#nikto cod x reader

[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.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Nikto is chopping wood when it hits you. You're watching from your back porch door, a porcelain mug of hot chocolate cradled in your warm palms.

It's cold- far too cold for Nikto to be chopping wood in your garden right now. A thick layer of frost blanketing everything in sight- in which he had scraped your car for you earlier this morning whilst you were still in bed. He's still in his sleeping clothes; his thin black shirt that stuck to his body in a thick sleeve or fabric, and those baggy grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He's still refused to let you stitch the hemming- which is frayed and worn. Insisting that it is no use fixing it. There's no fixing it, llubov. I'll let it fray and throw it later. No use.

It was certainly a sight. He had drunk his tea down quickly once he noticed your shivering shoulders. Wrapped you up in that fluffy cream nightgown of yours, and set out to fill the fireplace. A silent promise to keep you warm. To provide. He had shot you a stern look at the sight of you lingering in the doorway- your pyjamas shorts and lack of slippers irking him. You wanted to roll your eyes at him. Used to his picking. You are a little warm soft thing. You need to stay warm.

"you're acting like a husband". You quip softly. Playfully, that smile that could warm butter on your pretty lips. "Do you want to be my husband, Andre?".

"yes".

Nikto's sincere raspy voice is sincere as he answers immediately- stunning you into silence. Glancing up at you to fix you an intense stare as he split the log with his hands. Something soft and eager in his eyes. Apprehensive on his own behalf, but filled with longing.

"you'll always be warm". He vows. Eyes filled with something- devotion. So tremendous, that it rattles you to the bone. His eyes meet yours, and you're not sure you can look away. Can't find your hands to sever the line. Pinning you down. He makes the first move- leaving the axe by the tree stump, shoes crunching in the glittering frosted grass. Approaching you like a weary hound.

"then in that case, may I mend these then?". You mumble. Now shy, your heart quivering at the intensity in his face. His hand meets yours as it brushes over the frayed hem of his sweatpants- a warm, halting hold. An unsure pause, you think... Before his shoulders relax a little, and his fingers wiggle softly between yours to melt into an embrace of hands. A gesture so sweet, so unsure and new to him, it was his turn to fluster. Feline eyes wandering from your eyes to your fingers clasped with his.

"yes. I... Let's try".

[gothghostiie]

telling cod characters "use your words"

pt 2 of this (141)

characters: Alejandro, Rodolfo, Valeria, Graves, König, Nikto

cw: dom!reader, brat!reader, slapping, bondage/gagging, manhandling, edging/denial, switch!rudy, hints of loser!könig maybe, gn!reader

Alejandro straight up laughs at you when you tell him to use his words. stops his hand when you take a hold of him, stares at you for about 5 seconds before breaking into laughter, grabbing your face and squishing your cheeks together gently. "you think you can tell me what to do, mi amor? you're fucking adorable." before you can even think to answer you get pinned to the bed; he'll make sure you won't be saying any words when he's done with you later.

Rodolfo depends on his mood. if he's feeling more dominant he chuckles, kissing to your ear while his hand trails between your legs, whispering every detail of what he want to do to you. if hes feeling more subby tho, he looks up from where he was kissing, cheeks hot as he stammers a bit. "por favor.. solo déjame hacerte sentir bien.." he pleads softly, a soft whine escaping his lips when you pull him up by his hair, eyes lidded and pleading while his fingers dig into your soft skin,

valeria? dont even fucking try. she doesnt take kindly to brats (even though she loves breaking them). her fingers caress your thigh higher until you stop her, telling her to use her words. she stops in her tracks, that look in her eyes that you know too well. "say that again pequeño.." she hums lowly, if you actually do? before the last word even leaves your mouth you have her hand leave a burning sting on your cheek. "again?"

Graves is a bastard. he tries to get frisky with you, but you stop him and tell him to use his words. he stares before chuckling. "let me show you, yea?" soon enough you find yourself tied up, ball gag in your mouth and his hands and lips all over your sex. he's working relentlessly, abusing all of your good spots until you almost cum - then stopping. you buck and whine, he grins. "what, you want something? use your words, baby." you try to babble against the gag, but the cocky smile on his face tells you that you're in for a long night.

König gets absolutely flustered when you tell him to use his words. "what?" he fumbles and blinks, you chuckle at his embarrassment from being put on the spot like that. gets frustrated at his inability to do it, to talk dirty to you, your laughing making it worse even if it's without malice. eyes darken a bit when he decides to just take what he wants, pinning you down and bullying his cock into your poor hole until you apologise :[

Nikto doesn't make a move like that on you often, he usually outright asks if he wants something from you. but when he does, you decide to be a little bratty, grinning up at him as you tell him to use his words, putting a hand on his chest to push him off slight. he stares you down, expression unreadable before he finally reacts. grabs your jaw in a tight but gentle grip, leaning in close, all while keeping eye contact. "don't fuck around, pretty. you might hear things you don't want to."

