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obsidiangravity · 11 months ago

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Nikto Gets A Cat

I saw this lovely artwork by @quimera-cami and it possessed me to drop all other WIP to write this.

Summary - Spetsnaz are tasked with guarding a remote location. Can’t ask for a simpler operation really. The only downside for Nikto is having to endure the stifling presence of his teammates. Maintaining what’s left of his sanity in such a tiny house is an exhausting challenge, but at least they all get their own sleeping quarters.

Until Rodion returns from a weekly grocery run with a companion.

Word count - 3.9k

Tags - Fluff, Alcohol, Nikto being nice.

It’s no secret to the closest people in Nikto’s life that he despises cats.

The incessant calls for attention. The hair that seems to overrun everything one owns. Their need to mark and ruin upholstery. His disdain for those common house pets are seen as irrational. Perhaps it's a childhood trauma long forgotten, the unsavoury memories regarding these animals locked away in the dark corners of his mind.

But he disagrees. The extreme hatred is warranted. How could it not? What do they provide other than misery and annoyance. He’s grateful to have been spared the torment of living around one since he joined the military over a decade ago.

So the man is rendered temporarily speechless and imobile when Rodion calls out from behind him on the armchair, “Look at what I found outside the supermarket!” and five kilograms of hissing fluff and fury is dumped on his thighs.

The feline snarls and bares its teeth at the person that dropped it. Long razor-sharp claws dig into Nikto’s flight suit, poking his skin.

He winces, gaze narrowing at the youngest Russian. “What the fuck is this?”

“Mm, it’s a cat,” Rodion mumbles over a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie as he searches for the TV remote and brushes stray crumbs onto the ground. It makes Nikto’s fingers twitch. “Siberian I think?”

Dmitry looks up from his task of chopping potatoes in the scantily sized kitchen, amusement ghosting the corner of his eyes. “Oh, it could be, but they are usually a little bigger, no?”

The cat, in a blur of unruly fur, launches itself off Nikto's lap, nails screeching and scraping the wooden floorboards as it skitters across like one of those rats caught out in the light in this shithole of a house. In a second, the creature vanishes behind a doorway to a bedroom. The one belonging to Maxim.

Rodion clucks his tongue. “Well, someone tell Maxim he has a new roommate when he’s back from patrol.”

An acidic scowl is hidden behind his balaclava when Nikto notices the strands of hair and filth left on his uniform. “Are you soft in the head? Why did you bring it here?”

“Saw her scavenging in the garbage as I was about to return. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“Get rid of it, or I will shoot it.” His voice low and coarse. It is the only response Nikto gives before he stands up, readying to leave for a shift change with Maxim.

Nikto returns twelve hours later after a quiet night, slips out of his worn leather boots to find his single bed occupied.

The feline saw fit to curl up on it and rub dirt on his clean white blankets and pillows. Of course it would be in here, his room is the only empty one.

He’s able to get a better look at it as it sleeps. Dust clings to its matted and tangled cream-coloured fur. Its scrawny figure and ribs are barely concealed by its thick coat. Thin, elegant, almost silver whiskers a contrast to the extremely bushy unkempt tail.

Three small lines of scar run from its right cheek to its velvet-like ear. This is no pampered house pet, it may have been once, however those times were long gone.

He lightly shoos the cat away. It startles from peaceful sleep and hisses, tries to gouge his hand with the tiny daggers on its fingertips, but ultimately scampers off and hides under the bed.

Nikto sighs, long and drawn out. Questioning if he should bother using the back of his rifle like a stick to force it out of his room. He reaches for it, then decides it’s not worth potentially hurting himself from an accidental discharge.

