprawled on top of their chest, listening to their quiet heartbeat.

There’s this one time when they tell him how much he reminds them of a certain masked soldier they crossed paths with a few times back at the base. They gush about the piercing blue of the man’s eyes, so similar to his ; his confident strides, the nods of greeting he took the time to offer them, his silent, brooding and soothing presence in the elevator. They recall the time the soldier shielded them from a pushy idiot, telling him off with the silent sharpness of a stone and the coldness of ice. Nikto doesn’t need to be told the details of this story ; he remembers well the blush coating their cheeks as he escorted them back to their office, wary of the glint that danced in the flirty soldier’s eyes. A blush so similar to the one they carry as they gush about that « imposing gentleman��of a stranger » - and probably to the one warming up his own face under his fur.

A part of him is terrified at the idea that they might end up catching on the situation - that the cat they adopted, that they worry about for months when he disappears, is actually that man they would love to know more leaving on deadly missions. He considered multiple times faking his death once more to finally be able to stay with them for good, protect them too. But the thought of being rejected, thrown out for being a disgusting creep, tears his heart apart.

Yet another side of him starts purring the second he thinks about how he could finally be accepted for who he is. A feline shifter, yes, but also a broken man, yearning for love behind the many walls and barriers he hides behind in order to protect himself.

They don’t know the truth, obviously. He’s been very careful about everything, though he can’t do anything about the deployments.

But for the first time in forever, Nikto hopes.

And for the first time in forever, he might be surprised by how sharp his dear Reader can be…

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Nikto who will push your head between his chest. Uncaring of everything else except for marking you and forcing himself into your lungs. He'll laugh to himself when he sees your glare of annoyance.

"Fucking needy are we?", and its the tone of your voice that really gets his blood running.

"Always."

You notice every bit of it. The way his voice nearly stammers, slight shiver in his gruff voice. The way his heart quickens underneath your neck. It'd take a fool to not notice. His eyes twitch.

"Five minutes."

"It will be quick."

[the-raindeer-king]

Nikto is such a feral cat of a man. Wild, untrusting, always alert, always bristled, refuses to be kept if he doesn't want to be somewhere.

But pretty pretty you, you don't force his attention, don't demand his responses. You let him slowly creep closer over time, never forcing him to talk, never seeming bothered if and when he doesn't respond to you. Slowly, over a long time he creeps even closer. A mangled, feral thing that's not hissing at you anymore, not barring fangs and claws but slowly blinking it's eyes because it knows you now. He knows you, and you're no threat.

So he'll come closer, maybe one day rest his heavy head in your lap and trust you to be the one keeping your eyes open when he doesn't.

That sounds nice in his mind. -🐾(I don't know Nikto as well but the vibes are there and bold lol)

Nah, I think you got Nikto pretty down pat. I know there's little info for some (most? Idk correct me if i'm wrong. I didn't play the game) of the operators in warzone, so we're running off assumptions and headcannons to cover the middle ground.

anyway, but Nikto = feral cat. Yes.

When you first join KorTac, you're introduced to some of the higher ranking operators, as many rookies are. However, unlike the other rookies, you don't spare Nikto more than a polite nod. You don't even seem bothered by the way he stares, blue eyes bearing into your soul.

It shouldn't bother him. This is exactly what he wants. But for some odd reason, it does. Your disinterest makes the voices in his head louder, demanding your attention.

Nikto, as he so often does, ignores them. For now.

But as time goes on, they become harder to ignore. Or well, the effect you have on him becomes harder to ignore. The way his mind goes quiet when he comes to visit you in the med-bay, his entire being solely focused on you. Even though you're never focused on him the way he wants you to be.

Most of your knowledge of Nikto comes from the others. Mainly whatever König and Krueger let slip when they're talking to you. You sympathize with Nikto, but you keep that to yourself, understanding that he's probably heard enough sympathetic phrases to last a lifetime. So you offer the next best thing, and that's just to treat him as you would anyone else.

Because of this, a friendship had gradually grown between you and Nikto. That's what you're calling it at least. He's friendly, occasionally bringing you tea and snacks during your shift. You sit with him at meal time, sometimes seeking him out during your free time.