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT RN IS NOTCHING MY CUNT ONTO NIKTO'S NOSE AND RIDING HIS FACE.

He's had his nose broken numerous times, combine that with a Roman nose and you have a mess of a nose. I wanna ride it.

Like he's messily jerking himself off while I'm about to cum on his face.

[girlsoutlate]

thunking thoughts of nikto realising he can cope more effectively through your touch or being soothed by it idk i just need to post this bloody thing and stop obssessing over every detail

mention of mental issues of niktos, tension but not between nikto and reader, super duper brief light angst with resolution

it wasn't acceptable to let such a hostile creature in to your home and heart. niktos demeanour had changed over the last few days. you were both unaware of it until you flinched at his words one too many times. or how you shrank away at his bulking figure that stalked through the house. you did plan to ask him tomorrow, both of you were too exhuasted from demanding days at work to talk about it that evening. nikto had his.. odd ways of coping. yet he hadn't discovered the most effective thing: your touch.

nikto discovered this power over him completely by accident on one of his first nights staying with you.

at one point late in to the night you awoke to find his side of the bed empty, cold. abandoned long ago. the first time it happened you went back to sleep, thinking he went to the bathroom. however, when you woke again half an hour later and the bed was still empty you began to worry. as you stumbled in to your slippers you searched the chair next to the bed for one of niktos jumpers. it was embued with his scent: musk, tobacco and a faint smell of gunpowder that never left. with bleary eyes you treaded along the dark landing towards a dim light emanating downstairs. just as you were about to descend a loud thump splintered the still air of your house. you jumped out of your skin, heart thudding in your ears. was andrei okay?

creeping down the stairs your ears perked up at the sound of a voice. hoarse and and slightly breathy, like some wild animal being strangled. a wooden chair scraped across the tiled floor, echoing amongst the emptiness of the ground floor and up the stairs. avoiding the creaky step you finished descending the stairs. the light from kitchen cut out a sharp shape on the shadows of the hallway. as you stood shrouded in darkness your heard the gravelly growl of the voice you knew to be niktos. he was muttering to himself in russian, however he sounded so frustrated it was more like gibberish.

as you peeked in to the kitchen, slightly blinded by the light you saw a figure hunched over in a chair by the table. that strange strangled voice escaped again. another thump- it was his fist on the table. he shot up and started pacing around the kitchen, hands gesturing wildly. you could tell nikto was angry, voice getting more gruff each sentence. abruptly he stopped moving, muscles in his back showing through the thin tight material of his top. leaning on the kitchen counter with his back to you, he ran his calloused hands through his black hair. he kept his head down, the growl of a mutter growing harsher with each passing second. words flew out his mouth at an alarming pace getting louder and louder, knuckles turning white as he gripped the side. just before it seemed he was going to shout your cautious voice cut him off.

'nikto, are you okay?' you meekly asked. he span around, pale eyes wild. pinpoint irises locked on to your shivering form. he drank in the curve of your body, barely hidden by your sleep shorts and his jumper. the deep colour of your eyes emphasised by the weak light. his girl always looks so gorgeous. and then he noticed how your wrung your hands even though they were swallowed by the sleeves of his jumper. or the gentle furrow of your brow at his behaviour. some of your hair stuck up at odd angles from your tossing and turning at his absence during the night. he made you worry.

his heaving chest faltered and then deflated, eyes dropping to the floor in embarrassment. 'we are sorry we woke you dorogaya' he replied, voice hoarse from talking 'we were ah- talking'. a beat passed, you blinked at his response. to see a creature go from such a hostile to a guilty state was alarming to say the least. but you could still see he was on edge. his eyes flicked about the dim room while his thick fingers began to fidget with the hem of his threadbare shirt. just as his breathing quickened pace you steadied yourself and took a step forward. 'come' you commanded.

as nikto lumbered forwards his usual calm and calculated demeanour completely dissipated. the moment your lidded eyes landed upon him his mind was racing. were you angry with him for waking you up? did he scare you? how dare he wake you up make you worry. were you angry? nikto could deal with anger, it had always been a part of his life. but worry he couldn't. no one had worried over him, not like you did. to the forces he just needed to survive to the next mission, nothing but a valuable machine. to his friends, well, it can be questioned if they should have that title. but you were a glimmer of hope that he kept closely guarded to his rotten heart. your presence in his life transformed in to a steady glow, seeping under his mange-ridden skin. before he could realise, this light had ignited a blaze that consumed his heart and ravaged across his mangled skin. the heat was painful- to let someone so close to him. yet he writhed in ecstasy in your presence. the thought of that being dampened- potentially by him- made icy dread shoot up his spine.

he kept his gaze down, raking over your legs covered in goosebumps. his lips, raw from nibbling, parted in a shaky breath. just as another apology left his mouth, you threw your arms around him, burying your head in his solid chest. although your arms could barely reach around his burly form, he could feel the tightness of your embrace. niktos arms, corded equally with muscles and scars, hung by his sides. momentarily, he was taken aback. how could you still love this thing after witnessing its strange, violent ways? nikto didn't deserve a forgiving person like you. but he wasn't going to push away the one true good thing this godforsaken world had blessed him with.