He flips the switch off and collapses on the mattress.

~~~

He wakes up before everyone else again, the sun heating his face through the dusty window. Nikto blinks against the early morning rays and stretches his stiff muscles with a content groan. His toes collide with something furry and soft, and that brief moment of peaceful serenity is disrupted by a sharp scratch to his bare calf.

The half asleep man jerks away from the sting — accidently rolling off the bed. A shoulder and knee takes the full brunt of the fall and the greater pain jolts him fully awake, a “Blyat,” escaping his scarred lips.

The feral animal dashes around the small room, emerald eyes wide, fangs showing and claws unsheath. It howls and arches its back as it realises its trapped between the closed door and him.

Nikto scrambles to his feet, swearing a string of colourful curses that echo against the concrete walls. His jaw tightens. He wonders if he can turn the doorknob to kick it outside without being inflicted with any more injuries.

Goosebumps form on his arms when a deep rumble emits from it, as if it’s charging up an attack. He eyes the AK-47 propped against the wall on the other side of the room. Of course the one time he leaves a firearm out of reach is when he needs it most.

Tentatively, he takes a step forward and in a whirlwind, the infernal creature resumes its frantic scrambling.

It throws itself up onto the bed, rumpling the messy sheets further and jumps on his nightstand. In its rampage of destruction, it knocks the full bottle of vodka over.

It shatters loudly on the oak floor. Large and tiny shards of glass scatter in all directions as the liquid seeps through the planks.

Nikto, who is usually able to repress his anger and known for his stoic composure, lets his vision go red and a roar of unrestrained rage erupts.

He will gut this mangy stray then dump its entrails on Rodion for putting him through this. He has done far worse for less.

The bedroom door creaks open and Devil Incarnate finally dashes out.

A dishevelled Maxim peeks his head and a broad shoulder in, sleep clouding his eyes. “Can you not make so much fucking noise this early?” Then his gaze shifts to the spilled alcohol and groans. “You’re not wasting anymore of the vodka again,” he says and slams the door shut with a resounding thud before Nikto could redirect his fury at him.

He is left to simmer in the aftermath and he swears to drag Rodion’s face across the broken glass if that imbecile doesn’t clean this up.

~~~

It seems an illness has overtaken his comrades.

With its fur clean and brushed, they dote on the cat at every chance it decides to show itself. Regal grace that laid beneath the grime is now allowed to shine. It moves with the arrogance that all cats possess as it struts around the house.

“Oh, what a cute kitten.”

“Look at its shiny gemstone eyes! What a pretty girl.”

Running their fingers through the fur as they coo and play with it. All three of them mull over what to name it. As if it’s a newborn baby and they’re first time parents.

“How about Mishka?” Dmitry asks as he strokes its back. “Look at its silky coat! Nikto, you have to feel this.”

Maxim scratches his stubble. “I prefer Nina.”

“Satan,” Nikto offers, gaze not leaving his book.

“It’s a girl,” Rodion’s faraway voice interjects from the bedroom.

“Baba Yaga.”

“Doesn’t really suit her… Princess?” Maxim suggests.

Nikto flicks to the next page. “Gluttony.”

“I think Anastasia fits this beauty.”

“Garbage Eater.”

That night, he pulls the covers over him with the feline nowhere in sight.

But dawn finds that yet again the whiskered intruder found its way onto the bed near his feet.

