#nikto x f!reader

[celestialprincesse]

I’m not sure if you’ll write for Nikto or maybe even angst? Need to feel something, ignore if you’re not comfortable!

I was thinking neighbor!Nikto x civilian hyper fem!reader she just wants to get close to this masked, mean older man but he doesn’t want to hurt this sweet lil thing that’s always so loving towards him and the thought is scaring them away because of the way he looks TERRIFIES the poor man :(

Always down for when you write König. Love your lil wrinkly brain and all its ideas and words. Mwuah! Smooch!

how have I never written him before omg? I need to write more Nik & König💖 I cannot write angst for shit but pls enjoy n e ways 💕

You're on his doorstep again. Another plate too. Nikto knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should try and ignore you - maybe pretend that no one's home, not that he'd really be able to get that by you when his car is parked in the driveway and the lights are on. With a sigh, the front door is opened, and you're faced with the unmoving presence of your new neighbour, a balaclava covering most of his face, a black hoodie pulled on over top just for good measure.

"You are here again." He observes flatly, unable to contain the way his eyes widen as you bounce from foot to foot in your frilly little skirt. "I bought sharlotka!" You chirp, having practised the Russian pronunciation as you baked the cake, and on the short walk over to his home. Nikto observes the cake with a scrutinising eye before hesitantly inviting you into his home. Shame burns his features when he can't help but to stare at your ass as you make your way inside. "Yes. I can see that."

You refuse to let his indifferent tone deter you as you place the plate down on his table, before just sort of lingering awkwardly in his kitchen, holding the plate of cake out to him like an offering. "I will bring you back the plate tomorrow." Is his obvious dismissal, which has you scurrying back to his front door, waving a clearly disappointed goodbye.

You're not so easy to get rid of.

The next time you see him is in the grocery store, an ideal location for your flawless plan to unfold. Kind of flawless. Not really very well thought out but you're desperate to win his attention. If that means baking so many Russian desserts that they're up to your ears, or conveniently cornering him in the store, that's what you'll do. "I'm so sorry!" The sound of your squeak rings in Nikto's ears as he turns around with lightning speed to steady your shoulders. You like the way his hands envelop your entire pink-clad biceps as he frowns down at you. "Hello, again." The way your ears perk up at his thickly accented voice doesn't go missed by Nikto, and he allows himself to wish, just for a moment, that he could have you as his. He wonders what it would be like to shop for groceries with you, to go home and stock the fridge. He wonders whether you'd let him bend you over the kitchen countertop or fuck you in nothing but the frilly pink apron he's seen you wear through your kitchen window. You're far too precious for that. Far too pretty for a man like him. So why do you keep coming back, stupid girl.

"I made stroganoff." You chirp, shooting him your best puppy eyes, trying to find a chip in the armour that must be there somewhere. He is, after all, just a man. "That is nice." He grunts, handing you back your basket, taking a step back. Maybe if he stays away from you physically, his mind will follow suit. "I was wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner. With me."

God, he'd love to come for dinner with you. He'd like to help set the table, and eat a hearty meal prepared by someone who cares for him enough to learn to cook the meals he ate as a child. He'd love to spend the evening with you, bring you a nice bottle of wine and wrap his arms around your waist as you tidy up, press kisses down the back of your neck and smell your sweet perfume up close.

"I am busy tonight."

[mariamakeslemons]

Kinktober 2024: Day 21 Monsterfucking/ Shower sex

Warning: Mention of past torture, mention of animalistic shifting (not bestiality, but beast like appendages), blood mention

This is an offshoot of Spooktober Day 2

Nikto doesn’t know how he’s ended up in your shower, but he’s relishing under your soft touch. So careful with his healed skin, you went out to get delicate bodywash and shampoo, smelling nothing like your usual scent. However, he forgives it as you and he now smell similar. As his mate, you should smell like him.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” you ask, gently rubbing at his skin. Nikto shakes his head and leans against you, soaking in your body heat happily. You hum softly, continuing to clean him. He watches you, his hands settling on your hips and he squeezes. Your hum cuts off for a moan and he freezes, his eyes dilating as the scent of arousal fights through the water falling.

“Again,” he rasps, squeezing your hips again. You gasp instead, but the burst of arousal occurs again. Nikto’s mouth waters, his eyeteeth itching in his gums as he bends down to get a good smell. Your hands wrap around him and pull him close without fear, even baring your throat to him.

“Too sweet,” he rumbles, dragging his teeth over your skin. You sigh, pressing even closer and not saying anything as his cock hardens against your hip. Nikto recalls your bewilderment at how his cock looks. Once, it had been described as a monster bitch breaker with breeder balls (a mouthy prostitute had said that and it stayed in his head ever since weirdly enough), but the torture that made him Nikto didn’t spare his cock or balls. Half of his cock’s skin is heavily burned and missing one of his testes. However, you also blew him without complaint and he managed to coat your face in cum all the same.

You show how little you care about how it looks again as you gently take his cock in hand and start jerking it. Nikto groans and humps against your hand, nuzzling against your throat as his nails grow and sharpen to claws on your hips. His skin tightens and scales, his teeth sharpening in his mouth as hair grows on his back and the palms of his hand. You laugh softly, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

“Are you that pent up?” you ask, “You’re shifting into your vampire form.”

“Yessss,” Nikto hisses, bucking his hips as his feet shift into a form better for water hunting. Again, you laugh, stepping back from him and turning to bare your ass for Nikto.

“Well then,” you declare, looking over your shoulder and shaking your ass at him, “Let’s let some of that energy out.” Nikto rumbles and crowds against you, his cock taking a more animalistic form with a knot to heighten the chance of getting a mate pregnant. He presses in, drooling and growling as he fucks into you. The gasps and whines you make are sweet, almost enough for him to not bite you. Almost.

“Nikto!” you cry out as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He licks at your blood, purring happily as that sweet red elixir slides down his throat. You’re marked as his mate and his feeder, a perfect little “wife” all for him.

“Mine,” he snarls, snapping his hips into you. You moan and claw desperately at the tile wall, looking for something to hold onto desperately. Nikto can’t have that, he needs to control your movements, make sure you’re ready for his seed. He fucks into you desperately, repeating, “Mine, mine, mine.” A chant, a song, a form of salvation. He needs you all sweet and soft, all ready for him to fill up, to breed full, to create a family of little monsters like him. A few more thrusts and his eyes roll back as he comes inside you. The noise you make is heaven sent, clenching and clinging to his cock as you cum too. Eventually, you slide back, leaning against his chest as his monstrous form reverts, leaving a human-looking man in its place.

“Good for me,” he soothes, already planning to take you out of the slick shower and onto the soft bed for another round. You whimper, sliding down and dragging Nikto with you. He sputters, surprised at his loss of strength while sliding down with you. You let out a dopy laugh as he quietly curses in Russian, although he still presses soft kisses to your bite mark as an apology.

[paradlselost]

⠀ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ILYSFM ۶ৎ

UPCOMING FANFICTIONS INSPIRED BY THE GLASS ANIMALS ALBUM OF THE SAME NAME ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

SHOW PONY — hughie campbell ; the boys . “ it’s how the story goes , ramen on your own . waiting by the phone , lipstick on the coat . waiting by the door , you live in his clothes - you would make a joke that you had none of your own . ”

WONDERFUL NOTHING — nikto ; call of duty . “ say ‘ i might throw up ’ i’d say ‘ burn in hell ’ but they’d hate you too . in my mind i’m annotating you . did your mom tell you to ‘ close it ’ when you chew ? ”

A TEAR IN SPACE — billy lenz ; black christmas “ i climb into your walls , i’m where the spiders go . i’m here but you aren’t sure . what are you waiting for ? stretch me like leather rope , make me invisible . ”

HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB — dean winchester ; supernatural “ split like a thunderstruck tree trunk or maybe the splits in your knuckles . split in the lip that you lick too much . ”

WHITE ROSES — victoria nueman ; the boys “ one day you’ll move on , put me in a drawer . I’ll just be a ghost in the photos on your phone . and you’ll see a sunny side , shows i never liked , you can put them on , put the clap track in your life . ”

ON THE RUN — john seed ; far cry 5 “ it all seems smaller so far away and i miss that noise you make when you sleep . i turn back - now my scars and my stains - and i’m back before you know i escaped . ”

LOST IN THE OCEAN — gale dekarios ; baldurs gate “ fog on the glass where i drew something . up comes the water , can’t see the coast , my heart is dragging on the ocean floor . laughing and crying , staring at my lunch . i wanna scream at the top of my lungs . ”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

An Ode To Greed

Nikto x F!Reader || Smut Drabble W. An Utterly Down Bad Man (AKA Nikto)

No Dark Themes - Body worship, praise/dirty talk, p in v, edging, implied overstim, cunnilingus, implied somnophilia (but it's totally up to you), domestic Nikto, implied dom/sub & switch dynamics, etc. Minors interacting will be blocked.

Nikto was nothing less than an attentive lover. 

Many days you found the man already done with the chores before you had the chance to get up—the light spilling through the curtains on his day off from KorTac. He was an early riser, the large Russian, always itching to move and to get his mind going. The mornings were organized, methodical, and always delicately thought out to the last detail: what cup he would use for his tea—black tea, of course, with lemon—to what he would clean first. Even down to the ingredients of the breakfast he would make you, leveled and weighed on the kitchen counter waiting for his experienced hand.

You left the cooking to him, and he never disappointed. 

But…on the very rare days Nikto chose to sleep in, that body as big and as all-consuming as a bear rumbling right next to yours, it was something to greedily latch at like a cat with a toy. Luckily, your influence was the one thing that could always reduce the Russian to a panting dog in heat. 

“Птичка,” Nikto grunts harshly into your ear, his hand grasping your hip as your breasts jerk along the mattress under you. Your mouth is open in a feral example of drunk pleasure, fingers kneading the ruined sheets. “Good girl, yes? Taking it so deep for us, this cunt.”

You whine loudly, eyes clenching shut as the sounds of wet rutting echo in your ringing ears. Your legs shake, backside up and chest stuck to the bed with Nikto’s shadow looming, repeating the action of grinding his cock in and out of your weeping slit one shove of his pelvis at a time. Everything about him was large, down from his appetite to his need for sex—you were always happy to feed him in whatever way possible. 