niktos heart was pounding, blood rushing through his ears. one calloused hand rose up to the softness of your neck. his thumb brushed over your bobbing adams apple. gently, to not get carried away, he pressed harder just on the side of your neck. your steady pulse thrummed under his fingertips, warmth seeping from you to him. slowly but surely, nikto wrapped his arms around you. one brushed against your shoulder blades, while the other cradled your head closer to his chest. he buried his misshapen nose in to your hair deeply breathing in your scent. the warmth of your plush body washed over andrei. experimenting, his paw-like hand slid over the curve of your waist, stopping to squeeze the fat of your hip. you breathed out a short gasp. andrei's rough fingertips grazed against your stretchmarks, each raised ridge inching him closer to the realisation he was here with you. you were safe and he was with you, everything else could wait. the crackle of tension in the air had dissipated the second your melodic voice had cut through it. now, the cold kitchen lights didn't gleam unnaturally bright. he was enraptured in the faint glow of your skin.

the voices were still there, but far, far away. andrei was blanketed in your love, which grew stronger each time you ran your hand along the expanse of his back. "lets go back to bed, da?" he rasped. holding on to your hand, he followed you back to bed. stairs creaked under his bulky form as he padded after you in the dark. you climbed in to bed that had grown cold in both your absence, gesturing andrei to join. he wrapped his arms under your shirt, soft skin gliding against his scars. your legs tangled together, wanting to be as close as possible. burying his face in to the crook of your neck, he let the sounds of your heartbeat lull him to sleep. as your ran your nails through his overgrown buzzcut a grumble of content reverberated throughout the room. soon you both drifted off to sleep, never letting go throughout the night.

from that day andrei held on to you, for his own sake. how could you deny him that?

thankyou for reading, i hope you enjoyed it!! let me know if you want another installment of this and any ideas you might have. this has been lurking in my drafts since last week and i just need to get it out. my boyfriend has gone on a break with me so ive been pretty distracted this week, sorry its a little later and thanks for being patient :)))

[ns-imagines]

All Eyes on Nikto.

Nikto x Reader (Non-Romantic) 4.8k words SFW

(She/her pronouns mentioned) Going for psychological intimidation. Hopefully this makes you sweat. Please see the bottom for Author notes.

Attention Grabber: They called it an evaluation. Nikto knew it was a test? And she? She thought it was just another room with another soldier. But nothing about him was ordinary. And the longer they spoke, the more the walls began to bend.

DO NOT REPOST OR STEAL MY WORK. pleaseeee

The hum of soft music thrummed low from hidden speakers, but it didn’t hide the chatter. Laughter in controlled bursts, light conversation punctuated by the clink of mugs on porcelain. All of it staged. All of it a performance. All of it mandatory.

Nikto leaned back in the chair, mask shadowing his face, gloves gripping the armrest with quiet tension. Eyes scanned the room like they always did: corners first, exits second, people last. Each smile looked too deliberate. Each movement too rehearsed. He felt himself starting to sweat. Not from nerves but, rather from nauseating overhead lights. He didn’t want to be here. But orders were orders. Social exposure they said. As if talking would scrape the ghosts off his skin. Make the wires in his head, that were frayed and broken, all the sudden complete again.

Nikto’s gaze flicked to Krueger across the room: stonefaced, arms crossed, eyes like knives behind that mask of his. If Nikto was a wall, Krueger was a blade, cold and sharp, ready to cut through anyone stupid enough to force a conversation.

Behind closed doors, fresh-faced Military Psychiatrists waited all of them eager, nervous, and freshly trained. They had completed countless hours of study, simulations, and psychological prep. But nothing could prepare them for the men they were about to face. These men were walking scars. These men were broken, rebuilt, and weaponized. None of them a man in the room but a consequence.

The doors opened slowly, spilling light across the waiting crowd. The stage was set the final practical application had begun. Inside stood all previous Marines, Navy, Army, and Air Force, each one from a different walk of life, now fighting for the same prize: selection. Every move they made, every word they spoke, was watched, measured, and judged. There was no room for error. Not here.

Footsteps approached. Lighter. Deliberate. Professional.

Nikto’s fingers twitched once against the chair, before settling. The woman standing before him was dressed in the standard business casual uniform favored by military psychologists at events like this trying to blur the line between evaluation and formality. A fitted black blazer over a plain black T-shirt, crisp white slacks, and modest kitten heels. A petite gold watch glinted at her wrist and gold round stud earrings in her ears, catching the harsh light overhead. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, professional bun, and a plastic-covered name tag swung from a lanyard around her neck, though the glare made it unreadable from where Nikto sat.

She approached with calculated distance, careful not to get too close. Then came the smile—polite, practiced, a little too tense.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Doctor (L/N).”