Less scratching and hissing this time. He’s able to expel it with only an attempted swat at his arm and minimal destruction. No caterwauls of wildness, or pointed teeth and claws tearing at his blankets thankfully.

~~~

They take pictures and record videos of the nuisance doing the most inane drivel and send them to each other, including Nikto. As if he can’t see the damned cat himself. At this rate, they would probably snap an image of its excrements and praise it for defecating outside by the end of the week.

The cat takes the greatest liking to Dmitry. It’s no mystery why. Twirling about his legs for food at all hours of the day that it’s not sleeping.

And the meowing.

It doesn’t shut up. Always whining, always mewling. Like an alarm siren demanding more and more meals.

The short period where it is not doing that, usually when one of the Bale brothers has the little gremlin on their lap, massaging the soft fur around its ears — it purrs loudly. Impeccably imitating a broken lawnmower.

Nikto has no trouble tolerating most discomforts — the filthiness of a barracks, the lack of sleep during a long operation, numbness from the biting cold of Russian winters. He would endure all of it again over this.

Nobody else seems to be agitated by it. Madness has infected everyone but him. No longer can Nikto read a book or relax with a good bottle of vodka in peace. He enjoyed his lone shifts a little more than the rest of the team before. Solitude is always freeing.

Now, it’s his only solace for true rest.

His equipment, his bed, the whole house, is filled with stray strands of fur. Irritating his nostrils and ruining his clothes. He briefly considers murdering the cat and the idiot that brought it home when he finds a nonhuman hair in his half eaten soup.

The last straw that solidifies their insanity to him is when the living embodiment of chaos vomits a wet furball on the sofa.

They will throw the cat out now for sure. Nikto has no doubts about it.

Except, that does not happen.

They did not throw the cat out.

They mutter words of comfort and pat it on the back, cleans up the mess and offers it a treat.

Nikto occasionally catches the feline watching him from some dimly lit corner. A spark of intelligence in its big round eyes. As if it secretly taunts him, before prowling away.

The following night, he scours his room, getting on all fours to check under his creaking bed frame. His bloodshot eyes strains against the darkness and finds only dust bunnies. No furry form with a demonic glint in its jade irises. Satisfied, he switches off the light and crawls in, the chill of the night seeps through the small crack in the window.

Yet, come morning, the relentless animal inhabits his sheets, purring with satisfaction.

It amazes him that it is able to burrow up so close as he slept again — with him being none the wiser, considering how much of a light sleeper he is. Nikto makes a mental note to seal the window. Clearly the sliver of opening for fresh air is too much to ask for.

He lets out a bone weary sigh, running a hand over his scarred face and rubs his temple. It can stay for now.

It’s not being overtly infuriating. It barely takes up any space. The man observes its sleek fur shining almost golden in the sunlight. Is it as soft as they all say it is?

He reaches for it, his fingers lightly brushes its tail and it lets out a groan of discontent, hopping off the bed, onto the windowsill. It slinks away, landing on the bushes outside.

Nikto watches the raised fluffy tail disappear past the treeline and he pushes the pane fully shut with a resounding snap for tonight.

“She’s nearly done with her moult,” Dmitry comments as he sweeps the tumbleweeds of fur out the front door. There are clumps of it stuck on foliage, mixing with the twigs and leaves.

It’s visually revolting.

When asked why he doesn't simply throw it in the trash, Dmitry says it makes the birds happy to use it for their nests.

Birds don’t nest this close to winter, you moron. Nikto would have loved to retort, only, he realises he doesn’t have the energy for it anymore.

The one upside to the neverending mountain of inconveniences is there seems to be a decrease of rat sightings inside. Perhaps, it’s not as lazy as Nikto originally thought.

He scowls at the empty packet of potato chips left by Rodion on the coffee table. The cat is now far from being the most useless individual in the house.

He lies awake in his bed, watching the shadows of the tree branch right outside his window dance on the wall as the wind jostles it. Sleep has trouble taking him like most days.

As he is about to drift into unconsciousness, an ear grating yowl echoes in the living room through the walls, loud enough to wake the dead.

Nikto huffs and rolls onto his stomach.

It continues. The sounds of the kitchen’s trash can being rummaged and the occasional meow of discontent prevents him from dozing off.

He’s determined to ignore it, maybe yell at someone else to feed it but realises it’s probably useless. Dmitry can sleep through a bombing. Maxim is likely comatose from drinking and nothing less than a gunshot will wake him.

He sits up, fingers reaching for his balaclava, fully intending to throw some biscuits in its food bowl so it can leave him alone.

The moment he pries open the door, the feline sprints in and beelines underneath his mattress.

Nikto narrows his eyes, tired brain is slow to process what exactly occurred. A defeated exhale leaves his lips and pushes his door shut, returning to bed.

He has grown to expect the cat to claim the territory beside his left foot and is careful not to nudge it come morning.

~~~

Frantic scratching on worn oak is like fingernails on a chalkboard, agitating Nikto's taut nerves. It wasn't just the sound, but the urgency behind it.

He’s not the only person home, someone else can let it out.

He tries to ignore it and focus on his task. Cleaning firearms is a silent and soothing experience. It helps to clear his mind when he needs it most.