Nikto’s hand rubs up and down your thigh, pulling himself back to grip the both of them tightly and watch, sweat dripping down his throat. The cold eyes widen at the sight of your pussy taking him down one increasingly fast thrust at a time, the shine of your slick staining his thighs, slipping down where it cools and adds to the dichotomy of temperatures. 

“Speak,” he licks his lips, pushing your sleep shirt higher up your back with a flexing hand. He needs to watch. Nikto flights down a shaky breath, head tilting to the side as your walls tighten. The Russian groans throatily, clenching his teeth and bearing them like a mutt.

He’s been edging you for hours, a near-cruel way to see your eyes go glossy and drool to pool on the sheets. He almost gave in multiple times—particularly when he’d been tongue-deep into you, running his calloused thumb over your clit as your thighs trapped his head at your core. The remnants still drip from the divots of his facial scars, and he licks at the corner of his mouth to taste once more with a grunt of worshiping satisfaction. 

Delicious.

When you can’t utter up more than a writhing whimper, nostrils flaring for air and lungs heaving, you hear his low chuckle before fingers grasp your chin firmly and pull. A tongue finds the side of your angled face as you’re trapped against his bulky chest, his arm strapping your side as the muscle leaves a long stripe of saliva over your jaw.

The angle leaves him thrusting up, and his free hand travels slowly from your waist to your pulsing bundle of nerves, tapping your flesh cunningly as he goes.

You moan brokenly through an agonizing electricity of senses, head snapping back to Nikto’s shoulder as your hips jerk; back arching as the tension in your body grows ever stronger. 

You needed it—you needed to let go, feel the devastating breaking of your release slamming through you. 

“Speak,” Nikto grinds out into your ear as tears slip from the corner of your eyes—teeth bite all along your neck, thighs smashing into the back of yours. All the while, rapid circles run over your clit, and the sounds follow a feral rhythm that would leave no question to anyone else as to what was going on in this bedroom. It was the way you’d been reduced to nothing but a toy for him to ring pleasure out of that made this perfect—starting so greedily that you’d had him all to yourself this morning; letting his eyes roll into the back of his head as you’d rode him, his arms shaking as his spend had filled you, spilling out over his lower body when he’d finally finished his broken thrusting. 

“Nikto,” you stutter, biting your lip and feeling every inch of his cock bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm that you’d been begging for ages to let loose. “Please, fuck, please, I’m so close.”

“Да,” Nikto grunts, holding you closer as you quiver in a deliriously confused arousal, playing with you. He smirks, but you know the tension in his abdomen that builds and builds against your spine. The man pants, cruising out in growled Russian under his breath, heavy and hard. He barks, “Can feel it. We know your little squirms by now, hm? We know that way your eyes roll back—your pretty pussy, Птичка. She is too good for me,” Niko smirks into your skin, taking a deep breath as his fantasies take over, hot breath puffed into your slick flesh. “I can’t help but want to leave her begging one more time, just to watch how she will flutter.”

“Please!” You sob, hands clawing behind to grasp at the man’s head, shoving it further into your neck as your body tightens, legs all but numb. The Russian grumbles in approval, liking the way your nails drag his close-shorn hair. “Fuck, Nikto, please, I need it so bad.”

It was like you’d lost your mind and your dignity all at once. 

“We know,” Nikto’s scars move up and down your back, and you can sense every rub and caress of them intimately. To have him in this way was as addictive as it was the first time. 

Nikto bites more and more at your shoulders, nipping your ear and inhaling your scent—so much like a dog it was pathetic the way he was obsessed with your body; your orgasm. While you had no trouble coaxing one out of him in whichever way you desired, he always made yours a spectacle and a mystery. Rope, toys, blindfolds…there was only a limit if you said there was one, and that was something that only needed to be said once.

But there was something to be worshipped about the raw, animalistic, desperate fucking with Nikto that never seemed to get old. Especially when it was in your bed, especially when you had watched his cold eyes be blown wide by lust as his cock grew hard, especially when you could spend the rest of the day naked in your penthouse; skin on skin, switching dominance like a coin to be tossed. 

Nikto was good at giving you exactly what you wanted, and not an inch less. So different from the standoffish brute that he showed to everyone else. Nonetheless, he was, you suppose, still that same brute—but your brute. And, fuck, if he wasn’t using you like a perfect deadly instrument in his arsenal, making sure you worked properly. 

Your breath is cut off to gasped moans, lower body vibrating and cunt so wet that the sloping suck of Nikto’s stained cock was heard and felt far more violently. 

The man’s gargantuan hand spreads from your flesh to press into your abdomen, and you sob loudly at the sensation of thin skin above the indent of a prodding mound; nails almost drawing blood from where they drag at Nikto’s head.

“Please,” you repeat as if a broken record. “Oh, Nikto, please, fuck—”

“Shh,” Nikto shushes, still abusing your clit before he presses his previously prodding hand above your heart, in the process, groping at your breast; kneading as you place open-mouthed and saliva-dripping kisses to the beast’s chin—a coy attempt to please him into allowing you your nearing release. 

Nikto’s fingers push and pull, and your walls strangle him just right until his balls are betraying him, tensed and near bursting as he grunts and groans, all of his words a garble of gravel and sandpaper. 

The accent, while it lets you know he’s just as desperate as you are when it gets like that, only makes the knot in your stomach flare with friction. You loved it when he was minutes away from breaking.

“Want to feel your heart stutter.” It’s more of a command than a suggestion, and your hips try to meet his rutting as best as they can, arms losing strength as the pressure mounts you as Nikto does. Voice a harsh grind, he accentuates his point by pushing you back down the mattress all the way, getting the angle he needs to pound into the softest part of your cunt as you keen so loud you’re thankful you have the place all to yourselves because you can’t stop making sounds you can’t be described. Your body is bent and pushed to the limit, sweat and the scent of sex potent in your nose. 

Nikto fucks like it’s the last time you’ll ever take his cock. 

“Want to know the exact moment you claw for air again when you gasp it all away, my Птичка. My sweet little Птичка. Drug to my senses, yes? Can never take cunt unless it’s yours,” his voice grows faster, breathier, English words slurring until he divulges into his mother tongue, losing all sense beyond how you suck him in and squeeze him—warm walls inviting and the only place to spill himself. He can’t even jerk off anymore; you’ve ruined it for him. 

He needs to fill you up until he has nothing left to give: the only mission that he’d complete time and time again with no complaints or second guesses. The only mission that mattered. 

Nikto barks and spits, biting your flesh as you plead one last time.

“Tell me,” you all but shout. “Tell me I can—”

“Да!” Is the reverberating answer, and the way your body immediately responds is nothing short of utter devotion. 

Your body seizes, shoving itself into the mattress as the headboard slams into the wall, arching and toes curling—the knot in your core snaps as if cut by a crude knife, sawing you in half as your release gushes to flood out of the ring of Nikto’s plug. 

The Russian’s hand over your breast squeezes as you ride out your high on him, Nikto’s own orgasm rising to meet yours as it always does, only able to get off after he knows he’s done a good job of pleasing you. His scarred face buries itself into your neck, mouth open as his silent release is accented by the small, cut-off, grunt he gives with every slowing thrust. The joining of your flooded womb and his shining cock is a milky frothing of cum, sounding like someone slapping thickened water as the sticky juices are a testament to lustful need. They slip down your thighs, as Nikto licks and sucks on your skin, unable to slip himself out of you and your welcoming walls as they flutter. 

With every tightening surge of your cunt, he instinctively grinds himself further into you again, and you whine as his lips finally find your mouth, tongue pushing inside, still tasting of your cum. Eyes rolling back, you let his tiny thrusts continue if only to hear his canid-like groans and feel the slap of his balls so close to your puffy clit. 

You moan into his mouth as his teeth nip at your lips, sucking at your tongue before the ringing of your ears fades to hear his growls between the wet gasps.

“Get a good taste of us. I’m greedy, yes? Hungry. No worries…you will be our завтра��.”

The rolling over of your body and the spreading of your legs is all but expected, and you lay there with a smirk rising to your sweaty face as the monstrous man slips downward and slots his face right back where it belongs: shoving itself up against your fucked-out cunt, Nikto’s cum slobbering out and mixed with your own.

The first swipe of his greedy, fat tongue has your shaking legs curling around his head as he shudders in arousal, grunting out muffled words as you whine and slam your head back to the pillow.

“Вкусный.”  

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

A/N: Literally idk where this came from but, I guess, take some Nikto smut lmao - still writing my reverse Price AU, but this hit me like a truck out of nowhere. Forgive me if this is literally horrible - I wrote it at 10, and I haven't written smut in a hot minute, lol

[diejager]

Hybrid AUs masterlist

Reminder : My blog contains dark/yandere content and have 18+ fanfics, so MDNI with NSFW fics. I also do fluff and angst. All my works are fiction : I don’t own any of the characters I write for; there might be triggering subjects - please see the warnings before reading. None of the gifs or visuals I use in my fics are mine.

Your consumption of media is your responsibility and yours alone.

Nav | CoD

[dark, fluff, yandere, nsfw(*), angst, request]

Wolfie

Pairing: cod men x wolf hybrid!reader

Wolfie | r,f

Training* | r (Price&Ghost)

Tiger Heat* | r,f (tiger!Horangi)

Another... One? | r,f (wolf!Nikto)

Doe

Pairing: Task Force 141 x doe hybrid!reader

Doe* | r,d

Normal | r,d

Bunny

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x bunny hybrid!reader

Bunny | r,f

Needy Bunny pt1* | r

Needy Bunny pt2* | r

Biting Bunny | r

Puppy

Pairing: Task Force 141 x puppy!reader

Puppy* | d

headcanon* | r,f,d

Hyper* | r

Pairing: Ghoap x puppy!reader

Quiet, Pup* | r,f

Pairing: multi x puppy!reader

Calamari | r,f

Cow

Pairing: Bull!cod men x cow!reader

Pasture* | r

Milk* | r

Swollen* | r

Kitty

Headcanon* | d,r

Bear

Honey Slick* | r,f

[blingblong55]

Mouth and toys (HC) -Cod Men NSFW

Based on a request: Hiii feel free to ignore this but could you maybe do f!reader who doesn’t really get off on penetration x the COD guys? If not no worries, I love your work :) ---- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, just a short HC, ---- A/N: I'm sorry if it isn't as lengthy as you might've wanted also, I decided to put them in categories so I don't repeat the same vibe for each character, some names will be repeated!