His silence stretched long enough to make it uncomfortable, the muted hum of the lounge filling the gap where words should have been. She stood there, waiting for a response she wasn’t sure she wanted. He tilted his head slightly, leather creaking at the collar of his jacket. The mask over his face made any subtle expression vanish, leaving only that unreadable stare.

Finally, he spoke—low, gravel-edged, the faintest trace of Russian shadowing his words.

“…Doctor.”

The way he said it was neither greeting nor acknowledgment. Just… a word. He didn’t offer a name. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The woman rolled her lips back and nodded fully expecting his lack of participation. She had read his folder before this.

The corners of his eyes narrowed just a fraction, studying her posture, the way her hands rested, the tightness in her shoulders. All tells. All weaknesses. Easy to scare. Easy to break. He let the silence return, letting her decide if she’d fill it or run. Her eyes bounced away from his and then back. Remember the script.

“Yes, are you having a good evening?”

She said confidently again, still following a script. Her fingers pressed tightly around the clipboard she held close to her chest. She blinked a few times awaiting his response shifting her weight to the other leg. Now her name tag was visible.

(F/N, L/N)

United States Marine Corps (RTD)*

Class 224 - UNT ASN KORTAC*

Then a bunch of numbers and a barcode.

Nikto’s gaze dropped to the tag the moment it caught the light. His eyes tracked the name—slowly. (F/N) (L/N). Former Marine. Assigned KORTAC. Interesting. His pupils tightened a fraction. He didn’t look impressed. If anything, that detail made his stare heavier, as if weighing her worth without needing to speak. Marine. So you’ve seen blood, then. And still, you look like you’d break in half if I breathe too hard.

Her question hung in the air like a weak thread. Are you having a good evening? Scripted nonsense. He exhaled through his mask, a sound more like a growl than a sigh.

“No.”

The word dropped flat and cold, clipped at the edges. His accent wrapped around it just enough to make it sound foreign, harder. He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t return the question. Instead, he leaned forward slightly—enough that the tension shifted like a warning. One gloved hand rested on his knee, the other still gripping the chair arm, knuckles pale against black leather.

The doctors face dropped for a moment and then she went to a smirk nodding again. She let out a breath and gestured to the chair next to him. She attempted to mirrored his body language by leaning forward slightly and turning her body towards him as a sign of being open to talk.

“You read my file.” His voice was quiet, but it cut like glass. “You think that makes you ready?”

His head tilted a few degrees, eyes narrowing—not in rage, but in that dissecting way predators study prey. She stood up straighter at his statement. Her face hardened slightly realizing the script wasn’t going to work. Match his intimidation. Nikto knows this is a test so he might as well make it one. Hopefully she studied.

She had more techniques she could use later. The doctor sighed and answered flatly.

“Yes I’ve read your file. I also know you’ve been to one of these events before.”

A quick pause; then another attempt at building rapport.

“Можно мне сесть там?” (Can I sit down?)

She asked somewhat confidently. Her Russian was okay. Definitely not a native speaker. Going to his native language was an attempt to find common ground. Nikto’s eyes fixed on her the second the Russian left her lips. For a heartbeat, there was stillness—too sharp, like the air before a blade falls. Then, slowly, his head tilted, and a sound low in his throat rumbled—a laugh, or something near it. Dry. Empty.

Her accent wasn’t terrible. But it wasn’t his. And trying to bridge the gap with language? Cute. He didn’t tell her to sit. Instead, he let the silence drag until it coiled tight around her shoulders. Then, in Russian, his tone dipped lower, rolling with a weight that sounded more threat than invitation:

“Тебе не стоило этого делать.” (You shouldn’t have done that.)

A laugh is good right? She reminded herself of the lessons: Build Rapport. She smiled but it looked unsure and almost the tiniest bit cocky. Her eyebrows pinched together. The doctor didn’t hesitate in her follow up question. This was her window. Time for an open question.

“Что ты имеете в виду?” (What do you mean?)

Her tone was the same as before. Soft but a bit more confident. When she spoke Russian again, his brow flicked up just barely, a ghost of expression hidden by the mask. Surprise, maybe even amusement. It was subtle, but it was there. Nikto posture shifted, controlled stale chill of his presence pressing hard against her composure. The leather creak of his gloves broke the hum of distant chatter as his grip on the armrest tightened once, then stilled. She didn’t react or show intimidation to him leaning forward. Her eyes didn’t glance down to react how the chair made a creaking noise to him squeezing it. She just blinked. A muscle in her jaw tensing for a moment. Nikto spoke his voice laced with venom

“You read the file. Good. Then you know…” His words switched back to English, slow and deliberate, as if pinning each syllable to her spine. “…what I do to people who try too hard.”

That smirk she had before and she switched back to English. Mirror she told herself. She leaned slightly shifting the weight to her back leg as he leaned back.

“I can respect that.”