The scraping intensifies.

Nikto unclenches his jaw — gently places down the bolt carrier and oil stained cloth, and stands up.

Boots thudding on the floor as he marches to the source of the noise.

The cat paws at the front door and wails. Wanting to be let out. It looks at Nikto as he turns the corner. Its face saying, please I need to leave.

I need to leave right now.

He unlatches the steel lock and pulls the door open. The feline hesitates, its miniature nose twitching, testing the cool air and the scents wafting in.

Frosty blue irises flash in anger. “You wanted to leave? Then go!” His free hand gestures to the open space outside.

Seconds stretch into a minute.

It stands there. Peering outside. Then, with a flick of its tail, turns and walks away, returning to its favourite spot on the kitchen counter by the window.

Nikto watches it, a mixture of confusion and realisation settling in his chest. It gives him a side eye that speaks volumes before it lays down and gazes out the glass.

He had served this creature. Catered to her whims. Ungratefulness aside, he feels used.

~~~

Nikto leaves for his shift just like any other night. Familiar weight of his rifle in one hand. Vodka in the other. Stars glittering in the sky.

He settles down at his usual spot in the outpost overlooking the area he’s meant to guard. As he’s about to peel back the fabric of his mask to take a sip, a crunch of dry leaves alerts him to a presence not too far from his left.

Drink forgotten, muscle memory and instincts take over, he raises his gun in the direction of the intruder. Two glowing orbs look back at him, and then an inquisitive meow.

Low and behold, it’s Garbage Eater.

Exasperation washes over him. He lowers his firearm and stares at it.

The cat saunters up to his feet, rubbing its face on his boots.

Nikto silently grieves his allotted hours of privacy robbed away and sits back down. How did it even follow him? He was not as alert as he usually is compared during a mission, but for it to have not been detected since he left the house is a feat.

Surprisingly, it keeps a respectable distance. Choosing to lick its hand an arms length away.

He finally gives in. The Russian reaches out to run a hand over its back. A throaty groan of protest erupts.

Nikto stops. Fair enough. He doesn’t like being touched either.

As the night deepens, he offers little bits of chicken from his food container while they sit in tranquil company together. He will never admit to it if asked, but the presence of decent companionship is something he craves. Dmitry is pleasant and respectful, however he can be a little too worried more often than not. That man is not subtle. Nikto catches every glance of concern, every time his lips pull into a hard line.

Animals don’t do that. They don’t have any questions of his mental state barely held back on the tips of their tongues.

Sometimes when it gets too quiet, his thoughts can be overwhelming. Fragmented memories from his past come slithering back. Lately, he has been unable to keep them at bay.

Every now and then, a new door opens, and he often doesn’t like what comes out of it.

Maybe it senses his mood, or maybe it’s just cold, it inches closer to sit beside him for the remainder of the shift. Its green eyes full of concern.

When they return to the house together, the cat doesn’t have to sneak into his bedroom.

~~~

Tiny gifts in the form of dead rats are deposited in his quarters every so often. He could dispose of it normally, but he throws them into Rodion’s room. It grants Nikto a small bit of satisfaction whenever a screech of disgust sounds throughout the house, usually after that man returns from his shift.

A week passes and Nikto wakes up with a feather duster-like object in his face.

It seems that the cat, perhaps emboldened in the darkness, gained some courage and moved upwards long past midnight. She sneaked up close beside his chest as he was sleeping. Her padded foot, soft and warm, rests against his bicep with an easy pressure, tail tickling his cheeks.

She had stuck to the end of his mattress every day before this.

Her forehead nudges his hand, seeking contact, and she rubs her long whiskers against his open palm.

Sundown arrives sooner, the days grow colder and Nikto quickly discovers she likes to be squashed by his arm.

The cat blinks and carefully leaps over him to situate herself in the small space between him and the wall. She sniffs Nikto’s hand curiously and rubs her cheeks against it before rolling into a ball. He buries his fingers into her soft fur and closes his eyelids.