Eating you out and the use of a vibrator: Alejandro, Soap, Keegan, König and Nikto. 

Foreplay, sloppy make out to get you excited, slowly teasing your bud, finally fingers you, also kisses you and whispers sweet nothings whilst you moan and squirm: Rudy, Price, Velikan and Gaz

Takes his time to get you wet enough, and doesn't try to fuck you immediately but throughout the day, he makes sure to get you just horny enough, he is like a puppy to your cunt and eats you out slowly, so gently but doesn't move away when you've climaxed, even if you cry and whine: Ghost, Alejandro, Soap, Graves, Keegan, and Nikolai

Begins by tying you up, and slowly undresses you, foreplay is a must, once he spreads your legs open, he lets his tongue run wild, this is much more for him than it is for you, he begins to spread your folds and looks up so he can watch you react to him pressing his tongue on the sensitive bud: Makarov, Ghost, König, Adler and Gaz

Vibrator tapped to your thigh so youre wet enough for him to taste, lays you on the bed, and kisses you as you whimper and beg for him to do something, he shakes his head and laughs as he watches how your needy cunt aches for him, kiss you from head to toe before finally slipping his fingers in and letting his tongue lap at your clit: Price, Soap, Nikto, Gromsko, Alejandro, and Soap

Huge on 69'ing with you so you can get that pretty mouth to work: Gaz, Ghost, Makarov, Krueger, and Nikto

A/N: Maybe I'll come back and write a separate fic for one of these

[mossygirl333]

Crême Brûlée and lavender tea for Nikto please? 👁️

AN: @/cafekitsune for the wonderful dividers and low-key kinda bad ending but I've been struggling to write recently

Bakery Order: Crême Brûlée- “shhh, wouldn’t want them to hear would you?” + Lavender Tea- Somnophilia

Nikto x F!soldier!reader

TW/CW: DUBCON, slight stalking, somno, lots of whimpering, soft sleepy sex, reader is described as short-tempered, relationship spoke upon: fwb?, I've never written Abt nikto or read much fanfic for him so I did a tad bit of research so I didn't mess this up (I know he has DID from what I read? So I made him use plurals like us instead of me)

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!

Nikto watched as you slept. It was almost a daily occurrence nowadays, sneaking into your dorm room. He couldn't exactly help himself, your lips parted, eyes shut. Head tilted back into white soft pillows, half buried in your warm blankets.

You never woke up when he watched you, desperate to reach out and touch warm skin. You'd never let him be sweet with you if you were awake. A hot-headed stubborn soldier, you didn't need kindness or warmth or love. Quick fucks in the bathroom and that was the most of your relationship.

But when you were asleep...oh how he loved you when you were asleep. The anger and tension gone, you looked young. You had such pretty features too, he just couldn't help himself.

Shifting around, you pushed the covers off of you, rolling over onto your stomach. Prone, he could work with that.

Your eyes open immediately, feeling someone on top of you. You open your mouth but it's covered by a warm hand. A memory flashed in your mind when you finally smelled him and heard his voice.

"Shh...don't want them to hear would you?" He whispers against your ear, puffs of warm air sending tingles down your spine. Resting your chin on the pillow below you, you felt your legs spread. Sleep shorts pulled down and kisses being placed on the back of your neck.

"Nik-" Your eyes flutter, bleary. Your muscles felt weak, pliable under his rough paws. Gripping and squeezing at any fat he could find.

"Let us take care of you." He interrupts. You closed your eyes, feeling his cock twitch against your bare thigh, a streak of precum left behind.

Your hands ball up, feeling his tip bump against your clit. Sliding through your folds, weak whimpers buried into the fabric.

His chest rests against your back, heavy on top of you, his hands collecting your wrists and pining them above you.

Your mouth got dry, breathing heavily as he settles into your heat, breathing you in. "You're so pretty f'me...when you sleep..."

It would've freaked you out, if he wasn't being so soft about it. So sweet. Settling into you, twitching and throbbing. Laying there so peacefully with his head tucked into your shoulder.

You whine, bucking your hips back against him, wanting some sort of friction. An ache settling between your legs.

His hands rest heavy on your hips, eyes fluttering as he lazily starts to grind, slow in and outs. Awkward pauses where he practically fell asleep. Tiny high-pitched hiccups leaving your lips, clawing slightly at the blankets. Your chest felt tight, like you couldn't get enough oxygen. Head swimming, your nose overwhelmed with the smell of him.

Eyes flutter closed as you melt into the bed, you could finish this later. He's already asleep, warm and comforted by the steady throbbing. Curled up around your form.

Soft and sweet~

[thedovesaredying]

Co-Parenting | Ex-Husband!Nikto x F!Reader

You're finally stepping back into the world of dating, with your first official date since divorcing your husband, Nikto. It seems simple enough in theory, but suddenly having the fur baby the two of you co-parent dumped on you causes some issues.

A/N: Okay, some of y'all wanted a continuation of this with ex-husband Nikto, so I have come to deliver you some more food. This one is more of a Sputnik centric chapter than a Nikto one, but he does make an appearance. Also RIP Nathan, you didn't deserve any of this lmao.

Warnings: Mild Gore, Nikto's Possessive Ass.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Prev | Next

You have to admit it. 

You look damn good tonight.  

A light touch of makeup, some of your nicer jewellery, and a cute, flowy dress in one of your favourite prints. You give a quick twirl, feeling your confidence return with every passing second you view yourself in the mirror. It’s been a long time since your last date with someone other than your ex-husband, so nerves have been slowly eating you alive, pulling apart your confidence at the seams.  

Nathan is a sweet enough man, always kind and respectful toward you. Normally, you wouldn’t invite a man back to your home on a first date, but the two of you have been meeting for coffee for weeks now, so you’re willing to take the risk. He’s even agreed to pick up dinner and drinks for you so you don’t have to worry about getting anything yourself.  

It feels weird to be thinking about a man other than your previous husband in a romantic way, but you’re determined to push past that discomfort. You can’t just continue to be hung up on your ex-husband for the rest of your life, you need to learn to move on, regardless of how difficult that may be.  

A knock on the door startles you from your thoughts and you hurriedly rush toward the front door. A glance at the clock informs you that it’s almost an hour before Nathan in due to arrive, so you’re a little confused as to who could be disturbing you so early in the evening. You pull the door open without bothering to check through the peephole and are immediately pounced on by a massive creature.  

Two large paws rest upon your shoulder and there’s hot breath being puffed directly into your face. You only barely stop yourself from falling over backwards, but you can’t be mad, not when you see Sputnik grinning at you with her massive smile. She cries loudly at you, trying desperately to lick at your face, despite your futile attempts at saving your poor makeup from the impending slobber.  

A harshly snapped out “ЛЕЖАТЬ!” thankfully has the hyena dropping back down to the floor before too much damage can be inflicted and draws your eyes to the voice’s owner. It’s more than a little frustrating that you feel your nerves settle the moment you spot Nikto behind Sputnik, his eyes slowly dragging over every inch of your body with very little effort to hide his rather obvious interest.  

“You are going out?” The question snaps you out of your brief moment of contemplation and back into the present. You ignore the question since, technically it isn’t any of his business, and telling him that you’re about to spend the evening with another man just feels... strange.  

“What are you two doing here? I thought I was picking up this big baby on Sunday?” Normally, you and Nikto go half and half with the custody of Sputnik – she's Nikto’s pet, obviously, but you know she tends to get stressed if she hasn’t seen you for a while, and you’re more than happy to take her when your ex-husband is on a mission that doesn’t lend itself to having such an animal present – however, you’re more than certain it’s not your time to take over her care.  

“да,” he agrees with a firm nod, “but we are being deployed last minute, she requires care while we are away,” he goes on to explain. “We apologise for the last minute notice, but the kennels on base will no longer accommodate her.” 

That much you do know. Something about Sputnik trying to bite one too many of the canine handlers for the crime of merely existing in their own workplace. She’s allowed to be on base while Nikto is there to control her or left in his quarters, but no longer are they willing to risk the limbs of their poor operatives while Nikto is abroad.  

Although you would normally be up for hyena-sitting, there is one major issue. While Sputnik is tolerant of your female friends, any man other than her precious daddy is considered untrustworthy scum that need to be torn to pieces. Especially, men that get close to you. An unknown male touching you is a crime punishable by death in the hyena’s eyes and you’re not entirely certain if she’s always felt that way or if it’s a trait she’s picked up from her owner.   

Before you can argue, however, Nikto’s phone starts ringing. He presses it to his cloth covered ear and listens to whoever is mumbling on the other end. You can see the subtle shift of his mouth under his balaclava, frowning in clear annoyance at whatever message he’s just received. He covers the phone’s microphone, offering only a quick, “we will be back soon,” before he’s dumping Sputnik’s blanket in your arms and near enough jogging away from your front door.  

You watch, stunned, as he pulls himself into the driver’s side of the car and practically floors it out of the quiet street. Clearly, there’s some kind of emergency he needs to deal with personally. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help fix your current predicament. Sputnik might currently be grinning up at you with an excited giggle, but you know for certain that her demeanour will change the moment poor Nathan arrives.  

Taking a deep breath and letting it out in a loud sigh, you call Sputnik inside, allowing her to sprint around the house. She has her snout pressed to the ground, inspecting the entire perimeter of the building’s interior with the sound of wet sniffing. You let her reacquaint herself with your house then call her into your once shared bedroom.  

Her blanket is spread out across the foot of the bed and immediately Sputnik leaps up so she can roll on the soft material. It’s the same blanket Nikto tends to have on his bed, so it smells strongly of the other man and the hyena is more than happy to try and spread the scent all over your bed.  

It seems you won’t be getting up to anything fun in the bedroom tonight.  