She responded dryly. The room beyond them blurred into background noise. There was nothing but those grey eyes, sharp as shattered ice, dissecting every flicker of muscle in her face. Finally…finally…he sat back into the chair, the tension breaking like a wire snapping, but not before letting her feel the cut of it deep. He gestured lazily to the chair.

“Sit. Since you want to.”

The mockery in his voice was subtle, but it was there. The doctors eyebrows rose up in surprise as he annoced he was allowing her to sit. This was great progress. Lots to go still. She’s confidently sat down. Nikto knew she was watching his ever move like he was watching hers. The doctor let out a breath she had been holding and crossed her legs. She turned her torso slightly in his direction to remain open to conversation and looked at him waiting for a response to her question earlier.

Nikto tracked every movement—the tilt of her head, the twitch in her jaw, the way her breath stuttered for half a second before she caught it. She was holding the line. Not breaking, but not winning either. That smirk of hers… he hated it. Or maybe he didn’t. Hard to tell where the irritation ended and the interest began. Nikto went back to her question in Russian from earlier. His eyes narrowed slightly as he repeated her follow-up question in his head. What do you mean?

Then, without warning, he leaned forward again, closing that respectful space with quiet precision. A small gap and two chair arms between them. His voice dropped to a murmur, Russian wrapping around his tone like barbed wire:

“Я имею в виду, что ты не готова.” (I mean you’re not ready.)

Nikto let that hang for a breath before. Back to Russian? It was always more comfortable to speak your native language to someone. She kept her eyes on him and her expression neutral with a small friendly smile. Making sure to listen with purpose and not rush him to answer. The only reaction she had to him leaning forward was swallowing. Her expression remained exactly the same.

Her eyebrow raised and slightly turned her head to the side. More open questions. This is more than she had expected him to talk.

“Готов к…?” (Ready for…?)

She said softly, which Nikto quickly followed. Nikto switched back to English, sharp and low.

“You read a file and thought you understood. You walk in here with a smile, a script, a… little Russian. You think that’s enough?”

He tilted his head slowly, eyes fixed on hers like a vise. His voice thinned into a blade:

“Say the wrong thing to the wrong man… and you don’t leave the room.”

Another pause, weighted, meant to make her feel every second of it. She smiled and nodded at his following statement. Leaning slightly into the chair as Nikto had leaned in previously. A show that she wasn’t intimidated. Convincing even if it was lie. She made sure to mirror and switch to English as well.

“I’m happy you acknowledged my Russian skills.”

Another attempt at common ground. She didn’t react to his masked threat of saying the wrong thing. The Doctor wasn’t at all scared. This was a controlled environment and she was a Marine. Although she knew for a fact if it came down to strength he would win every time. Then his gaze flicked to her crossed legs, then back to her eyes.

“Uncross.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command. A test.

Unexpected. The doctors eyebrow twitched and she smiled at his demand for her to uncross her legs.

“I respect the fact you want me to uncross my legs but, I’m comfortable like this.”

A polite deflection but firm answer. Nikto didn’t move— neither did she. No flicker of surprise. No visible irritation. Just that steady, glacial stare. He let the weight of silence crush between them like ice forming under pressure. Then…slowly his head tilted again, that same surgical shift of predatory interest. Her expression was constant. Unreadable. Nikto saw the barely visible artery in her neck beat faster. When he spoke, the tone was softer now, almost a whisper, but sharper than before:

“Ты слушала плохо.”

(You didn’t listen well.)

His gloved hand lifted—not fast, not threatening, but deliberate. He reached forward and, without touching her, hooked a finger beneath the edge of her clipboard. She held her breath as Nikto took the clipboard. Her face not reacting. The Doctor let him take it. A slow, subtle tug, like he was peeling away her shield. The message wasn’t about the object—it was about control. The doctor was slow and pushed it forward for him to take. Same as anyone would do if passing an item to someone. She had turned his attempt at intimidation into a regular interaction. As if she passed him the clipboard.

“Comfort is a lie,” he murmured, English now, voice cutting low like a blade grazing her skin. “You think you have it until someone takes it.”

He set the clipboard on the table beside them without looking, then leaned in again, his masked face just close enough that she could hear the rasp of his breath through the material. Nikto’s gaze lingered on her like a blade against glass waiting for a crack. But she didn’t flinch. She even fed the motion, like giving him the clipboard was her choice. That earned her something— not approval, not trust, but maybe… a pause.

“You didn’t run,”

he added after a beat, eyes narrowing like he was dissecting the fibers of her spine. The artery in her neck betrayed her, though. He saw it. Filed it away like a weapon. He continued:

“That’s good.”

A pause. Then, quieter, colder:

“But you didn’t obey either.”

His gaze held hers for a second longer before he leaned back, shoulders sinking into the chair, as if he’d just ended something she didn’t fully understand. One gloved hand tapped against the armrest once, twice, and then stilled. She didn’t watch him place it on the chair next to him. The doctor maintained eyecontact. Maintained her smile. (Y/n) moved her hands to her lap. Right over left. An open position. Her torso still directed to face him, leaning forward slightly, showing she was open to conversation. That neutral smile still present.