Most of the time it's a one sided conversation. Nikto never offers more than a few words at a time, but you never seem bothered by it. Opening up to people is hard for him, and you don't push for more than what he's willing to give. You're a blessing, an angel, and Nikto doesn't understand what he's done to deserve you.

The thing with men like Nikto is once you've shown him kindness, he'll come back for more. Let him sink his teeth into your soft flesh, mark you in a way that can never be taken away. A warning for others that you belong to him, and he isn't afraid to bare his teeth when necessary.

For now, he'll accept this. Dragging his weary body to your room, having returned from a two month long mission, familiarized with your schedule to know that you're not busy. You're never too busy for Nikto, always willing to make time for the masked man. He doesn't bother knocking, knowing the door will be unlocked. If it wasn't, he'd either pick the lock or just kick the door down.

He has just enough mind left to kick his boots off, before he's crawling into your bed. The mask stays on, a blessing and a curse, as he lays his head down into your lap. He may not be able to feel the softness of your thighs, but he can feel the way you drag your nails over the back of his head, as if trying to drag your fingers through his hair.

If he could, he'd purr in response. Instead he sighs loudly, practically melting into your mattress. And a few moments later, he's snoring. A sign that you're not going anywhere for a while, so you might as well get comfortable yourself.

[yaboidante2711]

Nikto is totally a cat person.

But in like, he and the cat are both weirdos-

[kankan0fficial]

PLEEWASSEEEE ILL BE GOOD I WONT BE A HATERRRRRRR I NEED MY BABY NIKTO PLSSSSSSSSSS

I- okay- have ugly cat Nikto

[lialucis]

@gremlinmodetweeker FRIENDO I DID THE THING!! Clearly not done buuuut-

Inspired by the kitter posts @gremlinmodetweeker has made and indulged me in 💖💖💖

It was... Almost impossible. That familiar scent, of rotted flesh and fur, and offal. And the sight, the half mangled cat that looked like it had been through Hell and back only to be kicked out of Hell for the disfigured fireball wrapped in a thick winter coat. Specks of blood between the cats bald patches and owners arms and hands. Even a swipe across the cheek, to König and Horangi's precious owner. But she held fast, to the half frozen cat wrapped in her coat. The fight, the yowling, spitting, and anger halting. As the one good eye landed on the, well fed former KorTac hybrids. Hard to mistake the prized litter. But, they were doing so... Well. Nicely groomed, no ribs showing, and König the big bastard seemed even bigger. Horangi even adorned in a gold bell, this... This isn't how I expected to find the younger litter mates.

A low velvety meow as Horangi crept closer, sniffing at the mangled cat. Ignoring the human trying to shove and shoo him away.

"H-hey wait! You might get Si- huh?" The words would fall quiet when I received that small headbutt from Horangi. König wasting no time himself to curl closer, settling down and pressing his soft fur against the exposed and cold skin. Horangi curling against the other side. A confused sound from their human before they reluctantly left to retrieve something.

"We thought you were dead." König would purr out in that soft voice, voice low to avoid arousing suspicion.

"We... Survived." Nikto would mumble softly.

"You smell different..." Horangi would add in, nose bunting every now and again at the curious smells radiating off of the older cat.

"We... Were... Taken." Nikto would mumble, slowly easing against the warmth of König and Horangi.

"More humans?! Horangi watch the house I will go hu-"

"Nyet... This one is different..." I would interrupt in a hushed voice, a small shake of my head, as I lightly pawed at König to lay back down.

"Is it the flowers on you?" Horangi would ask, huffing as he sniffed. It was faint, buried beneath the healing skin and mud.

"Yes... We... We were found, checking on another that was... 'adopted'. The storm came out of nowhere, the cold, the white. We were lost... No smell to guide us home."

"Snow? You were in that white out? You were FOUND in that white out?!" König yowled out, fluffing up as if he was ready to go toe to claw with Mother Nature.

A bap from Horangi and a hiss, gesturing for the larger fluffier cat to calm down. "Quiet before our owner thinks we are fighting. Continue Nikto."

