#Nikto cod

[just-some-user-hunny]

Nikto who clumsily sucks kisses onto your face, he leaves behind hickeys on your cheeks.

The first time he does it, you gasp at the mark left on the apple of your cheek. Fingertips brushing over the dampened skin, his fingertips. Rough and feather-like. Stroking and inspecting with profound admiration and guilt. He did that... Your dear little face...

"Nikto!". You'll scold, which he takes with as much grace as a guilty dog. Eyes cast aside- nervous and soft and intense. Broad shoulders swallow you up as he crowds against you like a casting shadow. Sticking to clothes and skin, smothering you up with his form. He'll be anything you need. A shielding wall? A warm blanket? He'll try his best for you.

"apologies". He mutters softly, before a hefty grumble rumbles in his throat. His tongue tracing the mark and licking at it, as if to soothe the 'wound'.

"looks good".

[unhingedpolycule]

Please enjoy these very low effort 3-D printer memes, which my best friend made of my Nikto cosplay… he will go to hell, but it will at least be a funny ride.

(I feel like all of these are based off of his real life experiences with his printer)

[lizzy019]

━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━

Nikto who genuinely has the handsomest voice when he's not screaming or angry.

The way he speaks is so angelic and calculated, and it's always thought out. It's never harsh or rushed, never spewed out like water boiling over a hot pot. No, Nikto has the voice given by the gods.

"What is it?" Not a rude question, just curious as to why you were staring at him so intently. "Is something wrong with me?"

Silky, soft, smooth, deep with the way it resonated within his throat. You were happily resting on his body while you two watched some silly Russian show he liked, but you just adored how he sounded whenever you shared a conversation. No more gruff sound, no grit in his tone, it was just his pure voice. Accented but oh so deliciously deep.

"What isn't wrong with you?" You teased, obviously using a joking tone and it earned a scoff as well as a playful slap to your upper back.

You could only chuckle, resting yourself in those firm arms of his. Smooth, almost. The pale skin exposed, soft with its speckled hair and scarring. Glorious, angelic, what more could you want?

"Stop staring, you're creeping me out." He chided you, but you found no real scolding in his tone. Nikto just seemed to be putting his protective layer up in case you were trying to dig at him.

Dulcet, you realized. That was the word. He had a dulcet sounding voice, creamy even though it was robotic. Ah, but if you told him, surely he'd chide you and call you weird for it.

Maybe it was better just hearing him speak.

━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 7

Part 1 here | AO3

This is my bad feelings fic. Meaning when I have big feelings cloying at my throat and choking off my air I put them here. I can't really recommend you read it, but go off your majesty.

One day of clarity is all that was allowed to you before a maelstrom, a Great Red Spot, pelted you sideways with rain.

Colonel König, truly an asshole formed of stupid, if you have ever seen one, retrieved you to resume your duties.

“Get dressed, fraulein. The files are stacking up.”

Eyes pinned to the ceiling, as if it could fall and crush you before your mind could register the pain, you reply.

“So is my frustration with this conversation. Go away.”

A feeling, ticklish and unfamiliar, started on your arm. It shifted upward. The weight of a presence settles over you as the sharp blue of the Colonel’s eyes bore into yours, a diamond-tipped drill attempting to crack into your soul, looking for geodes and finding only dust.

“My patience is wearing thin. Up.”

Tugging lightly on the shroud as it lay on your chest.

“So is your hood, now leave me alone.” The dull tone rattles something loose in the head of the beast above you.

The contact of his flesh on your neck slaps as it connects. The gasp startles from you—body willing your fingers to curl around his. You won’t beg. When his too-large hand starts to squeeze, callouses cutting into the barely there softness of your body, you smile and close your eyes. The flesh is weak, begging for air. You? You are done and yearn for the peace of wherever you came from before.

Smack.

The bastard slapped you across the face. Eyes flashing open, you glare up at him.

Now?

Now, you fight.

“Know that phrase ‘You are what you eat”? Guess I can’t call you a cunt.” You spat the words up at him as your brittle nails folded against the hardness of his skin.

He backhanded you. Completely silent.

“Make you feel good? To beat on widdle ole me?”

He smacked you again, the sting worse the second time.

“I would rather spar with my men.”