You try to stealthily sneak out the bedroom door without Sputnik noticing, but the moment you’re away from her side she’s lifting her head and looking toward you. “Stay Sputnik,” you say, holding up a hand and backing out of the door, slowly closing it behind you, “be a good girl for mum Sputnik, stay!” She tilts her head to the side like a confused puppy, but stays put, even when you pull the door all the way closed.  

Luckily, you still have a few minutes to touch you the makeup that was slightly smudged by your beloved fur child, before someone knocks on the door for the second time that evening. Before you can even get to the door, you can hear Sputnik's panicked cackling and snarling, accompanied by the sound of sharp claws raking down the wood of your bedroom door.  

You mentally run through the list of commands Nikto has previously taught you, then shout out a firm, “Tiho!” The pronunciation isn’t quite perfect, but Sputnik seems to get the gist of the command and quiets with one final whine.  

When you open the door this time, you’re relieved to find it is in fact Nathan this time. He’s come supplied with the takeout the two of you had agreed on and a nice bottle of wine to share. He thankfully doesn’t seem to have heard Sputnik, for he greets you normally and is happy to come inside and relinquish the food to you at your insistence.  

Serving up the food and wine is a quick process and the two of you are seated on the couch in no time, both happily munching away while some sappy romance film plays in the background. You’re almost able to completely relax and enjoy the evening, chatting about nothing in particular and giggling whenever you’re complimented. You can hear an odd grinding sound in the background, but decide to ignore it since Sputnik hasn’t made a peep otherwise.  

It’s only after the two of you have finished eating that you realise your mistake. After just enough alcohol to get a light buzz and feeling rather relaxed, the night has progressed to you laying on your back on the couch with Nathan settled above you. He’s sat straddling your lap, leant over so the two of you can exchange slow, explorative kisses. Everything seems perfect... until you hear a familiar snarl.  

Your head whips around to see the massive hyena stood in your living room. Her lips are peeled back in an ugly snarl, displaying her huge teeth covered in drool. That’s all you get to see before she’s lunging, grabbing a hold of Nathan’s arm. His screams, filled with panic and pain are terrible, but what’s worse is the sound of bone splintering.  

Sputnik yanks her head back, easily pulling the man off of you and onto the floor. “Sputnik! Fu! Fu!” you quickly shout, shooting up to your feet. The hyena gives you a slightly confused look, tilting her head to the side again as if she doesn’t still have poor Nathan’s arm firmly held between her iron jaws.  

One final command of “drop it!” has her reluctantly releasing her hold. You grab her collar, heaving her muscular body away from Nathan, but the man is already on his feet, making his way for the door. He ignores it when you shout after him, not that you can blame the man. Nor can you blame him for slamming the door closed on his way out and not looking back.  

Sputnik looks up at you with a bright grin, clearly very pleased with herself for “saving you” from the big, nasty man. She leans her snout against your stomach with a self-satisfied huff, and you mourn your poor dress now covered in blood. You really need Nikto to teach you his release command.  

On further investigation, you’re unsurprised to find the large hole gnawed into the bottom of your bedroom door and the corner of the wall. You’re equally as unsurprised when you find Nathan has blocked your phone number.  

When Nikto appears the following day, you’re forced to explain what happened the previous evening. He assures you it won’t be an issue and that Nathan won’t be calling animal control on either of you. You try to ask him how he knows that so certainly, but he simply tells you to leave all the worrying to him. At least he offers to spend the day fixing your wall and door, perhaps the only good thing to come out of all this.

-

Back on base Nikto is greeted by Krueger in their shared rec room. The Austrian eyes Nikto and Sputnik for a moment before asking, “the operation went smoothly?” 

Nikto provides a snort, “да, our mission was a success, yes Sputnik?” he asks, watching as the hyena offers her own pleased snort. “She has protected our girl, just as planned, and that pathetic,” he spits the word, “excuse for a man will stay far away from what is ours.”  

Krueger simply rolls his eyes, “scary fucker.”  

[kyumisyumi]

Something something something eldritch Nikto something something something

I've sifted through so many ideas for this because I didn't wanna just pick a random eldritch creature from my box of horrors and slap Nikto's name on it. But also I don't feel like I have enough info about him(ironic, considering I write about him so much) to craft him into a creature. I watched some documentaries on eldritch horrors, dived into Russian cryptids and still drew blanks but here's what I managed

Rating: E for everyone who loves Nikto

Eldritch!Nikto x F!Reader

Word count: 1

Part 2

~Taking requests~

You weren't running from the consequences of your actions, more like briskly walking in the opposite directions. Looking forward all the way because backwards held the sounds of large dogs and angry men. Their boots cracking every twig and foliage along the way, voices interrupting the once peaceful ambiance of the woods. You could hardly tell whether the growling was from the hounds or the men. And really, who wouldn't want to run away from such a thing? Not run; walk. Quickly, very quickly. You were being smart, not cowardly.

No, never that.

You weren't cowardly when you snuck into that guardsman's post. You weren't cowardly when you tried to steal the gold he confiscated from the Miller's wife, the only woman that kept you fed while the streets were your home. You weren't cowardly when you defended yourself once he caught you. And you weren't cowardly when you accidentally bashed his head in with a clay pot. He should've worn a helmet, really. A guard should always have their helmet on! What was he thinking? Now look at you, running for your life and deluding yourself as if it would change the actions of the past.

Running.

You ran your mouth, ran your mind, but no matter how fast you moved, you couldn't outrun hunting dogs. Your fault, really, for trying to do so while wearing the long, ugly skirt you stole from someone's unattended clothesline. You should've maybe stolen the guard's old pants, you knew he had some because he mentioned wanting to give them to his nephew who was in combat training. Instead you dashed out the home the moment you realized he wasn't breathing, panicked by your first time taking a life. What were you thinking?

"I wasn't-" you spat a thick glob of blood out your mouth, it's red color staining the putrid black floor. Tears staining your vision and pain plaguing your mind. "I didn't mean to." You said it over and over again but it was little defense against men who'd lost a comrade because of you. A good man. A good man who stole from widows and bullied the elderly? It's weird how two people can look at the same person but see someone different. But that train of thought was halted by a kick to your stomach. And when one of the men took the final hit, the force of it sending you against the edge of the pit, you finally felt that feeling in your stomach. The one you hid away behind conversations with yourself. Locked away behind a naive expectation that things will either go your way or go away. Your first taste of true regret. Because you got a glimpse of where that attitude has lead you. That attitude that kept you going when your parents had left you. That attitude that kept you alive when your survival was in your own hands at an age where other children were being coddled and sung to. That attitude that protected you in the harsh village slum, now had you staring down into hell. 'The pit'; a giant hole defacing mother earth's perfect form. It's surface covered in black ichor, you couldn't tell whether the walls were moving or you'd been hit so hard your vision was thoroughly fucked. This was considered a punishment worse than death. Jokesters and troublemakers got a stern talking to. Thieves and crooks got jail time. Murders and adulterers got death. But the truly damned got the pit. The punishment didn't match the crime but judging by the hate filled glares of the men surrounding you, they didn't much care.

Or maybe they did care, they cared about you as much as you did yourself, these days.

That was a more comforting thought, maybe? Maybe not. Either way, thinking about it felt a whole lot better than thinking of the weightlessness you felt as you fell. Your vision quickly losing the greens and yellows of a gentle forest to being plunged into darkness. A darkness beyond description. One that surpassed what's seen when you close your eyes for the night. That surpassed the unconsciousness of sleep when dreams escaped you. A darkness that felt like death yet was somehow alive.

The walls were moving, they shifted uncomfortably as they felt the presence of another. Voices that whispered of uncertainty and conflict. Voices that yelled intruder and ones that yelled fodder. But one voice just hummed in curiosity at seeing the source of blood and spit and tears it tasted. He had consumed many of your kind but what little it had of you ignited interest rather than hunger. So it did not eat. Didn't wrap you in its tendrils and rip you apart into easily digestible pieces to be absorbed by its mass. The tendrils held you, confused by their many intentions and wants, before simply bringing you lower into the pit. To the very bottom that no other creature has ever seen. No other creature would ever be allowed near. Far too close to it's more vulnerable organs. But you wouldn't hurt it, would you? Wouldn't hurt them. Not with those blunt nails and teeth, not with those little limbs and severed ties to the natural order. You were weaker than it's weakest points yet you fought against his tendrils like you believed you could win. Struggled and resisted as if you had a fighting chance. 'Hush, little human.' It thought as it strangled you, only enough to render you unconscious. Give it enough time to build a prison home inside itself for you. Then build a form for himself more perceptible to your primitive eyes, he'd tried once before but the human face was so hard to mimic. There was so much anger inside you, more for yourself than for him. And Nikto couldn't understand it. There is only one 'you' inside that tiny, fleshy form. How can one be angry at their own/only self? That would be one of the first things he asked. He felt there was nothing a creature like you could teach him yet he had so much he wanted to ask regardless. Maybe once he had his answers he could finally consume you in peace. Maybe then the voices that called for him to spare you will quiet down. And the ones that screamed for him to bond with you will stop. Your body couldn't handle the things he desires... Could it?

Regardless, he has time. All the time in the world and beyond.

Silly human, getting yourself thrown down here, what were you thinking?

All in all, I didn't want to forget the eldritch and just make a monster.

[fall-inq]

Blackberry Jam 

I got tired of seeing no platonic Nikto or Krueger so I thought I’d try writing some. Feedback is welcome!

Pairing: Krueger x Nikto x Platonic Reader

Warnings: Nikto and Krueger being Nikto and Krueger, Violence, Car wrecks?, Reader nearly dies, No comfort, Possible innacurate geography

Read my rules

“Remind me to never trust you two with driving.” You grumble, holding back the urge to shove Nikto. With Chimera and KorTac’s recent team-up, you find yourself often paired up with the most unstable men from both sides. Nikto you were more familiar with. 

Krueger…not so much. You could tell that they knew each other well- way better than you would ever know. Which was fair- seeing as you were a “new addition to the team” in one of the most terrifying PMC’s in the world. Unsurprisingly, no one was eager to meet you or be put on a mission with you, Nikto especially. “This one is a runt,” he had said. “We should just kill it now.” Heartwarming, how kindly KorTac welcomed their newest operators. How wise they were to immediately pair you with him on missions. Usually, you were chosen like the last one picked in dodgeball and the one who took most of the hits. Now you were just the one who took the hits.