A small shake of the head from the mangled cat and a tired sigh, laying his head on his paws. "She will find us. Somehow always does. Our... Lilac."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The way that if I could digitally draw all of you would be getting bombarded with post after post of Gaz/Spitfire and Nikto/Seraph in their universes getting involved in shenanigans is crazy.

[vehtao]

nikto desing for my cod!warrior cats au :D

i love how he looks /pos >:33

meow meow meow

[itsivbaby]

my little warm cat crawling under my covers to lay at my little cold feet gives me so much joy.

[nikto-444]

Choose which effect is better (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

[ghostsghoul]

fucking giggling at this 😭😭😭

Me have thoughts about Niktos balls.

Yes they are scared. I'm even inclined to say he is missing one. But it's heavy, carries all of his cum in him and if he had both still they would be classified as breeder balls. Now it's just a breeder ball. He will push your head down there to lick and suck at it while he fists his own cock and let his pre cum drool onto your face

Collecting all the single ball Nikto asks in one place...

Nikto doesn't have any shame about missing a ball, lesser men would have pissed themselves at just the thought of losing it, but Nikto? No, Nikto came out of that torture, and killed the men that scarred him, that shit is a badge of honor. Sure he's missing a testicle but when the alternative is death you learn to appreciate what you have.

Until he meets you, that is. Then there's the worry. What will you think? Will you see him as half a man? Will the scars scare you away? It sinks into his mangled mind like poison, this deep fear that he's never felt before, that he won't be good enough for you.

But then, God you sink to your knees and drag your tongue over the raised scar that cuts over his sack, and that's all there is to it. He's putty in your hands. You kiss and lick at the heavy ball he still has and his thick cock drools pre-come onto your face. He's sensitive, all the scars and healed skin tingling under your tongue, making his hips back when you suck his ball into your mouth and his breath shudder as you lean to kiss the burns that slip too close to his cock. It is pure worship in a way he's never experienced before. He's not any less of a man for the loss, if anything you make him feel like he never lost anything at all.

Especially filling you up, watching his potent come drip out of you, your fingers pushing it back inside. You better be careful spreading your folds for him, showing him how your slick makes you shine, he might just rip the mask off and add his spit to the mix.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Grabbing nikto's face and just squeezing it between your hands, puckering his lips and wrinkling his nose, before pressing obnoxiously loud kisses all sticky with lipgloss against his mouth. Yeah. He takes it like a champ. He needs a good roughing up. Scratch at his undercut, scratch at the light stubble on his face. He'll melt into your nails like butter. Keening for more. More. Grumbling like a happy rottie.

The thing is he never quite matches your energy. Not that he's not affectionate- he'd happily lick and bite at any soft skin available, but there's a delicateness to his touch. Pinching your face carefully between his fingers and thumb before lightly nudging the tip of his nose against yours- eyes ablaze with adoration. Before he naturally tips his face down a little for you to bite at his lip. Closes his eyes like a little content cat, blinking slowly. Ah. That's it. Very good. His little one.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Men at Work!

Just a note, I know I mix phonetic and Cyrillic spellings of Russian in this. Mostly it's so that people can easily translate the more complex words directly.

Content: Masturbation, very mild protective/possessive behavior

It’s becoming a problem.

You think this from the overstuffed daybed recently purchased for the explicit purpose of feeding into aforementioned problem. Not that the porch is the problem, heavens no. If so much as a nail came loose, there’s a trio of men across the street all too eager to lend their hammers and bulging, glistening muscles to fix it.

Which, conveniently, is the problem.

Their muscles, that is. And how magnanimous they are with them.

Your house is nice. New. It took them three days to fix all the issues you’d been putting off for a day you were non-reclusive enough to schedule a handyman.

Your house is too nice and too new.

You’re feeding a Vegas buffet’s worth of appetites raised on old world sensibilities with no outlet for them to be expressed. There aren’t enough squeaky hinges, crooked cabinets, stuck windows, or leaky faucets in your two-bedroom for all that… chivalry. (Or whatever Krueger has that passes for chivalry’s surly cousin.)

They’ve taken to invading earlier in the evening for busy work before dinner. Cutting vegetables, tenderizing meat, cleaning dishes, setting the goddamn table.