“Comfort is intangible.”

A simple response but firm enough to get the message across. Nothing was in the clipboard anyway. It’s for show. To keep the discussion professional. Just as she had leaned forward she leaned back. Her posture still confident. As if there was a metal pole in her spine. He didn’t comment.

“Ask your next question, Doctor.”

Finally—he spoke again, flat, unreadable. (Y/n) responded taking this as an opportunity to resume her previous question. It was important for her to remain in partial control of the conversation.

“Ready for?”

Nikto leaned forward again, but slower this time—not predatory, more deliberate. The repetition of her earlier question. Persistent. Digging. His gloved fingers steepled beneath his chin, elbows resting on his knees. That mask made it impossible to see his face, but his eyes… his eyes told her everything. That he was still testing. Still hunting.

“Ready,” he said, low, his voice almost a whisper, “for people who don’t want to be saved.”

The weight of the words hung like a noose. His gaze bore into hers, cold and heavy as a winter sky. Nikto was talking more and now moving more. Good. Continuing to attempt to build rapport and listen with purpose she told herself. Only known to (y/n), her heart was beating from adrenaline. Being careful to not predict the direction the conversation would go. Let him take his time. The doctor nodded softly to ensure he knew she was listening.

“Why is it important to you that I’m aware of everyone’s need to not be saved?”

She asked softly. Good. Made it to question three. For a moment, there was stillness again so complete it swallowed the hum of the lounge. Nikto didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her, long and hard, like he was peeling her words apart to see what was hiding underneath. Her question…why is it important to you…had landed. Not because he wanted to answer, but because no one ever asked him that before.

His gloved hands shifted, slow and deliberate, folding together between his knees. A faint metallic rasp whispered from somewhere on his gear when he moved. When he spoke, his voice was low and harsh, almost a growl:

“It’s not important to me.”

A pause, then sharper, like glass grinding underfoot. Nikto continued, tone flattening into something almost clinical, almost cruel:

“It’s important to you. Because you believe you can help. That’s your weakness. They sent you here, thinking you can fix what isn’t broken. They tell you we need help, that we can come back…but we don’t come back, Doctor. We don’t want to.”

(Y/n) continued to maintain eye contact and nod as he spoke. Not too much. For the first time, his voice shifted—a rasp of something darker creeping in, like a shadow crawling under the door:

“So… tell me.” His eyes narrowed to slits, grey and merciless.

“When you fail, and you will, what happens to you?”

She didn’t expect him to ask a question back. The corners of her mouth twitching in her consistent soft smile. Address the disinterest. The same tone as earlier, soft but firm.

“This is just a conversation we’re having, not a test that results in a pass or fail. Just talking.”

Nikto leaned forward again, but this time it wasn’t a strike. It was like a shadow moving closer, heavy and cold. His words dragged with a quiet venom:

“You want to make this conversation safe. It isn’t. It never was.”

His eyes flicked down, then up, pinning her in place like a knife through paper. He let her reassurance …just talking… hang in the air for a beat before tearing into it with a single line:

“You don’t believe that.”

His tone had lost the mockery now. It was something else—something closer to predation, but quieter, almost thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. (Y/n) could tell he was doing the same thing as her. Dissecting the conversation. Every word had meaning. Every question had a direction it could go. Mutual control. (Y/n) nodded to his claim she didn’t believe that. In reality she did. She wanted to help people like him. It was her job. Her passion. Her profession after the Marine Corps. Lots of hard work to be in front of someone like Nikto. She remained in the same position as before her foot bounced for a second. Could be a sign of cockiness or nervousness. It wasn’t clear.

“You’re good,” he said finally, almost like an observation, almost like a warning. Then after a beat:

“But good doesn’t survive long.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy. Testing. She let the silence simmer for a moment. She knew he was trying to predict ever turn the conversation would try to turn in. Time to stop gathering more information. Respond to the disinterest.

“Why is this not important to you?”

She asked in the same tone she had maintained this whole time. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Feeling as if it was smacking against her ribs. Trying to remember the scripts for maintaining control. Her face remained unreadable. (Y/n) made sure not to argue not responding to the majority of what he said.

Nikto’s eyes narrowed just slightly—not from anger, but because that question hit where he hadn’t expected. (Y/n) was looping the conversation back to where she wanted it. His head tilted a fraction, and for the first time, there was hesitation in the air. Not weakness, but calculation.

Her voice stayed level. Soft. Unshaken. He’d been pushing, carving at her composure like a sculptor working stone, and she was still there same posture, same calm tone. Even the bounce in her foot? He noticed it. Filed it away. But it didn’t matter she wasn’t breaking.

He leaned back slowly, the leather of his jacket creaking faintly, his hands folding over his knees. When he spoke, his voice was low, deliberate, like each word weighed more than steel:

“Because importance is… a luxury.”