He knows she only pursues his company for his warmth. He doesn’t mind it. His nail traces patterns in her coat and she stretches languidly. Maybe it's not just her seeking him. Maybe he craves the physical touch too.

It has been too long, he realises, since he has hugged another living thing. To feel the pulsing of a heartbeat against his fingertips. It is not so bad afterall.

The even vibration of her purrs lulls him to a dreamless slumber.

He hears the rhythmic clacking of claws on the hardwood floor before the cat jumps onto the armrest. She puts a gentle paw on Nikto’s forearm and meows.

Nikto hums, the words of his fantasy novel momentarily blurring. “What do you need this time?” he grumbles.

Everyone else left ten minutes ago, a rarity. He has plans to finish this book today.

Unfazed by his hollow annoyance, she steps onto his lap and does a few circles before settling down.

He shifts in his chair, trying to find a position that’s more comfortable for them both. “I’m reading a story, do you want to hear it?”

She looks at him knowingly and yawns. Nikto clears his throat, he begins reading with a soft voice that feels unfamiliar, it has been a long time since he last used this tone.

At some point, her eyes drift close and her breathing deepens, yet he continues.

Nikto couldn't help but see the similarities they share. They both exude an independence born out of necessity. He runs a calloused thumb over her old scars. They’re both survivors. No other person he met has understood it truly. Though with the way she regards him, the reserved man thinks she might.

~~~

Nikto takes the last bottle of Five Lakes on a hunt with him before Maxim could — he can have whatever slop is left.

It’s been years since he had hunted, nevertheless, he still remembers how to track deer and rabbits.

Gloved hand securely clutching the cool glass, he ventures further east.

People argue that vodka isn't for taste. Nikto disagrees.

He values the smooth, barely detectable flavour, a welcomed change to the generic liquor he usually endured on duty. To him, the subtle burn is appreciated. He doesn’t think his alcoholic comrade can tell the difference.

It’s not that he can’t handle the harsh taste, he would simply rather get drunk with a minimal amount of hangover.

He’s not surprised when he hears the rustle of grass and the well-accustomed to call of his four legged companion behind him after he crouches down to inspect the gnawed on vegetation.

She trots up, her sleek form brushing against his thighs and investigates the leaves, sniffing it with a delicate nose.

“Can you hunt rabbits as well as rats?”

She flicks a ear and chirps in response.

Nikto takes that as a yes.

Undeterred by the distant rumble of thunder above, they proceed further, the sparse canopy offers little protection as tiny droplets soon begin to rain down upon them.

Eventually, the soil grows too damp for her liking and she tries scaling up his leg, tips of her claws latching on to his thigh muscle through the thick fabric.

She advances quickly, her pointed nails has no trouble finding purchase on the straps and gear tied to him. Nikto hisses and grips her to his chest with his forearm before she can make it any higher.

She calms instantly, feeling secured in his solid hold.

The mild drizzle subsides quickly, leaving the forest dripping and smelling of fresh earth. However the once stray Siberian forest cat has no desire to return to the damp ground.

He purses his lips and takes a deep breath. “Fine.”

He can’t use his hunting rifle with one hand and he refuses to let her on his shoulders. Daylight is about to leave anyway. Won’t be a terrible decision to return.

As the sun dips below the horizon, dousing the hills with the warm colour of fire, Nikto observes the sky and settles on the grass, Garbage Eater curling up on his lap in content silence — he thinks that having a pet cat isn’t the worst thing in the world.

#nikto #cod nikto #call of duty #cod mw #call of duty mw #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #call of duty MW19 #call of duty MWII #call of duty mw2 #Dmitry Bale #Maxim Minotaur Bale #Nikodim Rodion Egorov #MW19 Spetsnaz

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andreas-river · 3 months ago

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THE PRICE OF AGONY

TW: angst, hurt/no comfort, written with f!reader in mind. And I definitely trauma dumped on this. I wrote this a long time ago inspired by the song "The Price Of Agony" by Fit For A King.

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader

A/N: requests are open!

Since you grew up, you knew perfectly that you should always be careful. Careful with yourself, with decisions, with friends and lovers. Those stern words pronounced by your mother repeated themselves like a broken record, reminding you of all those mistakes, guilt tripping inside your stomach and twisting your insides painfully — your heart burning still in shame.