Like, sirs, you’re a single woman with three cats and a sham of a personal life – the last time you saw a centerpiece on a domestic dining table was Christmas at your nana’s.

Until Konig shuffled in with a fistful of sunflowers and zinnias, promising that he double-checked that they’re non-toxic to cats. You didn’t have a vase, so you had to make do with an empty mason jar you were keeping for ostensible aesthetic reasons.

Now you’ve got an ongoing bouquet, kitschy salt-and-pepper shakers shaped like lemons that no one ever uses (as if your seasoning decisions are as good as god) and are contemplating cloth napkins like some kind of… of…

“Socialite?” you muse aloud. You glance at Rasputin. He blinks slowly. “Hostess? Woman of the night?”

You’re pretty sure Agatha didn’t mean that as a compliment when you overheard her gossiping to Margot yesterday. (She should really remember that if she can eavesdrop on you from her backyard, the same is true the other way around.)

You’re toying with an idea for a new series with your last one wrapping up and your solo-novel due for release come fall. Something about a rich young woman with a wild streak and her fantastically wealthy gentlemen callers…

“Scarlet woman,” you murmur aloud, eyes on the reason for your recent porch décor purchase.

Krueger is on the roof, cloth around his head to stave off the summer heat. Doing… something with shingles and a nail gun. Your face flushes with each flex of hard muscle, jump of thick tendons. The grip he has on that thing…

As inspiring as your neighbors are, they are also a huge (in many, many ways) distraction. Hence, they are a Problem.

And not just for you. On your right, you catch the flutter of curtains from your peripheral. Lisa taking another peek – to be properly scandalized, probably. (You’re not really sure what the neighborhood biddies tell themselves when they decide something is Simply Not Proper.)

“We’ll have to start charging admission,” you muse, sipping a strawberry mojito.

Curled up far too close for the weather, Little Guy chuffs and stretches. You smooth a fingertip up his little nose, between his eyes, and over the crest of his empty head.

“Jezebel,” you mumble. He yawns, tongue curling and pearly fangs gleaming. “Trollop.”

An annoyed grunt pulls your eyes forward again. Nikto is standing halfway up the porch, one foot planted on the last step like a sexy Russian Captain Morgan. His thighs stretch his workpants oh-so-nicely. There’s a smear of white paste across the material – caulking, maybe?

(You could do with a caulking too.)

“Has someone called you these?” he asks. “Who?”

You laugh. What would he even do if someone had?

“No – well, not to my face, anyway.”

He snorts, shoots a withering scowl at Agatha’s property anyway. You spin your pen around your fingers and try not to bite your lip at the way his shirt is clinging from sweat.

“Aren’t you hot?” you fuss. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Nyet, we have been in worse,” he replies, finishing the short journey up the porch. He pauses in front of you, taking in the sight of you and your cats. What does he think, seeing you lounging about all day while he and his friends(?) are working so hard? If it’s something negative, he’s never let on.

“Still,” you insist, “have you been hydrating?”

“Da, the water runs.”

You blink, put together pieces to assume he and the others are chugging tap water (probably right from the faucet) when necessary. Well, that just won’t do now, will it?

“No, no. Hold on. Rasputin, hold him hostage.”

And like the little angel he is, Ras gets up, stretches out, and begins rubbing his face all over Nikto’s pants. With him distracted, you hop to your feet and scurry inside. The house is almost uncomfortably cool after most of your morning spent outside, but you’ll only be a moment.

There’s a large ruby pitcher waiting in the fridge from last night, complete with various berries floating at the top. You use two hands to heft it out, set it on the counter, then flit to your cabinets for the travel cups you invested in for on-the-go wine sipping. Nice and insulated.

You pour a cup for each of them, stow the pitcher away again, and carry all three in triangle-formation back outside. (Maybe you should get a tray? The antique store in town probably has something pretty and lemon-themed to match the salt and pepper shakers…)

Nikto hurries to help as soon as he sees you, plucking the extra cup from your hands.

“I saw this recipe and wanted to try it since it’s been getting hotter.”

He blinks at you, then the juice.