Got him. He took the bait. (Y/n) nodded to show she was listening. His eyes locked with hers—cold, but sharp, like a hunter speaking truth that burned in his bones. She tried to read the emotion his eyes displayed. Not much to work with but they widened like when she spoke Russian. She matched his tone lowering her voice and taking time on each word.

“What do you mean by a luxury.”

She asked. (Y/n) kept eye contact. Control over her breath. Subconsciously matching his. For a moment, his gaze flicked to the clipboard on the table. The doctor kept looking at him as he looked away. Taking that split second to swallow the tension in her throat. By the time he turned she was back to unreadable. Niktos eyes snapped back to her. A faint trace of something crossed his eyes memory, maybe, or something darker clawing at the edges.

“You want this to matter,”

he said softly, almost like an accusation. All she did was nod to his accusation before he spoke. Defensive? She went back to fully paying attention as he said Doctor. She remained stoic. He continued:

“But out there…”

he jerked his chin slightly toward the world beyond the walls, his voice tightening to a rasp:

“—nothing matters. Not your words. Not your rules. Not even life.”

He sat forward again, slow and predatory, his voice dipping into that rough whisper:

“So tell me, Doctor…”

A pause. His head tilts, the mask catching the light like black steel.

“…if nothing matters—why do you?”

The challenge hung heavy between them, a coiled wire waiting to snap. She need to move her tone away from the aggressive and challenging direction his was going. Her tone was soft and easy going. Her voice was still low to match his. A deescalation statement.

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more. It’s okay if it doesn’t matter.”

Nikto froze. Not outwardly, but in the way predators do when something unexpected shifts in the air. Her tone had changed. Not defensive, not forceful—soft. Easy. It didn’t fight his words; it absorbed them.

The silence that followed was heavier than any threat he’d made so far. He leaned back slowly, head tilting just a fraction, those cold grey eyes narrowing as if recalibrating. She wasn’t reacting how most did—no fear, no scramble to take control back. Just… calm.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before. Not softer—just lower, as if the weight had shifted.

“You think that makes it safe?” His tone wasn’t mocking this time. It was… curious. Probing.

He watched her for a long second, his gaze dissecting her words for weaknesses that weren’t there. She was matching his breath. Matching his cadence. Keeping the room hers without taking it from him.

Then something happened he didn’t plan. His head dipped slightly. Just enough to be noticeable. Not submission, not approval—acknowledgment.

“Хорошо,” (Alright)

he muttered finally, Russian curling over the word like smoke. (Y/n) didn’t react to his fall in stature. A wall down? Probably not. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, but there was no snap, no sharp edge this time. She mimicked her own form of relaxation. (Y/n) uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. Relaxing the same way he did as he learned back. She let out a small sigh. Not one of disappointment but one from deep thought. The calmness remained even as she moved. She looked over at him. Her head tilting softly towards him. Still keeping her body turned and open for conversation. And then, almost like a test disguised as casual, his next words slid out:

“So… tell me, (y/n). Marine. Doctor. Why are you here?”

The tone was flat, but something had shifted. The predator wasn’t pouncing anymore. He was circling—watching if she’d open a door she couldn’t close. Redirect.

“Why did you come? This event was optional for you.”

She asked softly but almost rhetorically. Giving him the option to blow off the question or answer. That sense of control still apparent. But it did feel neutral. She kept looking at him for his response. (Y/n) knew why she was here and that was to meet clientele similar to him. Walls up and capable of defending them. She matched his relaxed breathing again. Giving him room to decline the question or speak. Nikto stared at her. No shift. No blink. Just the quiet ticking of something behind his eyes. She hadn’t answered his question. She’d turned it.

Not with force. Not with arrogance. With subtlety. She gave him space, a choice, as if this was his conversation—not a test, not a profile being filled out. His. And that… that was new. He exhaled, slow and deliberate, the sound soft through the material of his mask.

“You’re good at this.”

The words weren’t warm, weren’t approving—but they were honest. A rare thing from him. He looked past her for the first time in minutes. Her eyes stayed glued to him. He did just a glance toward the door, then back. His posture didn’t shift much, but that small movement made the air feel different. Less like a coiled spring. More like something cooling.

“Optional…they always say that.”

he echoed finally, his tone flattening into something more analytical. His fingers tapped once on his knee. Then again. Controlled rhythm. A subtle tell, maybe. A simple answer.

“I come to see who they send. To see who can be broken first.”

His gaze shifted back to her. Still weighing her. Still watching for that tiny crack that never came. The air in the room started to thicken.

“You didn’t.”

Silence again. Long. Tension still there, but thinned out now. No longer barbed, more like a wire slowly slackening. His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You want to know why I stayed? Because you didn’t pretend to win.”

Then—finally—he leaned back again, gloved hands steepling in his lap.

“That’s rare.”

(Y/n) inhaled softly, ready to speak. She didn’t rush. She timed it, let the silence breathe, just as he had. She parted her lips to respond. Footsteps approached them.