Both of you hated each other at first. His most common complaints were that you “talked to much.” That turned into “They don’t listen to me” because you’d be silent on missions with him. Then it was “they put us into danger,” and “get themself landed in the infirmary too often.” Over time, the complaints died down and Nikto grew tolerant of you, and you figured out when he wanted you to be quiet and when to talk. Instead of you two avoiding each other when not on active duty, he partly does it now, sometimes sitting down at the table to watch your Black Jack games with Horangi. Both of you ended up teaching him the game despite his uninterest.

It’s silly, growing jealous over someone who has known him longer. Why are you even jealous? Your relationship with Nikto is more so “forced into a get-along T-Shirt” than willing acquaintances. He and Krueger have known each other for years. There’s also the significant difference in mental stability. …Maybe that’s why he avoids you- he doesn’t want to hurt you. Or maybe it’s the usual: you’re annoying to him.

What’s worse is that Krueger noticed, and the smug bastard enjoys it. And yes, he does tease you about it. The taunts are the only thing he says to you.

Bitter feelings aside, the mission was running as smoothly as a mission with the two idiots could go. The task was simple: Investigate some small buildings on the coast of the recently captured Southern area of Verdansk, search them for intel, weapons free on any hostiles. At least, you thought it was simple from the back of the stolen ZIL-4334 the three of you entered. Mistake #1: You failed to notice Nikto entering the driver’s seat. Mistake #2: You failed to see Krueger do a sign of the cross despite not being religious. Krueger’s mistake was not squeezing you between him and Nikto. Or maybe that was purposeful.

Nikto floored it the second he decided he was ready to go. Poor, unwise little you slammed against the back of the truck’s cabin as the vehicle lurched forward. You hadn’t even realized you hit your head. Or that you were screaming as Nikto drove through a fence and sharply turned onto the road. Was that laughter? Was Nikto laughing? It was an odd, muffled sound. Rough, deep, and barking, like you had imagined. Despite your terror, you mentally celebrated. Horangi owes you his rations. Andre Nikto was capable of laughing.

That was also the moment the truck swerved again and tipped over. Due to the severe lack of tarp, you were launched out of the cargo bed easily, landing roughly on the asphalt and tumbling in the opposite direction. That would’ve been fine-ish, had you not kept rolling and had the terrain not started sloping down. The smell of burning rubber, road, salt and dirt filled your nose as your hands frantically tried to find purchase on the ground. A flock of birds startle and fly away at the sound.

“Nikto!”

You're falling backwards. The wind rushes past your head.

“NIKTO!”

You can hear the waves. You try to scream again-

A hand roughly grabs onto your arm and yanks you forward, giving you whiplash as you fall onto the road face-first yet again. You lie there while one of your teammates walks over to your front and squats down, his hand grabbing you by your cheeks and pulling your head up. “Krueger,” the Austrian answers. You know the fucker is smiling behind his dumb hood. “Come on. Up, up.” He drawls, using his other hand to pat your cheek. Smacking his hand away, you rise and dust yourself off, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your head. Which brings you back to the present- walking down the highway next to the Verdansk coast.

“You’ve never seen me drive,” Krueger points out after your complaint, his monotone voice going light as he calls back. “And I never want to, thank you.” You retort, rubbing your scraped-up cheek. The taller of the group falls back from Nikto’s side to join yours as you walk. “…You are alright?” He huffed a laugh as you side-eyed him. “What? I care.” Krueger mocks, causing Nikto to snort. “He lies.” You know he does. Both of them do. “You’re young,” the Austrian remarks- like he’s secretly saying that you’re inferior and don’t belong. Like you’re a beetle he wants to crush under his boot simply for fun. Your frown deepens. “So?” He shrugs. “Shouldn’t you be making friendship bracelets with the 141? They’d be happier to have canon fodder like you.” You know it’s on purpose. You know Krueger- an asshole who tries to get a rise out of anyone. You should be the bigger person and you fail. “You motherfucker-” You want to punch him. You want to throw him off the side of the cliff. Want to break something of his even though you know he’ll rock your shit and gloat about it. “Stop.” Nikto barks, shooting the two of you a harsh glare that doesn’t affect the taller one of the group. The mood dies like a paper tossed into flame. It shrivels and blackens and falls apart into ash. The Austrian rejoins the Russian, leaving you in your usual spot.

It’s silent again. The birds are long gone. A tiny part of you wants to flee, too. The tiny part that wants to run away to a world where everything is okay and your childhood bedroom was never changed. “I’m hungry,” Krueger whines from up ahead. “Not our issue,” Nikto replies curtly. “I’ll make it your issue.” Krueger shoots back. “You do that I’ll remove your stomach with my hands.”

“I’d like that,” Krueger hums. You wrinkle your nose. “Ew. Gross.” What was more gross was the blood leaving your mouth when you spat on the side of the road. “You shut up, this is an adult conversation.” Krueger replies curtly. “Can the “adult conversations” wait for some cheap motel room-” “Both of you shut up!” Nikto suddenly snaps. You comply, though Krueger simply huffs a laugh. The last thing you want is an over-paranoid Nikto. Krueger seems to want exactly that.

The wind rustles past you again. The waves get harsher for a moment before settling down a little. A gray expanse stretches over the three of you and you suddenly feel like you’re in some sort of apocalypse. Is it going to rain? Krueger pauses, his attention focused on some bushes on the roadside.

“[C/N], come.” Krueger demands, walking over to the bushes. “Why?” He merely gestures with his hand. You can feel Nikto’s irritation rising like a steaming tea kettle’s squeal as you rush over to him. “We don’t have time for this,” the older snaps. “I’m getting a snack!” Krueger shushes, crouching next to the bushes. He grabs one of his small storage bags and opens it. “Look,” he urges, pulling you down. Blackberry bushes. It’s odd how such things can grow in the middle of a war zone. “Help me.” He says, grabbing one of the black-purple berries and plucking it. You follow the action, grabbing one, two, three.

“Sebastian,” Nikto demands hotly. For a moment you forgot he existed. You wonder how many times he’s done the same. Krueger stands, ignoring the dirt on his knees as he walks back over to the Russian and offers him a blackberry. The small berry is smacked out of his hand. You wonder if Krueger pouted as he zipped up the bag and clipped it onto his belt. “Don’t ask me for any when you’re hungry later.” He teases. Nikto forces a deep breath. “We don’t get hungry.”

Before any of you can move on, Hell breaks loose. Someone tackles Krueger- an enemy- and there’s a burst of deep dark liquid when the two hit the ground and a flash of metal. The hostile raises the blade again, aiming for Krueger’s face while Krueger pushes at the man’s chest- and then there’s Nikto, snatching the man’s arm and pulling it back farther than it should go. There’s a gross crunch and pop sound that’s partly drowned out by the hostile’s pained shout.

You fumble with your gun as Nikto tears the man to shreds. Bones continue pop out of place and break at his assault all while Krueger simply lays there as if he were cloud watching. Finally getting a goddamn grip, you raise the weapon at the man’s head while Nikto chokes him in a headlock. His arm presses further and further into the man’s neck, making the enemy sputter and gasp for air that won’t come through.. You imagine a blade, sawing at the man’s skin in an enraged effort to cut it off. You could imagine the red spilling. Imagine the garbled, bubbly cries as the man coughs up his own blood. You hear the crunch of a throat and finally fire a bullet into the fool’s head.  Nikto drops him with a jolt before storming over to you. The body falls like a plushie falls off a child’s bed. Meaningless and anti-climactic.

Nikto cuffing the back of your head knocks you out of your thoughts. “What have we told you about staying on task?!” He shouts, cuffing you again before shoving you to the ground. You don’t bother trying to argue. Stupid Krueger- it’s his fault for dragging you into his dumb distraction. You know that it’s your fault for listening to him and you don’t want to admit it. 

Sebastian stands, feeling his side curiously. The Russian abandons you and sets his sights on the Austrian. “Nikto, it’s fine.” He, too, is shoved to the ground. Krueger tuts. “Andre,” he calls, tone dropping. There’s no answer as Nikto crawls on top of him, pulling out his blade and moving to cut away the fabric hiding Krueger’s wound.

Only there’s no wound. Just dark purple…juice? Krueger pushes the Russian away and detaches the pouch the blackberries were in from his belt. It’s wet- covered in dark stains of what both you and Nikto thought was blood. Krueger opens the bag. “…It’s jam,” He explains with an irritating smirk, scooping some out on his finger and bringing it to his mouth. He tastes it and wrinkles his nose. “Hm, could be better.” Nikto’s fist connects with his face. Unsure whether to help the Austrian or to go looking for the intel, you watch the scuffle for a few moments before deciding it was best to go with the latter.

“Can one of you explain to me why Nikto and Krueger are covered in crushed blackberries and bruises?” Nikolai sighs, trying to keep his composure. Both of the masked men look at you accusingly. “[C/N],” Nikolai sighs. “What the fuck did I do?!

[celestialprincesse]

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

More Nik just 4 you🫵😚 Trying to make this reasonably slow burn but I just want them to fuck😔

Pts 1 & 2 here!

Nikto is shitting himself. In his enthusiasm to make amends with you, to spend time with you, he completely disregarded his greatest issue. He can't eat with his mask on. He can't very well show you his face when you look like the human embodiment of Tinkerbell, and he looks like - he doesn't really know what he looks like.

Whilst your neighbour is in crisis, you're perfectly happy to flit about your house, debating whether to wear your favourite pink miniskirt or a lacy white dress. The white would compliment the pretty satin kitten heels you're wedded on, and the virginal, snow coloured lingerie set you hope is finally seen by someone who's not you, or your mirror. Your hair is perfectly styled, lipgloss applied with meticulous precision. The outfit is the only spanner in your otherwise beautifully constructed works. You're so giddy that you feel sick.