Dammit. Something about that…that dismissal stung. Even the asshole who wouldn’t let you die didn’t want you here. Curling fingers into his shroud—the stupid shirt he wore as a barrier—you pull as if to wrench it off. Without releasing your throat, the Colonel clunks his forehead to yours. The fabric covering you is suffocating.

“When your men beg for death, their captors give it. When I do it, fully ready to embrace the beyond, monsters who know nothing of my suffering lash me to the mast. All you do is ignore my screams as the harpies sing for me to join them.” You can’t help the tears that trickle from the corner of your eyes in the darkness that smothers you now. “Why can’t I simply have the end?”

He pulls back slightly, leaving his darkness behind.

“Get ‘em out of here,” he growls at someone.

The rough hand chafes as it leaves you; someone wrenches the hood from your grip. Cold fingers hover over your tears. Nikto stares down at you, blue eyes so different from the Colonel’s as they heat cheeks that already radiate warmth from the assault.

You hiss when Nikto lays his shaking hands on your newly forming bruises. Something sparks in his gaze—feral and wild. He swings around and snarls at the Colonel. Harsh syllables bark back and forth. Winter’s first blush bites at the meadows between sky-scraping mountains.

Absorbed in their argument, neither man notices you sit up and slip your boots on. Standing had too bright eyes, scraping your skin.

The Colonel snapped a final order, pushing back winter for one more day. He turned and flung the door open with such force that the wall held an indent of his anger after it swung closed. Nikto caught it before it did. Sliding his hand into yours, he pulls you into the hallway and further into places unknown.

Death Masterlist | Masterlist

@meinemauschen @demothers-empty-blog @littlelovebug98

*life is not extra bad right now I just forgot to post chapter 6 on here.

[nrdmssgs]

Masterlist "We can't keep it." "Sputnik. Her name is Sputnik." "We can't keep Sputnik, Nikto! She's a wild animal" "Look her in the eyes." "No" "Look her in the eyes and tell her, she will have to leave this place." "...Fuck you, Andre." "She likes belly scratches. Like this."

[alldowner]

this was one of my first kruegernikto drawings i thiiinnnkkk

[ptr2hka]

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Nikto slow blinking at you like a cat, inwardly delighted if you slow blink back at him (knead at his thighs and chest, make biscuits out of him)

Mmmm yeah something about laying on this mans chest. Hands absentmindedly squishing and molding that soft area of skin between the shoulder and elbow. Watching the way the skin squishes with your hand, slightly spilling out.

Tilting your head over to his face, as scarred and as beautiful as he is. Always watching you, you've felt it since he came in. A glare that's cold and refreshing. A light in a foggy dark room. Focusing on the iris of his pupil, endlessly deep and so full.

Blinking at you once. Slower than usual, his eyes are dry and wet at the same time when he stares back. Waiting for you to reply. So you do, blinking and holding it. A slow blink to his eyes.

Slow tamed lovers. Just like animals you'll rub into each others faces, as scarred and as much texture as there is. Pushing against his cheek while his teeth press flatly against your lips. Tongue lapping at your neck next, drinking in every instance of your taste. His scent as pungent as his love. Neverending and devoted, it clings to you like he.

[clownteeth6]

Heheheh

[olisticks]

Nikto who, while sitting on the porch of your shared apartment, smoking a cigarette, hears a tiny meow. Looks down to find a litter of tiny black kittens hidden in the bushes, and one who managed to stumble through the bars of the patio and onto the concrete.

The little thing is so scraggly, and he attempts to guide it back to its mama but it digs its claws into his glove, meowing louder.

Nikto who comes inside cradling three different pitch black kitties in his arms with the mama trailing after and practically trying to bury herself into the leg of Nikto's pants, purring like an engine.

At your look of curiosity and hesitance, he gently plops the babies onto the blanket in your lap, claiming that "they remind him of you. Loud and clingy." And you just can't find it in yourself to be mad at him.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Y'know how nikto drags the blade of his knife against the hard plastic shell of his mask?

That, but you're just scratching your nails against it like you're petting a dog. He must find it amausing- because he'll hunch over for you and remain still as you do your thing. Soft grumbles and raspy jokes pass through the muffling fabric.

"am I your dog, llubov?"