“You don’t have to try it now, I just thought—”

Your voice abandons you as Nikto tugs his filtration mask down. The skin beneath is warped and scarred, discolored in some places. When he raises the edge of the cup to his mouth, the skin of one cheek stretches distressingly thin. You can see the individual indents of his back molars pressing against the flesh as he drinks.

You understand why he’s been hesitant to show you; it’s not easy to look at. Which makes you all the more determined to flick your eyes back to his and ask, eagerly, “What do you think? Too sweet?”

As he swallows, throat clicking, you think you hear him grunt something.

“Hm?”

“Nyet. Not too sweet. Is good, пчела.”

You grin even though you’re not sure what it means. All three of them have some nickname in their mother tongue that you can only hope is complimentary and not because they forgot your actual name.

“Good, then I can bring some to K and K while you help me with lunch. That’s why you came by, right?”

He nods. “Nearly noon.”

“That late already!” you say. Wow, staring at hot, sweaty men really makes time fly. “Alright, I was going to make chicken wraps and latkes. Could you start peeling potatoes? You know where everything is, da?”

“Da.” He clicks his tongue, luring Rasputin in and stirring Guy awake. “Come, малышу, before we leave you out here for vultures.”

“Nikto!” you scold. “Don’t threaten him.”

“I do not threaten. It is what will happen.”

You swat at his arm, but at least Little Guy has been lured into Nikto’s reach – if by nothing else than a hand has been offered and cats are helpless to resist a good sniff. Nikto scoops him up while you turn to flounce down the stairs.

“Make sure Susan doesn’t get out!” you call over your shoulder.

She was roused by your quick turnaround to get the juice cups and will certainly be stalking the door now.

Sure enough, you faintly hear him cursing in Russian as you reach the end of the yard. Luckily, you see him closing the door with all three of your demons inside, so you continue across the street.

Krueger hasn’t noticed your approach, his back to you, so you stop at the edge of the property to watch for a moment. Yep, just as good this close, too.

“Krueger!” you call. He doesn’t turn. You huff and try again. Nothing. Christ, you’re starting to think he’s ignoring you on purpose. “Sebastian!”

His head whips around alarmingly fast and finds you right there on the ground. No need to look around at all – sometimes they remind you of their profession in the oddest ways.

“Ja, ja, no need to shout,” he replies.

You open your mouth to do just that, but he’s already scaling down from the roof. You’re stunned into silence as he slides down to the edge of the roof, catches the edge, and swings down to the ground. Lands with barely more noise than one of your footsteps. It’s quick yet so graceful.

You stare (gawk, more accurately) as he saunters up, pants sinfully low on his narrow hips.

“What did you need, bienchen?” he asks. “It is too early for lunch.”

You stutter for a second before your brain reboots.

“What was that?!” you demand, a little shriller than necessary. If you don’t shriek about this, you’re going to shriek about that gorgeous chest and the tattoos and the everything else, and you absolutely cannot do that. “That was so dangerous! You’re going to break a leg!”

“You worry,” he scoffs. He shakes his head, but there’s a wicked, knowing grin at the corners of his mouth and his eyes are far too bright. “That was a little jump.”

“It was not!”

“It only seemed big because you are so little, but it was nothing for me.”

“You’re not that much taller!”

“It is sweet to worry,” he coos, “but it is too hot for it, yes?”

You scrunch your nose at him, not sure if you’re annoyed or turned on or both. (Probably both. It’s annoying how hot he is. And how hot he knows he is.)

“If it’s so hot, then here.”

You all but shove the cup at him. He takes it with a flicker of genuine surprise, sniffs at the liquid, then takes a sip. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest, raises the temperature another few degrees.

“My mother used to make something like this,” he muses, expression softening. You blink, lean in automatically for a peck to your cheek. “Danke schön.”

“Bitte,” you mumble, mouth drier than Reggie’s garden.

His eyes crinkle, mouth hidden by the edge of the cup as he proceeds to chug the rest of it. A droplet slips down his jaw and skips down to his collarbone. You force your eyes away before you’re driven to do something irreparable by thirst.

“Is Konig inside?” you ask. “I have a cup for him, too.”