Your neighbour shares a similar struggle in selecting his outfit, realising that he hasn't taken a woman on a date in a long time, and since then, his muscles have outgrown the sleeves of the suit in the back of his closet, and the pants to match are as moth eaten and neglected as his heart. Of course he wants to look as though he's making an effort - doesn't want to make you feel anymore unwanted by him than you already do, and yet most of his clothes make him look more monolith than man, no decent fit for a woman so soft and feminine as you.

You'd never have expected him to turn up on your doorstep with flowers. Peonies with fluffy pink petals, gently wrapped in a sheet of brown paper, tied up with blush lace. Kind of like you. He would never have dreamed of the way you fling your arms around his neck, tits straining against the thin alabaster fabric of your little dress. "You like them?" He rumbles thickly into your ear, flowers hanging at his side as he wraps his free arm loosely around your back, pushing the thoughts of how the plush skin of your ass would feel in his hands. "They're wonderful." You breathe, taking a sudden step back at the realisation that you've just entirely invaded his precious personal space.

"I need to tell you something." He murmurs, words coming thick from his throat, his confession trapped down in his chest, safe where no one can find it. "Of course, anything." The gentleness in your tone only makes him hesitate further. Why should he corrupt such a soft thing like you? Tie you down to a beast like him? "I am - I need to tell you something, and I understand if you do not want to spend time with me anymore. I am deformed."

Biting your tongue feels practically impossible. You so desperately want to reassure him. How do you tell him that you can see his laundry room window perfectly from your kitchen where you spend most of your time. How do you tell him that you've seen the scars he hides when he puts his mask in the washing machine.

"That's okay." You nod reassuringly. Why is there so much care in your eyes?

"You're sure? I am not handsome." You just want him to let you in. So desperately.

"I promise."

I'm so sorry for writing such short chapters but I need these two to get down and dirty rn💕

[mariamakeslemons]

Kinktober 2024: Day 5 Rough sex/Bondage

Warning: Possibly badly translated Russian (if I need to fix it, please let me know), weird interpretation of DID (as always seem to do with Nikto, I apologize), Reader is AFAB, mild mention of blood and overly enthusiastic sex to the point of hurting a partner

Nikto knows that they have been lucky to have you as their лисичка, but this is too much. They don’t deserve this trust you give them so easily. You let him tie you to the bed, cover your eyes with a blindfold, and leave you naked against the covers. So vulnerable and all for him. Them. He is bare as well, the first time before you despite your lack of sight. His skin finally touching your skin, watching as you jolt and arch into even the lightest of pressure. His pretty one, their sweet love.

“Я тебя люблю. Моя драгоценная любовь, я убью ради тебя. Мы умрем за тебя. Мое любимое сокровище*,” Nikto rambles, breathing in the scent of your skin. You shudder under the words of affection, of love and lust that stream from his mouth, out of their mind.

“Baby,” you breathe, tilting your head just so. Nikto leans forward, devouring your mouth as their scarred hand slides down to press into your wet heat. You drive them insane, more so than he already is. Usually, the others tell him to hurt, to kill, to rip and destroy everything that would stand before him. But, looking at you, the most malicious request is slapping your ass or biting you to leave a mark. Your death is not wanted.

“Love,” he finally replies, stretching your cunt for his cock. You whine and Nikto shudders at the sound, giving in to the voices again to dig his teeth into your shoulder. The gasp you let out is delicious, it makes their mouth water and long to hear more. So, Nikto nips down your body, taking care to lap at the scars and stretchmarks that cover your body so beautifully. His fingers dig into whatever body part he can, his teeth leaving behind angry marks that blossom against your skin. Nikto pulls back and licks his teeth, his tongue briefly meeting the air because of the rip in his lips.

“Love,” they repeat, “More.”

“Then take it,” you offer, baring your throat to him while spreading your legs in invitation. Nikto growls and clamors over your legs, lining up his cock to your pretty pussy, before pressing in. The moan you let out is delightful, all the better to whet his hunger for you. He doesn’t even wait for you to adjust to the size, just thrusting into your sweet pussy like a man possessed. Their teeth find your shoulder, digging desperately into your flesh, hard enough that red wells up and they lap at it. Nectar from the Gods, through their blessed vessel, to the unworthy sinner.

“Fuck,” you whine so prettily, squirming and pressing against him, “More, Nikto. More, Baby.”

“As you command,” Nikto replies, fucking into your wet warmth with all the strength they’re willing to put you through. A little pain is okay, a reminder that you aren’t a holy being, but they never want you hurt in a way they can’t soothe. Your reaction to that little pain is beautiful, too. Arching into his thrusts, moaning with each squeeze of your hips, even stretching your neck out to entice them to wrap their hand around your pretty throat. He complies and you moan. You, who he revers as one who is unsullied by the sin they are drenched in, moan as they hold your life in his hands. Nikto cums with a snarl, refusing to pull out as he continues to rut into your pussy, overstimulating himself.

“Good,” he wheezes, pleadingly, “I’m good.”

“You are,” you choke out sweetly, “So good. Such a good boy.” Nikto groans, fucking you as hard as he can, his brain finally silent from that first release. There is no they, just him in this shamble of a body. Salvation in your pussy, holy sacrament from your lips. You finally cum and he shivers, almost wishing that he came later. To have cum with you would have been heaven. But now, Nikto pulls back and looks at your body carefully. Bruises litter your skin, the bleeding bitemark slowly dripping red on your skin.

“Baby, can you cut me free?” you ask softly. A blade is in his hand immediately, slicing through the ropes easily. Nikto watches as you lower your hands, rolling them carefully to get better blood flow, but you don’t remove the blindfold. You smile and reach toward where you think he is, requesting, “Can I kiss you on the lips?”

“Да,” he breathes, leaning down and kissing you properly for the first time. So many times have you pressed you lips to his mask, and he longed to feel your skin on his. He pulls back and blinks, before trying to copy something you’ve done to him before, peppering your lovely face with kisses. You laugh at his attempt, but bare your face for him, only to pause.

“Wait, shit,” you hiss, making Nikto pull back. He sees that the blindfold has fallen, but your eyes are still closed, still allowing him to hide. You huff, “The blindfold fell. Give it back and I’ll retie it.”

“…Нет,” Nikto decides. You freeze, your eyes still closed even in your confusion. Nikto delicately cradles your face, and breathes, “I see you. Now, you see me.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, so sweet. Nikto grunts in affirmative and watches as your eyes flutter open. He waits for the recoil, for the damnation. Part of his mouth is sliced open to expose his gums and teeth even when his mouth is closed, burns crawl along half his face and barely spare his eye, half his hair is thinner and lighter than the other. The unburned part of his face is scarred up and it trails down his body. The others return with a vengeance, hissing that you will reject him, them. But, again, you prove holy.

“Fuck, now I know why you keep a mask on,” you whisper, your smile shrinking but still real, “Too damn handsome. I’d be beating people back with a stick.”

“Once, maybe,” Nikto tries to argue, even as a warmth fills them at your acceptance. You hum and gently cup his face, checking that it’s okay before pulling him back down for another kiss. There are still things to do, like get you ointment for the bruises along your body and antiseptic for the bite. But, Nikto will relish in this moment, recalling this on the field to remind that you are waiting at the apartment. A home for them to return to, for the first time he can remember.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

*I love you. My precious love, I will kill for you. We will die for you. My beloved treasure

[andreas-river]

IS IT RAINING, OR I'M DROWNING AGAIN?

TW: dissociation symptoms, mention of torture, swearing, angst, hurt/comfort.

PAIRING: Nikto x F! Reader

A/N: I love angst. That's it.

Nikto hated the rain.

And no one would believe if he said that, because surely a ‘person like him’ would prefer when it rains, the peaceful sound of the raindrops against a window that would give a calming effect.

For Nikto, every raindrop was a bomb setting off inside his brain. It was like an explosion, making him dizzy and unable to move. Like all those days tied to that creaking chair, his head covered by the hood while it rained outside that cold cell he was confined. He remember vividly how it was raining, between the screams of that motherf—

“Nikto?”

Then, he felt a cold shower inside him, holding his breath as he turned around. A hand was open towards him, your figure under the rain, your shirt sticking to your skin.

Fuck. He dissociated again. It wasn’t happening anymore, and now that he was back with the only person who treated him like a human being, he was having those episodes again.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay outside too much. Let’s go back inside, yeah?” How he loved your voice, the way you offered your hand, giving him a choice.

He could see how the rain was soaking your hand, the raindrops falling on both of you, the cold seeping through his bones. His eyes wandered around, assessing the reality. He was outside in the middle of the backyard. He was listening to the sound of raining, then…

He blinked rapidly. He hated the rain, so why he was outside and letting the rain fall on him? He started to count in his mind, one, two, three… and you were still there, still standing in front of him, your hair sticking to your face. You were shivering, but why were you smiling as if you were saying that everything was going to be okay?

He finally takes your hand, the skin clammy and cold, letting you lead him back into the house. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to anyway. He lets you change his clothes. He doesn’t complain for the water that’s soaking the floor, or the towel that you’re using on him to dry off his skin.

But he can still hear the rain outside, bombs setting off on his mind, making him dizzy and unable to run for cover.

Why he was outside, and why he was letting the rain fall on him?

He was drowning, and he wasn’t fighting it.

He observes you as you stand in front of him between his legs, holding his head and placing it against your chest. He lets you move him, not that he wants to fight your touch. But what he hears drowns all the sounds overloading his mind, making him rise to the surface again. He can hear your heartbeat: the rhythm isn’t steady, it beats fast. But it’s there. And it’s real.

It’s calming, enough that when he tentatively grip the soft skin of your thigh, he can feel it, sensing the skin on skin sending to his brain signals of home, of safety.

He doesn’t speak, and neither you do.

But that’s all he needs.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You know, all I want is to spend some time with Nikto on his off-days and have him read Dostoyevski to me, if you don't want to make this like a single fic you can maybe incorporate it into "ravishing allure" some time later 🥹

"…and there can be no love otherwise."

PAIRINGS: Nikto x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: If anyone could make the bad days better, it was Nikto.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: Stress from work/life, lack of sleep, mostly fluff, comfort, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There were times you wondered if putting up with your job was really worth it. Sure, you needed the money to pay rent, food, and bills, among a laundry list of others that just seemed to never end, but was the cost of your sleep the metaphorical soul you had to hand over? 