There's no malice nor irritation when he snips these little things. They're said slowly and steadily, as if he could fall asleep right there.

[namikaaah]

NIKTO

I was so tired while I was painting this. I hope it was worth it...😪

[lizzy019]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── 18+! ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Nikto who has a lopsided cock because the bindings Zakhaev put him in made it mould uncomfortably. It's never fully erect anymore, and it doesn't exactly feel the same as it used to. He feels it through the moment, whether it be a passionate or aggressive night with you.

Nikto who has a missing testicle and suffers with hypospermia (the lack of sperm cells but not infertile). He didn't know if you would still want to suck him off, and he was quite nervous to show you. But everything seemed to change when you got on your knees to kiss his half erection and cup his one testicle.

Nikto who can't suck love marks into your skin because of his broken, misshapen and malnourished lips. While he would love to see your neck and shoulders covered in hickeys and nibbles, is biting such a bad option?

Nikto who absolutely adored your body, and he honestly would kill to see you in lingerie. The lacey fabric would make you look angelic, more so that you already look! Maybe a bright white or a suiting shade of deep green would look nice on you, but he doesn't know if you want to wear it and he won't force you,

Nikto who DEFINITELY has a breeding kink. It's the Russian part of him, he needs to have offspring to keep his name going. And when you're finally pregnant, growing a child just for him within your womb, he would still eat you tf out, even when you're just a bit too close to the finish line.

Nikto who loves degrading you when he's on top, but melts and fucking nuts when you praise him in any sort of way. He's damn near never gotten any validation during sex, but with you? No, he knows his cock is making you feel good.

Nikto who only lasts long when he's on top, forcing his misaligned cock into you with brutally paced thrusts. He'll be moving you into different positions every few minutes, needing to feel you in every possible way. Just... not when he's bottoming. He'll cum so quick that it almost always leads to you receiving some head.

Nikto who got fucking hard in his pants the first time he saw you naked. Like- damn. Why the hell did you have to be so damn gorgeous? How could he ever manage to catch someone as stunning as you? He worships you, mainly whenever it's an intimate setting.

Nikto who definitely gropes you a bit too hard. You have to forgive him, малышка, you're just so pretty! Mainly your tits, whether you have or not. Pretty nipples hardening under the callouses of his hand, he just can't get enough!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── 18+! ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

@fishsinsareacknowledged @frogcereal29 @simp4konig @puracatt :)

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 6

Part 1 here | AO3

This is my bad feelings fic. Meaning when I have big feelings cloying at my throat and choking off my air I put them here. I can't really recom

Peeling your bones away from your soul would be the only thing to fix the miasma of rage. A fingers width of hair fluffed out from your scalp and some healthy padding on your frame and the soldiers seemed to remember that you had holes for use. Every lascivious grin, pointed joke, lingering eye lit into you. A cat-o-nine-tails would leave less wounds.

The Colonel noticed. He used you as a glorified filing system despite complaints. The day he found you, angry tears streaking down your face as both hands were pressed firmly against the office door as if to hold back a storm, he sent out a decree. Leave the guest alone; he ruled them as a king.

Nikto noticed too. Men who nipped at your heels, laughing as you squeaked, ended up with broken fingers. Those were only what you saw. Within two weeks the expressions you got were sneers of hatred and not of lust. The rumblings were what got you. The laughter behind your back and huffs to your face stirred the coals of your self-hatred.

The Colonel, sick of your attitude as you slammed files home into his cabinets, set you out of his office with a bug in your ear. The snarl of his words came all in German and you cursed him for the additional layer of incompetency it laid on your head.

K, Krueger, the fucker, snagged you on your way back to the shared room. Apparently slamming doors and calling The Colonel an asshole molded from stupid to his face got around fast. The hand placed on your neck had you hissing like Krueger had pulled it from the furnace of Hephaestus.

He didn’t stop.

Forcing you by pressure and heat, Krueger directed you into the gym that you didn’t know existed. A large open area, dominated by mats, is where he sat you. He disappeared with a barked order to ‘stay’. Since you listen nearly as well as he does, Krueger caught you by the arm halfway to the door.

He muttered under his breath as he forced you to sit again, wrapping your hands. Once satisfied with his decoration of your body he stole your shoes.