So weak, so stupid, revealing your secret about loving someone who never dared to spare a word with you. The cup of tea Dmitry gave you was already cold between your hands, losing yourself in the reflection of the liquid. 'Never forget to drink something when you feel down', a small attempt of babysitting you after that day, still feeling everyone's eyes on you the moment you stepped inside the cafeteria, now empty and with only the ticking sound of the clock in the background, the low lights helping you blend within the darkness.

It felt good being hidden in it, far away from the spotlight — but you never imagined it would happen. She looked so trustworthy, always inviting you with others comrades at lunch and asking you so many questions — maybe that was the reason, you lowered all of your defenses in front of her, telling her that you liked someone of your squad, telling her his name with a hushed tone with your heart thumping wildly in your chest. You recalled your own words, because you still didn't know what drove you so much to him, enveloped in an enigmatic aura, with so many pieces around that made it difficult putting them together and figuring out the whole picture of the puzzle.

But why did it hurt so much?

Not even crying helped, since it only made your heart hurt even more, a weight pressing down on it and making breathing a difficult task, quiet sobs turn into loud gasps, the full cup of tea already forgotten in the table, burying your head between your knees, the same position you found yourself so many times when you were younger — and even if you were now a full grown adult, nothing changed at all.

You sink into yourself even more, closing your eyes and failing to notice the looming shadow behind the door.

He didn't move, forgetting to breathe. He felt the same too, long nights spent to cry his pain out, failing miserably as the first ray of the sun lightened his room. He, too, chose the darkness as his safest place — no one would judge, no one would see him, only his voices inside his head making the place too damn loud. He was silent, always alone, but he didn't fail to notice you, or the mess you found yourself in the other day. Everyone was talking about you, making him wish that he could shut them all up for good.

He left his room only when necessary, and tonight was an exception. He shouldn't be there listening to your cries, but he couldn't stop himself when he heard Dmitry mumbling something about making some more tea for you, since you skipped meals lately and worrying about your health. Lying to himself was impossible, facing the truth inside him, but he didn't dare to step inside. It would hurt you even more if in that moment you saw the cause of your pain right in front of your very eyes.

He once believed that love was something that one day would be part of him, but that was in the past, a past once more colorful, his days now filled in gray and sorrow. They were screaming inside his head, one of them telling him to go away and never look back, but another one to close the distance between him and your shaking form.

He didn't listen to them at all, feeling stuck in his steps for the first time. He could've done more, but he remained still with his back on the wall, with closed fists hanging at his sides, knowing too well that he did not deserve you, all of that love you had — you couldn't waste it for him anymore.

Managing to take a step further away and resolved to go back to his room, his boots stopped again when a familiar figure was standing still and watching him, the undecipherable look on Dmitry's face stopping him in his tracks.

---

You massaged your neck for the umpteenth time that morning, muscles too stiff from the uncomfortable position you fell asleep nights ago on that chair of the cafeteria, waking up only one hour later, the fragrance of the tea barely present in the air. You manage to drink it in a few sips, the cold liquid leaving a bittersweet taste on your tongue — you definitely forget to put sugar in it, putting the cup away and taking some more minutes to stretch your stiff bones.

The days passed too slowly for your liking, distractedly listening to Rodion as he talked about which tablet purchasing since his old one abandoned him to met his tragic fate, and he couldn't stop complain for a single moment — he was almost at the end of a TV serie, and he wanted to see it so bad but he couldn't anymore. You felt grateful since he didn't bring that subject at all, saving you from the shame you still felt on your skin.

That topic still burned inside you like a flame, the only thing stuck on your mind, and not even listening to Rodion's banter helped to take your mind off. If you were called on a mission, you would definitely be in big trouble, and you were pretty sure that with that unfocused mind of yours you would end up killed sooner than later — a voice in your head whispering that it wouldn't be that bad, at least you wouldn't face that shame anymore.