He grunts confirmation, tongue curling around a blueberry to coax it into his mouth.

Yep, alright, that’s about as much as you can take.

“Scooch, before the punch goes warm.”

“Punch?” he repeats, arching an eyebrow at you.

“That’s what it’s called in English. Punch.”

“That seems like it would cause misunderstanding.” Except he’s grinning as he says it, like he cherishes the idea of someone confusing the two words and starting a fight. Considering how often you catch him and Konig smacking at each other, that’s probably not a stretch.

“Just please don’t swing on anyone, yeah?”

“Only because you ask so nicely,” he croons.

You click your tongue at him. “Wipe off before going in, I don’t want Shithead to stink after crawling on you.”

He barks out his usual sharp laugh and tugs the cloth – his own t-shirt – off his head to mop up his sweat. You make a mental note to tease him about sunburn later as you slip past him.

You can hear Konig singing off-key upstairs when you open the door. The house is sweltering, only mildly cooler than outside with none of the fresh air. You grimace as you pause at the bottom of the stairs; the boys have warned you that it’s dangerous up there and it’s best not to go wandering.

Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like he’s using power tools at the moment.

“Konig!” you call.

“Is that you, biene?” he calls back.

You grin. “Who else would it be, huh?”

You hear his footsteps right over your head, track his gait until the first heavy boot on the stairs. He meets you at the bottom with his usual ventilator on, but he tugs it down when he sees the cup in your hand.

“Is this for me?” he asks eagerly.

“Yep! Tell me what you think!”

With none of Nikto or Kreuger’s hesitation, he knocks back a big mouthful. Licks his full lips as he lowers it, eyes bright as they land on yours.

“This is perfect,” he chirps, “so refreshing! Thank you, biene!”

You beam right back, flushed with pride that all three of them liked the recipe you “happened to find” when you saw the temperature projections for today.

“There’s more back home,” you offer, “come out of the heat.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “I will wipe off first.”

You hum agreeably, watching him slip back upstairs with great enthusiasm. Konig in a tank top and those tight cargos… summer really is delivering this year.

That evening, you sigh as you recline across your huge bed, naked and cooling off with the night breeze rolling through your window. Ras and Shithead are happily distracted wrestling each other in your forgotten towel, and Little Guy is snoozing on his personal pillow.

You stretch out, feeling a bit decadent and indulgent with moonlight spilling over your body, and let your hands wander. It’s not the high-efficiency sleep-oriented wank you usually rush through, not this time.

You unspool memories of the day with each brush of your fingertips over moisturized skin. You hum as your skin tingles, imagining Konig’s calloused palms in place of yours. He’d be so surprisingly gentle, you’re sure. Big, strong hands but he’d play with you like a precious toy. Plucking your nipples and scratching his blunt nails over the plush of your hips.

As your breathing picks up, you see Krueger’s broad shoulders flexing behind your eyelids. Imagine them bullying between your thighs, hooking your knees over. That bright glint in his eye as he smirks against your cunt. Can practically feel the curl of his tongue around your clit, eating you out messy and mean.

You’re already halfway there when you curl two fingers into your pussy. You’re so wet that your fingers slip and slide, squelch lewdly as you rock your hips, trying to find just the right angle.

You imagine Nikto clicking his tongue at your struggle. Almost hear his low, hoarse voice chiding you for doing his job while he takes over. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, you have to press a third in just to maintain the fantasy.

You want to lean back against his broad chest while he strokes your walls, listen to him and Krueger and Konig talk about you like you’re not even there, debating if you should come. Ignore you as you beg and whimper, big hands pinning you down while they draw it out.

Please, please, please…

You clap a hand over your mouth just in time, hips jerking so hard that it makes your wrist ache.

Whoops.

Well, you doubt anyone heard. It’s pretty late, and you’re on the second story anyway.

Already sleepy, you’re too lazy to close the window after a pre-bed stop in the restroom. It’s such a nice night, after all.