Every day you came home tired to your little apartment—neighbors loud and the light in the bathroom flickering because the electrician had never shown up to fix it. Tired, but unable to fall asleep until everything else was done. So, you’d make dinner, clean, shower, sit down to mindlessly watch a show on TV for half an hour, and then stumble into bed. 

Only to stay awake and stare at the ceiling. 

You can’t say why you do it, thinking over the things you did wrong and the awkward conversations you have with coworkers; you shouldn’t care about it—really, you shouldn't. Yet you can’t stop your brain from slipping like a slide to every instance, every millisecond where you felt the air of the interaction change. Side-eyes and confused looks. 

And then at six o’clock, you’d drag yourself out of bed with bags on your face and a drained expression to do it all over again. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” 

“Oh, of course, we have some in the back—I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Thank you! You have a good day now, Sir. Come back soon.”

It just felt fake. Greet, help, take money, wave and smile, repeat, repeat, repeat. But maybe today would be slightly different, by the second pair of shoes that were placed in your apartment entry as you slowly opened the front door. 

Boots—black and set an equal distance apart with a cleaned surface despite the places they’d been and what they’d probably stepped through. They were neatly situated under the small bench you had for convenience, and you blink at them as you softly shut the door and lock it. A large, and matching in color, jacket was folded and placed atop the flat surface—keys sitting in an indent. 

Nikto, ever the neat and tidy one. He must be back then. 

While the two of you didn’t live together, the bear of a man had made a habit of coming over when he returned from deployments with KorTac—you’d given him a key the second year you’d been together. 

Your ears faintly twitch to the sound of cooking, nose moving just a second later to the scent of something on the stove. Clinking pans and silent footsteps. He knew you were here, sure as anything. Weakly sighing, you shift out of your jacket and shoes; tossing them in the general direction of the bench as you rub at your eyes and drop your purse to the floor with a slap of canvas. 

How do you explain looking like shit? 

Shuffling into the kitchen, you undo some of the buttons on your blouse to let yourself breathe, dress pants running along the carpet as your feet pad like a hound’s slapping paws. Vision blurry and eyelids threatening to close on you, you find the tall man in front of the stove, moving something in a pan with sizzling oils with the wide flex of his shoulders.

On another burner, there’s a large pot of simmering water—the counter has already been cleaned up of flour and mess, a tidy pile of dirty items sitting in the sink to be washed. You stare for a second before you grumble a hello, forcing your body to sag into his back as you walk over and slap your forehead into his spine. 

Nikto grunts lowly in response and continues what he’s doing. 

While it wasn’t rare to find him in the kitchen—in fact, you prefer it when he cooks—but usually when he got back you opted to order supper. He always insisted, gruffly, that he wasn’t tired, but you just wanted him to relax.

It was fun to baby him. 

“Didn’t know you were going to be back today,” you whisper into him, arms hanging by your sides. 

“We were released early,” his voice is deep and harsh—a bark of his Russian accent and rasp. Every word is thought out and said with purpose. “Conflict in schedule.”

You hum lowly, and it’s immediately after that Nikto stiffens, back going straighter. It’s the fact that you don’t even notice that you’ve completely screwed up your own routine that tips him off; how your change in pace had made him initially suspicious as he’d heard you enter the apartment. 

You hadn't commented on his eyes. Hadn’t tried to get him to turn around to see them. 

There was a running gag that Nikto tolerated—you’d grab him carefully by the chin and tilt his blank eyes to you in all of their icy glory. Sparks of glass and chilled storms inlay near the pupils. You’d stare, smile, and then say, “Yup, he’s still in there.” 

Even if you couldn’t see it under his balaclava, Nikto’s lips would part and he’d study your face for a minute in silence, before lightly bonking his forehead to yours. A strange and unique kiss that only he could perfect in his intimidating way. 

You hadn’t even attempted that. 

Nikto puts down the fork he was using to push around the fried potatoes and mushrooms; Pelmeni still simmering in the pot for another five minutes. The cut-up dill and melted butter on the counter are pushed from his mind with a purpose in his veins.

“What is wrong with you?” Nikto turns and you stifle a fatigued snort as you look up at him. It wasn’t his fault, of course. English isn’t his first language, and you found his broken, or sometimes bare-bones blunt, sentences to be endearing.

“Such a way with words, hm?” You can’t help but tease, and you can see the annoyed furrow of his brown brows, nose huffing a breath. “Just tired, Nikto.” Your words make his gaze slide along the very visible bags and the red veins of your eyes. 

He mutters something in Russian under his breath, lids narrowing on you as he grasps your shoulders and moves you back so he can look you up and down slowly in a near clinical breakdown of atoms. As if he can peel back clothes and splay nerves to light. 

“You look horrible…Sickly.” You can see the brain working as your lips go into a line to stay off your loud laugh. “Like dead woman walking.”

He was so much better with actions than words, this beast of wide shoulders and shifting thighs that could crush your bones to dust in an instant. You liked that about him—you never had to guess when he was being genuine or not.

“Work’s been rough,” you chuckle lowly, sliding on a fake smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. “Nothing I can’t…figure out, okay? Thanks for making supper, I love when you cook.”

Nikto’s eyes soften just a smidge, his hands holding your flesh just the littlest bit tighter. His expansive chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh, the bulk of his stomach and pecs visible under the tucked black t-shirt and his spare cargo pants.

Without a word, you’re being lifted with little more than a huff of, “моя нежная девочка… keep awake.”

You squeak as you’re settled onto his shoulder, hanging off like a sack of grain as his arm wraps over the top of your tailbone—large other hand on your thigh and fingers firmly grasping your skin. 

“Nikto—!”

“Hush,” he grunts, a bark of a chuckle wafting out as your hand playfully hits his back with a pathetic slap. The man raises a brow, smirking under his face covering. “What do you expect to do with that, girl?” 

“To let you know,” you poke at his spine and he shifts your farther down his shoulder in retaliation as you scramble and grasp at his shirt; giggling as your head sways to his steps. “That I won't go quietly!” 

“Good to know,” he grumbles. “I would want nothing less, eh?” 

His hands make sure that you don’t fall, even if you were to start wiggling or slipping.

You go limp and let him carry you into the living room, face burning with appreciation as your limbs let themselves rest. Nikto slings you back over his shoulder and drops you to the couch as you laugh, head purposely hitting the pillow as your chest rises and falls with breaths. 

The man stares down at you as you chuckle in gasps, always one to stare at any chance he gets. His arms crossed at his chest, feet apart, and shadow slipping over you from the overhead light. You gaze up silently, a smile on your lips, and quizzically raise to your brow.

“Stay,” is what he says to you, icy vision sliding down your body with a hum of approval. He sends a teasing slap to your thigh before striding back into the kitchen, narrowly missing your leg kicking out at his arse. 

Nikto scoffs at your attempt and disappears.

Normally you’d run at him and jump on his back, hanging off like an animal, but being as fatigued as you are, you call a mumbled curse at his name and curl sideways. Your face nuzzles into the pillow, smiling lightly before you let your eyes momentarily close.

You must have taken a quick nap because it seemed not even a second later that you were being shaken awake by a hand on your arm; spreading up to run over your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Милая.” You sigh, vision blurry and your head pounding. A strong scent hits your nose and you perk—rubbing at your eyes and face. “Eat.”

A plate of fried potatoes with mushrooms and another bowl of Pelmeni are on the coffee table, and the former is shoved into your face by a strong hand, the small dumplings topped with melted butter and dill. 

“Pelmeni,” Nikto states in a monotone, blinking at you as if you don’t know his own culture’s food by now. He made them often enough, which was why you liked him so much—food was truly the way to your love.

You’d taken up baking some of Nikto’s favorite desserts once, had failed horribly, and left most of the kitchen work to him—but the funny thing was that whenever you did bake, the man still always cleaned his plate. You’d never seen him turn down your food, even when you could see his eyes scrunch with restrained aversion.

“Да,” he would grunt out, “good.” It was so strained you always laughed so hard your lungs hurt after. On the off-hand, Nikto’s skills in the kitchen were enough to get you to sell your car for just another bite. 

Sitting up, you carefully take the bowl and look up at him, smiling deeply. 

“Thank you, Nik.” The man hums and turns his head away, still unused to outright affection even two years in. “Nikto~” you draw out his name, tilting your head to the side and trying to catch his gaze again. 

“Silence, woman,” he growls with no real heat, huffing before carefully placing his forehead to yours again as you expected him to. You giggle and stare into his eyes smugly. 

You knew what he was waiting for. Your blood runs hot, face going into a picture of care. His blues blink at you as snowflakes mingle with mist; a mix of cold and desolate landscapes that offer no reprieve from harm besides the small glint of fire they gain when they lock with yours. 

“Yup,” you whisper, and Nikto’s shoulders loosen as he presses more deeply into your skin. “He’s still in there.” 

He stares intensely, and the faintest of twitches under his balaclava tell you all you need to know. 

Nikto makes sure you eat your fill and when you’re done he takes the dishes and washes them while you shower and get into pajamas. Sluggish, but warmed by a full stomach and your boyfriend’s care. You come out to find he’s already reclining on the couch, book in hand as the other bends behind his neck. Lights were low and the heat turned up. Nikto opens his side to you and your body snuggles next to him—it had taken a long time to earn his trust like this; to be near him and to freely give affection.

It would be longer still until you saw his face, but you can live with that. There was no rush, and you knew it was a large soft spot even if he’d never shared the details as to why.

You sigh deeply and Nikto grunts, moving his arm behind your back and keeping you to his chest as he reads. 

This is a common sight from him, and he begins reading to you in his mother tongue from the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the grit and gravel of his voice sliding into words and sensations as you practically feel it coming from his chest and throat. Your head situates itself under his chin, feeling his free hand playing with your hair until you go brain-dead except to the way he feels and sounds. Harsh words had never been more gentle.

Halfway through he switches to English, his sentences now more slow and thought out and your lashes flutter; breath soft as you take in his scent of oakmoss and amber. His heart beats steady and true. 