You shook your head — no, you shouldn't have those thoughts even if you were joking, they were a deep hole you had already closed years ago—

"You are not listening to me, aren't you?"

A new wave of shame washed over you, going back to reality and where Rodion actually stopped his complaints. He sighs, adjusting himself to fully face you, his face strangely serious as he stares at your blank expression. He barely showed his sensitive side to anyone, protected by his exuberant behavior and a smirk always plastered on his face. No one could ever imagine him to be like that.

"Why don't you talk to him?" His tone is obvious, like stating obvious facts, making you roll your eyes annoyed.

Your angry stare doesn't make him falter at all, raising his brows and crossing his arms on his chest, trying to enforce his suggestion. Maybe he was right, but how in the world you could even talk to him, his mere presence in the same room made you desire that invisibility was a real thing, and not only from some movies you saw during your childhood.

"And what should I say to him?" the lump in your throat made your words out like a whine, swallowing before continuing. "He already knows everything, because everyone knows."

"Ask him something — anything it's better than nothing." You can easily say that he was really thinking hard, his eyes lost in front of him as he was thinking of a way to help.

And it makes you actually smile, after all of those days passed alone in your room, reminding you that you weren't alone. But when you realize that it doesn't make you feel any better, somehow it was your own selfishness that made you get up, telling him that you were going to think about it, at least — one of the worst lies you've ever said in your entire life, you leave your smile behind. Maybe it's better this way, while everything will remain the same as ever — like strangers.

#nikto #call of duty #nikto x fem reader #nikto x reader #nikto mwii #mwii nikto #call of duty nikto #cod nikto #nikodim rodion egorov #request open #cod #cod mwii #taking commisions #taking requests #cod mw #call of duty mw2

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kommandokawaii · 2 months ago

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Just a bunch of cute, cuddly chibi Operators

Can you still recognize them all? Let me know in the comments!

#cute #kawaii #chibi #call of duty #cod #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw19 #mw19 #cod mw19 #nikodim rodion egorov #gromsko #sebastian krueger

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evilfrogcereal29 · 1 month ago

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I finished the design for werewolf!nikto, he looks small in the drawing but I imagine him to be 2x larger than the extinct dire wolf, so about 260ibs and standing at a terrifying 6'8 on his hind legs, He is LARGE, I'm just a bad artist. I thought up some hcs while drawing this:

TWs: hcs about torture/scars/injuries, transformation, translated german, Mentions of killing people brutally, and I think thats all enjoy!

- Will not kill Krueger, but he does deliver a nasty bite/nip to the austrian when he ticks him off (like when he refuses to give head pats, the fucking audacity...>:|)

- became a werewolf PRE-Nikto. Got attacked on a mission a few months before his capture by Victor Zakhaev. Its why they kept him alive as long as they did. once they found out about his... Condition. They sought to brainwash and use Nikto as a living weapon... You can tell how well that went...

- he was tortured in both his wolf and human form, usually collared and chained up. The damage to either form carries over. I think he gained his facial injuries in his human form, as well as the damage to his lips, removed fingernails, and torso, while his legs were injured in his wolf form, shaved, beaten, and set on fire. The scars still appear on his hands and legs in human form, the skin rough and textured. His tail was also cut off in this form, leaving him with a little nub :(

- the extra blood and cuts on his legs in the image are from whatever trouble I imagine he got into just before, probably from eating an entire small town, I think he gets injured a lot in this form. he’s usually completely feral, banging into anything and fighting everything in his path.

- he found protection under the alligence, where his status as a werewolf was kept hush hush, only Nikolai & Kamarov were supposed to know, but the guys in spetsnaz, and Krueger found out about it as well.

- nobody suspected anything for a long time, and Nikto had a schedule he'd follow to keep himself and everyne safe, but...nikto slipped up a few times, one of these times, he chased poor Nikodim through the halls in the dead of night, his girlish scream filling the halls, before getting chased all the way back by maxim with a rifle.