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Masterlist

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: post sex scenario-ish, nikto x fem implied! reader, drunken sex implied, idk what else. might marry this man

The worst part was after the sex. Your memories of last night were probably a blur. And for Nikto, well, he'd never let himself be so vulnerable as to forget a night spent with something as sweet as you. When you had first approached Nikto, he wondered if you realized how hideous and ravaged he was.​

Didn't have the time to pull his face mask up when you trotted over, begging for a night with him. He wondered if sober you, the one buried against his sternum, would remember the rough texture of his countless scars, of the mutilated bits of his body - if you would wake up with fear, screaming for him to get out.

Yet you never gave him the chance to cower - hide away his trauma branded flesh. Somehow your grip so strong, fingers curled into his own. A python-like death grip wrapped around his left leg with both of yours. Naked. His shirt.

Oh fuck.

Realization was really hitting when he felt your soft, elongated sigh against his jaw, lips rubbing the scarred texture of his skin. The fascinating texture you couldn't get your cold fingers off of last night, even when he let you flip positions, in hopes it would lessen this touchy, needy state of yours. Nikto only achieved the opposite. You grasped at his fingers for support, hips rolling as you whimpered, letting him muffle your explicit sounds with his finger tips pressing to your lips, mesmerized by how effortlessly soft your skin was.

He was staring at you like he loved you.

And maybe you were just really drunk, lost by the feeling of his cock bruising your pretty cunt just to break entrance; followed by far too many orgasms to clear through the spilled word dictionaries in your brain. Whatever it was, you drew to a reckless conclusion. You slurred a kiss into his palm, whispering how much you loved him. A soft prayer he would stay until you woke up because he was just “so fucking hot” and you “wanted to make out with him again.”

Didn’t even fight back when he just shushed you and hid your face in his chest, desperate to not let you feel the boiling heat that surfaced in his face.

Too much for an exhausted man like himself. Couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, relishing in your sweet scent with the hint of smoke from the incense you burned. Smoke used to terrify Nikto, remind him of harsher times. Would make his heart throb and his body tremble - and yet the scent from you made him want to trace the vertebrae of your spine until you swatted at him like a small, feral cat.

The rigid sensation his dry fingertips mapped made the loud thoughts in his head blur away - even if just momentarily. The several voices which once ran rampant and rebellious within his darkest mind caverns had finally slowed. A single thought running through his mind as he curled the soft locks of your hair between his finger tips, tightening the grip and watching it feather down.

"How soft."

Not realizing Nikto had spoken his thoughts aloud, he was genuinely surprised when you finally stirred awake, a curious gaze in your eyes and a groggy "mhm?" making it's way out of your sigh. Poor man, cuddling you like you had his family in a room downstairs, eyes wide with fright, and his heart beat picked up pace. It surprised you, confused you, yet you just did your best not to scare the wild man that bubbled in his mind.

Buried your face back into his chest, kissing against his soft muscle. Biting a soft, pink hickey that flushed easily and licking away your own drool. Eyes glancing up from behind your lashes as you felt his body settle just a bit. Maybe if you were a little less in love with the big muscles and puppy, blue eyes, you would've taken his secure tighten around your body as a sign that he was about to dedicate his entire life to you. But you didn't - just let your eyes flutter shut and let your head plop back between his muscled breasts.

tagging friends :)) @yandere-kokeshi @kettlemouse @babybimbo777

[machveil]

I’ve been cursed by visions of König so I'll write them for you🎀✨

CW: fleshlight (it’s not specifically said in the fic, but you know the ones that are, like, basically a torso and the upper thighs? that’s the vision), masturbation, heavy pinning, size difference, fingering and oral (toy!receiving), overstimulation, nasty man /affectionate

König presents himself as someone who demands respect, a Colonel, a man who gets his hands dirty and towers over others. it’s his job, his height and build doing nothing to ease fellow soldiers - intimidating, he could snap someone in half like a toothpick if he really wanted to. cold, pale eyes that strike fear into others. maybe that’s why you make him freeze up, unperturbed by his stature and rank. you wave when you see him, smile when you talk to him. he knows you respect him, but outwardly you treat him like an old friend. Horangi’s no better, but he doesn’t fully relax around König til they’re off duty, unlike you