“These are my boots, you fuck nugget!” You connect one shoe with his shoulder before a whirl of motion and you find yourself flat on your back. Left leg straight, pinned to his hip, right leg compressed under his foot and arms akimbo.

Well and truly bested, when he removes your first shoe you do not fight him on giving up the other. Krueger is quick to remove his own. At least he helps you up. Standing now, you follow him to the center of the mat.

He lifts both hands, fingers relaxed as he holds them near his shoulders.

“Hit me.”

The bored tone is a targeted breath on the heat of your anger.

“Gladly,” you snarled in reply.

Fist formed, you punch his palm. A satisfying thud emanates from the connection point.

“Again.”

So you do. Over and over and over until your incompetent rage, the fear, the impossibility of continuing, the deeper-than-soul sadness is all pouring out of you. It brings you to your knees.

Your chest is caving in. Lungs can’t take in a full breath and the blood in your veins is pounding on the walls begging to be set free.

“I can’t do this!” You wail between soul-wracking sobs, “Why won’t you just let me die!”

It is then that Krueger proves himself to be at once a man and a monster. You hate him. Truly. He scoops you, cradling you as if a child in his arms as he returns you to your room. Only kindness could have hurt with such an embrace. No one mentioned the bastard man wore only socks in the halls. The unspoken understanding was that while Nikto would break you, Krueger would end you.

You sobbed until every speck of energy had been wrung from your shattered self and darkness gifted you with stillness.

Upon waking you found bunson-burner-blues watching you. Nikto wore no mask today.

“Why won’t you set me free?” The words burn as they croak out.

He glances away, watching his hand as if it did not belong to him. It rises, sloth-like in speed, until it rests against your cheek. The contact is the realest sensation you have felt in too long.

“If we keep you breathing, we might be worth saving.”

The quiet admission is met with only tears bumping over your nose and joining the parade into his pillow. For yes, it was his bed you had sobbed yourself to sleep in.

No amount of arguing would end your suffering now.

You hated him too. Truly.

Death Masterlist | Masterlist

@meinemauschen @demothers-empty-blog @littlelovebug98

[machveil]

Nikto who’s hesitant to be rough with you, he’s hesitant because the urge to crush you blooms in his chest. irrational, he doesn’t understand it. he would never dream of purposefully harming his lyubov, but his teeth and gums itch with the need to bite when you tease him. his nails uncomfortable, the need to sink them into your plush flesh, drag them across your skin. there’s an ache in his chest where he physically needs you to be, locked behind his ribs and snug against heart

Nikto who’s all rough skin and marred with scars, something he’s silently deemed unfit for your soft touch. he knows you’ll complain, that you adore how he feels. that makes his hands tense, whispers in the back of his mind that he should hold you close and never let go. sink his canines into your shoulder, lap at whatever marks he leaves. he knows you love him, it makes his stomach twist, uneasy that he thinks he should devour you whole

Nikto who gives in to your request, insistent demands, really, to play fight. childish, but endearing in a way that pleasantly clouds his mind. he’ll humor you this one time, kneeling down on the floor with you. if it makes you happy, he’ll pretend to wrestle you, his expression masking how warmth blooms in his chest. it happens again, the moment he pins you it crawls up from gut, searing his throat as he looks down at you. to crush you because his heart demands it, your laughter ringing in his ears. he would never hurt his lyubov, so he tames the wild feeling in his chest. he indulges though, the warmth in his chest comfortably dimming as he rests his weight on you. “We are done.”, he rasps out, content to let you writhe and complain under him

[microwavablefork]

Something something Nikto who was raised in an extreme traditional household to the point that he has very poor knowledge of female bodily functions and anatomy.

Cut to him moving in with his sweet зайка and not understanding why you’re so pissed off with him now! He assumes you must be sulking over some frivolous thing, curling up in a blanket nest on the couch. Whining about your cramps; he marks it up to food poisoning, scolding you for eating seafood at that Chinese down the road again, much to your chagrin.

Imagine his horror when he smells blood in the bathroom. He immediately assumes the worst, panicking over your health, if you’re hurt, why you are bleeding or if there’s something else dying in the house. This is all, of course, followed by your sweet laughter as you try to explain what a period is to your brooding bear of a boyfriend (who’s holding an unopened pad like it’s diseased mind you) between tears of laughter.