- he was basically forced to confessed after that night, with surprisingly calm reactions from his peers, they were a team after all, they needed Nikto. Rodion very calmly asked that Nikto never fucking chase him like that ever again, a rare moment of seriousness from the smaller man, who still had tears in his eyes and a pouty face from the traumatic event, that made Nikto nod with embarrassment. He was just hungry… can you really be that mad? (Yes)

- Krueger was also a slip up, but one that went entirely different. Nikto was having a few drinks, sharing stories with the insane man, when he felt a tingling, a prickling, all over his body. His body hair stood up, and started to thicken and spread under his clothes. He’d lost track of time. he looks out the window, realizing the moon was high in the air, it’s curse reaching out to claim him. His fists clenched and he shot up from his seat trembling, taking Krueger aback.

-Krueger tries to help the best he can, trying to put a hand on the other’s shoulder, to ask if he’s ok. But Nikto pulls away the second he makes contact, an unusual snarl emitting from his throat, telling Krueger to step back.

- he begged for Krueger to leave, to run. They were fucked in in the head, and loved to be rough with one another, and push each others limits, but Nikto always had control in those times. Here, he could not guarantee his control, his teeth sharping, with more pushing out of his gums, the feeling excruciatingly painful. His words turn into ragged growls and barking. His bones snapping and twisting as he takes on his alternate form. Krueger is stood in horror and twisted fascination. He was never a cowardly man, he would not run from his friend, no matter the form. Surely he could deal with this like any of Nikto’s other issues..

- but before long Nikto is snapping at him with jagged fangs and taking swings with his clawed paws, but Krueger is quick, dodging, while attempting to talk sense into his friend, Nikto, it’s me! Snap out of it!

- there’s a chase, and just as Krueger finds himself in a pinch, with Nikto just about ready to rip his face off, he reaches out a timid hand. His voice laced with hesitance as he decides his next words carefully. He chuckles nervously,

- “ohoho..be a good dog, ja? Clawing my eyes out would not be very good-“ Nikto suddenly lunges and he flinches, a hand moves to the top of the wolf’s head, pushing back against its forehead, stopping him from getting any closer.

-he can feel the monster tense under his touch, and a shivering, as if this monster is just as unsure as him now too. He peeks an eye open to see his hand buried in the fur on top of Nikto’s head. The monster looking at him with familiar blue eyes, there’s something… emotional in those eyes.. a realization? Perhaps his touch brought back a memory, a reminder of their bond?

“Nikto? Are you still in there?” He asks and the ears of the creature perk up at the sound of its own name, of course his friend is still there, he watched him transform into it, but.. after everything he wasn’t sure if this was just some sick game the creature was playing with his food before biting out his throat.

- the werewolf tilts his head in understanding, a whine eliciting from his maw. And Krueger let’s a small grin fall naturally back onto his face. That’s his (boy)friend right there. Just... different.

- Krueger's hand started to stroke the mangled fur, and was met with a suprsingly positive reaction, Nikto nuzzling into his hand. Letting out a relieved huff as dogs do.

- Krueger's always been a dog person, so loving Nikto as one came just as easy as loving him when he was human. That and he realized himself how useful nikto could be- except he wasn't forcing Nikto this time. He would utitlize his powers with Nikto willingly by his side, absolutely shredding enemies up in the dead of night.

-sicking Nikto on an enemy base and watching Nikto absorb bullets and bite enemies whole heads off >:3

- the rest periods after these are long and difficult, normal nikto is not as strong, the adrenaline no longer puming through him meaning the pain he indured but couldn't feel in that state was just hitting him now. Nikto definitely perfers doing missions in his human form instead.

- krueger giving him the biggest belly rubs known to man, "you're just a big puppy dog aren't you? Oh mein guter Junge.." he cooes

- Nikto won't talk about it in human form, he will punch krueger's shoulder if he teasingly asks if he can pet human Nikto's belly throughout the day, or wave a treat in his face. Its not funny. (Its just a little funny)

- overall he's a good boy, 10/10 would let him maul me and i'd still give him a treat :)

Ty hope u enjoyed reading these and my art :)

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