it eats at him, he doesn’t look into ‘why’ for months, how you freely touch him absentmindedly, how you make his chest tighten up. he doesn’t understand why his heart sinks when you talk to others, he doesn’t understand why his stomach twists when you talk to him. you’re a teammate, a colleague he trusts, it’s natural for his mind to wander to you. he thinks about Horangi when he passes bars, thinks about how he’d wage bets on whatever game is playing on the dingy screen tucked between liquor shelves. he thinks about Nikto when a stray cat dips into an alley, scruffy and tough like his friend. he thinks about you while thrusting into a stupid fleshlight, gripping it a little too hard as a mixture of his pre and lube drools out of the toy

legs jerking a little when he sinks his cock fully into it, stilling as he breathes heavily. it’s comically small in his hands, eyes glued to where it envelopes him. would you look small like this? he knows you’d be better, bites his lip as he rolls his hips. you’d be warm, searing him from the inside out, comfortable in his hold. eyes fluttering shut, he can barely keep himself together, embarrassment creeping up his throat when he cums after a couple thrusts. he barely has to imagine you before spilling into the toy, moaning through the overestimation as he keeps bucking his hips. he barely got to make you feel good, so he tries again, a lewd mixture of thick white slick making a ring around his cock. he wouldn’t want to leave you unsatisfied, he knows he can do it

the whine that escapes him when he slips out the toy is pitiful, a sob leaving him as he slips two fingers into the fleshlight. he can do it, he promises he can make you cum— brain turning to mush as pumps them, quick movements that coat his hand. you’d make pretty nosies for him, for now he’ll settle for the squelching of lube and cum, frantically working the little hole. would you squeeze around him? he wishes this damn thing could, mind hazy as he sobs out a choked groan. would his fingers not be enough? the thought makes him anxious, suddenly pulling his fingers out. he can eat you out, readjusting himself to lay down, one hand working himself to another orgasm while his other holds the toy. he doesn’t care about his chin and nose getting wet, dumbly mouthing at the fleshlight

he doesn’t mind the mix of lube, cum, and spit, he figures it wouldn’t be different than how he’d treat you. soft murmured praise leaving him for being so good, crooked nose bumping against the toy. you’d tug at his hair, wouldn’t you? watch him lick and suck and worship your body? he can imagine it, feel the phantom touch of your legs over his shoulders, hand sloppily jacking himself off. would you keep up with him? let him manhandle you in bed, toy with you and make you cry out? suddenly he’s tensing up, hips jerking helplessly as he ruins his bedsheets, feet digging into the mattress as he gasps against his toy— against you. it’s normal to think about you, isn’t it? how he imagines you shushing him, petting his hair as buries his face between your thighs, soft little breaths leaving him

he was good, wasn’t he?

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed curled his fingers lightly around Jet's, the sensation of warm hands in his grounding. He turned to Jet, focusing intently on his eyes.

"I--" even at a whisper, his heart raced and his breath caught in his throat, his voice too loud in his own ears.

He wasn't sure how to answer, even if he could.

He'd never really been one for movies, even before he started at Encom, and now that he spent most of his day staring at a computer screen, staring at another screen during his free time was more likely to cause a migraine than help him relax. Today Ed needed the distraction.

He glanced at the stack of DVD cases on the TV stand. Most of them were an eclectic collection of telenovellas, Bollywood, French, Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic films that had once belonged to Hjordis, though Ed did enjoy them when she convinced him to watch them with her. Of the ones that were his were the complete series of Columbo, Deep Space Nine, and the original Scooby-Doo series, The Dead Poets Society, The Goonies, The Princess Bride, Twister, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Jumanji, three different productions of Les Miserables, and several Miss Marple and Sherlock Holmes adaptations.

...Ed wasn't sure he had a favorite.

He had to answer Jet's question. Saying he didn't have one was just... weird.

...There was a Bollywood film he'd seen recently on a whim that reminded him of one of the ones Hjordis had liked.

Three Idiots is good, he gently tapped in Morse Code on Jet's hand.

Ed... didn't quite hear Jet, too lost to his panicked thoughts to really process anything, though warmth of Jet's forehead on his seemed to pull him out of it slightly.

He glanced around for the puzzle book, though even that didn't seem to successfully divert his attention this time.