“‘To love is to suffer,’” he reads, fingers rubbing circles into your clothes and letting you sleep as the day grows faster into a cold night. He glances down with easy eyes, gripping you just a bit closer as your body entirely goes limp in his embrace. “‘...And there can be no love otherwise.’” 

He silences himself and watches for a moment before he closes the book, dropping it silently to the coffee table and staring past you at the ceiling. The man feels your warmth bleed into his scarred and damaged skin and whispers something akin to vindication.

Nikto listens to your steady breathing and holds you. Steady. Noiseless. 

He grunts to himself and only presses you closer.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

☈ your bones singing into mine [interlude]

one - two

nikto x f!bio-weapons engineer reader (no use of y/n) NSFW A/N: had to write my own damn porn, but thank you, my beautiful envoys and beacon lighters. this is porn without plot and not canon to the main YBSIM storyline. reader is referred to with afab genitalia. as usual, shit's not proofread.

Nikto is a possessive, handsy, and handsome drunk.

Sometimes, he'll downgrade the mask to a balaclava, then tip bottles back to his lips with the fabric between. Always necks the bottle, but he'll only sip at a glass in your company. And, then, he's throwing drinks back like a shot.

Everything about him is violent, sudden, and sharp.

You're of his caliber—together you laugh darkly and call it decisive.

He is decisive when he's been drinking, his cock aching from straining against his zipper, and he snaps an arm around your waist like a shepherd's hook to force you into his lap. There's an armchair in the master suite of one of the hideaway homes he's made for you. It's across from a full-length mirror, and it's perfect for him—he gets to feel and see you squirm yourself comfortable in his lap.

"Pauk," he groans against your neck, humid and needful. His hand drops between your legs, using his grip over your cunt to haul you deeper into his lap. "Our Pauk—soft and warm," he rumbles, burying his face against your neck, breathing your scent hard. You can feel the jutting bone where his nose had been carved off his face, taking all the cartilage and skin.

"Talking about me like I'm a kitten-cat or a down-clothed bird," you snort, arching back against him, planting your feet on his knees. He starts to rub circles over your cunt with his hard, callused, cold hand; in the mirror, you watch his gloved fingers press against the fabric, in a spot you know they'd be teasing your entrance if you were bare.

"Mm. Nyet," he hums, all arousal-rampant thought. "We wouldn't say that. You've got too many sharp corners." He drops the mostly empty bottle in his other hand on the floor, too low in volume to spill out of the neck, and he brings both hands to the waistband of your pants. "Lift your hips. Want you to cum before we get our cock out."

You do as he asks, helping him slide your sleep pants down your hips, past your knees, off and onto the floor over the discarded bottle, but you ask, "Why not fuck, Andryu? Can feel the way you throb against my ass."

The moment you settle back in his lap, he has a hand lifted before your mouth, and you use your teeth to bite down on the fingertip, dragging the garment off.

"Because we'd rather make you cum than fucking breathe."

It's said with the tone of a smirk, and he plunges his middle and ring finger into your wet pussy, finger-fucking you like it's more exciting than every Christmas and first of the month that he's ever lived through. The heel of his hand claps against your cunt with every pump of his fingers, faster and faster, targeting your clit with every landing.

"Lyubimaya, talk. We want you to talk," he growls, shoving his free hand under your shirt to toy with your nipples, pinching and tugging them, making you snarl and buck against his hand, nails digging into the armrests of the seat.

You're not good at talking. Not ever. Especially not when you're getting fucked to within an inch of your purposefully darkened life. But, for him? You try. For him, you always try.

Your legs shake and try to snap shut around his hand, but they jump right back open, as if they refuse to even muffle the wet sounds coming from your body for a single moment. Dropping your head back against his shoulder, you moan, trying hard not to thrash against his body as his breathing grows ragged. And then that moan escalates, turns into a howling laugh, something silver-toothed and prowling, as you warn him, "Andryu, I'm going to squirt, you're making me cum, slow down—!"

He doesn't, of course.

"Yes, Pauk. Yes, lyubimaya, cum. That's a good girl. That's our good girl, our Paukya," he grunts, chin resting on your shoulder, watching between your legs as your pussy spasms around him, soaking his fingers, his lap, every fiber and blessed neuron and synapse of his fractured, tessellated mind.

Just because he loves to make you cum, doesn't mean he has any more patience than he does in any matter of his life. Andre Nikto is swift. He is decisive. When he wants something, he already has it crushed in his fist.

When your hips buck off him, he unzips his pants, letting his cock spring out between your legs. Smooth as reload, smooth as grenade-throw, his fingers slide out of your pussy and stroke his shaft wet, timing it perfectly for your hips to snap down and take half of his length in one motion.

"Andre!" you gasp, too dazed with pleasure to manage a full snap. How could you? Not when his hands are so needy on your hips, urging you low-low, a pretty plea to swallow him up, to blot out all the noise that runs in his head.

When you look up in the mirror, he's already staring back at you, glacier-blue eyes unblinking, rotten with desperation and pup-belly softness. Makes you crack and run like an egg. Like an overripe berry, mashed to red pulp in the hands of an eager child.

"Oh," you swallow. A moment passes, held in the suspension—you're the last two of a kind, preserved perfectly in amber, so long as your hearts can hear the echoing drumbeat of the other's—and a silent agreement is exchanged.

No. Nyet. Not an agreement—a declaration.

You love every one of him; every one of him loves you.

How simple and beautiful a thing—a concept you both can hold gentle in your flesh-rending claws for a soft, turning examination, before you consume it, as if to vaunt the flesh of a beloved death.

He thrusts up shallowly, meeting the gentle rocking of your hips. The hand once teasing the swollen walls of your pussy rests over your lower belly, pressing down heavily just over your pelvis. It makes every stroke of his cock feel tenfold more pronounced—deeper, slower, fuller, all the harder to stave off or deny.

"Can," you start, trying not to squirm too much, wanting to last as long as possible, "I touch your hair? The mask you can leave be, that I won't ask you, but I want to lover-touch the hair at the back of your skull."

He heaves a violent shudder, slamming his way deep, all the way home, and wordlessly nods. More than that, he meets your hand as it darts to the back of his head, guiding you the rest of the way, and pulling up the balaclava only enough to find the satin-slip of his shining black hair.

He holds your hand there, grunting and cutting off moans next to your ear, his head bowed into your shoulder. He prays over you. He prays for you. You are his answer. Perhaps, you have always been.

The pair of you stay in this ecstatic trance, moving together forcefully and slowly, for long, long minutes. You begin to sweat, reeking of one another. You begin to shake, your muscles burning.

His hips move in the way only a drunken, determined man's can. A bit clumsily, but massively greedy. There's a slop in the way he fucks up into you, but there is greediness, too. He can see how wet your pussy is, sucking and spasming around him. He can see how it's made his cock glisten, and how it's darkened the fabric of his pants where it's dripped. He likes it. But a man in love will like anything that comes from his lover.

"Paukyushka," he growls, eyes squeezed closed with the restraint that has always held his entire body together, "can you cum? We're. Pizdec. We're close."

"I can cum, kotik, just keep going," you breathe, fucking down harder on him, mouth curling in a pleased little grin.

He lets go of a ragged moan at that, as if you're the one tearing it from his perforated throat, fucking faster, pulling grunts and tight sighs out of your body as he ramps you up. It becomes hard to hold onto—more oddly, it becomes harder to let go, and, fuck, do you try.

It expands lie molten heat in your lower belly, pressuring your pelvis, your bladder—makes your swollen, sensitive clit throb as your walls start to spasm, clenching wildly around the length of his cock. Shit, you can feel it in your shoulders, tensing the muscles between the blades.

"Mm, fuck—shit, oh fuck," you hiss, your legs jolting and ring to snap closed.

"Pauk!" he barks. Nothing close to a warning or threat, simply a harsh plea.

"Shh! Quiet your mouths," you hiss, "I'll get it done!"

He grumbles under his breath, talking a plan over with his many facets, and acts.

His arm snaps over your rips, trap-sprung, and rucks you up his own body. It makes you squawk, head swiveling as you snake an arm around his neck for balance, and that makes him laugh, gritty as sandpaper. His cock barely manages to stay inside you, by an inch, if that. His other hand goes to the back of your thigh, pulling you open over his knee as he pants his booted foot on the seat of the chair, giving him more leverage.

This weird, tangled position gives the many demons in the both of you fits, and he's not going to last long, but that was never the intention. Two, then three hard thrusts, and you're sucking in air through your clenched teeth, cumming around his cock, digging your nails into his chest and his forearm.

With an ungodly bellow, he pulls out at the very least second, shooting his load straight over his cock, your thigh, his lap. You're both shaking, trembling, disgraced piles of flesh, and you wonder if you sit still for long enough, could you possibly melt into a mingled pile of flesh and splintered bone.

At once, the two of you slump together, though you do turn on your hips to miss a majority of the mess on his legs. He strokes your hair. You reach back to play with his.

"What a mess you've all made," you huff, panting and breathless. "Like a boy; all balls, no control."

"No babies," he says in a stern, but thin voice.

"No babies," you mimic, borrowing his drizzled tone for yourself. "No babies, yes, but my upholstery you've ruined."

"Mm. We...do not care," he finally decides, and you find glory in the smile in his tone.

"Good. I like that," you say, packing in as much dignity as you can manage before the facade crumbles. You're left laughing, stupid and free, and his answers back, a rumble that echoes through your ribs.

[bellaluvsmakarov]

Snow ~ F Medic!Reader X Post torture!Nikto

While Nikto was bleeding out in the snow, so desperately needing a medic, you came. You fixed him up and made him stay in the booth. You fixed other patients and boy, did he not like it. He grunted, trying to get your attention on him. "Yes, dear?" You kindly ask as you gave some soldier morphine. "Bandage." He grunted out, his Russian accent ringing out in the booth. You walked over, "Need a new one?" you mumble and grab a bandage. As you lifted his shirt, blood was soaking the bandage up. You quickly change it. "Спасибо.." he mumbles and looks away.

Next thing you know, you're getting gifts everyday from him. He provides protection. He could never thank you enough for getting him out the snow on that cold night.