To be continued….

Notes: If you see my OCs name (my name🥀 Natasha) in here I missed it. I tried to remove them all as I had wrote this just for me. ALSO you like those “—“ I added in?!? I wanted to be mega spicy with my punctuation. Maybe I should focus on all the commas and periods I missed. This took me a whole year to write. I think I got better. I’ve learned “Sales” skills now and finished my Associates. It’s been a long year. I am finally in the states again. Still in the military but on to bigger and better things!! XOXO hope you enjoy.

Websites used: 1. Reverso - For Russian 2. Quillbot - spellchecker 3. Word counter - to count words. PM for links if you want <3

Military Lingo: RTD -Retired, UNT ASNG - Unit Assigned

[kiyoomisluvr]

nikto squirting content soon

[connorsui]

You know what's better than fluff? Dark fluff.

The kind where devotion borders on obsession, where love isn't just tender—it's consuming.

"I'd do anything for you, love," he murmurs, voice smooth, unwavering. "Anything you desire, and it's yours."

And the other doesn't hesitate, voice laced with something raw, something desperate.

"I want her to split me open—dig her fingers into my ribs and pry them apart. To hold my heart in her hands, feel the pulse of it against her palms, my blood staining her skin. I want her to pick my bones clean, crack them open, suck the marrow dry. I want to be ruined by her, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of her name on what's left of my tongue."

Because love, when it’s deep enough, is a hunger—one that begs to be fed.

[callmecoke]

“You’re mine. You belong to me.” overrated, boring, tiresome, vaguely misogynistic undertones. -5/10

“I’m yours. I belong to you.” new, exciting, thrilling, beautiful, man who respects women, soft femdom coded, 10/10

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Price, texting: Can you come collect your freak of a boyfriend please Price: He's doing things Y/N: No I set him loose on purpose Y/N: He needs enrichment

[beloveds-embrace]

Neglected omega reader who got taken care of by someone else. Nikolai or Konig. The drama ✨✨

I hope i did KorTac justice, I’ve never written them before except König lol @nightunite pspspsps i have nikto crumbs 🙏🏻

Neglected omega reader p1 + p2

KorTac had always liked you.

From the very first moment they’d met you, they’d been drawn in- pulled by the quiet gravity of your presence and the sharp edge of your competence. You were quick on your feet, sharp with a knife, steady under pressure. Smart and resourceful in a way that demanded respect.

But more than that?

You had heart.

You’d been assigned to their unit during a joint operation months ago. Just a temporary deployment, only meant to last a few weeks, but it had been long enough for them to notice things- little things they hadn’t been able to forget.

The way you’d patched König up without hesitation after a mission went sideways, hands steady even as blood slicked your fingers. The way you’d shared your rations with Horangi after a supply drop came in light, brushing off his protests with a stubborn glare. The way you’d sat quietly beside Nikto on watch, not asking questions when he didn’t feel like talking but always ready to listen when he did.

They noticed you, and they liked what they saw.

Liked the way you worked. Liked the way you took care of your team without ever expecting anything in return. Liked the way you carried yourself- confident but kind. Fierce but soft.

But you weren’t theirs. Couldn’t be.

You belonged to 141, and KorTac had backed off, unwilling to overstep boundaries when you already had a pack waiting for you at home. They’d told themselves it was fine- they were fine- watching from a distance.

But then you came back.

Alone.

Hollow-eyed and sharp-edged, moving like a ghost through the halls of the base, and suddenly?

All bets were off.

The first time König sees you in such a state, it’s in the corridor outside the mess hall.

You don’t look up when he walks by, don’t even seem to notice the sheer weight of his presence as he slows, lingering just long enough to let his shadow stretch over you. You’re leaning against the wall like you’re trying to hold yourself together, arms wrapped tight around your middle, shoulders curled inward. Small. Smaller than he’s ever seen you look before. Smaller than he’d ever thought he’d ever see you.

His instincts itch- Omega, alone, hurting- but you’re not his. And still…

His eyes track the tired slump of your shoulders, the way your clothes hang loose, like you’ve been skipping meals. He scents the air. Picks up the faded traces of peach and rose, but there’s something sour underneath- bitter and wrong, like spoiled fruit. König’s stomach twists.

It’s the scent of neglect.

You should never have looked like this. You should have never smelled like this.

Not you. Not the Omega who had once dragged him out of the line of fire without hesitation, barking orders and holding the line until reinforcements arrived. Not the Omega who had once laughed with him under a tin roof during a monsoon, eyes bright.

The smell lingers after he walks away, clinging to the back of his throat like smoke. But it’s the emptiness of it- the hollowness- that keeps him awake that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering which one of those 141 bastards let their Omega rot like this.

The next time König sees you, it’s in the armory.

You’re cataloging weapons, checking and re-checking the tags with mechanical precision, but your hands shake when you reach for the next one. Just a little. Just enough for him to notice.

König moves closer. Quiet, but not too quiet- he doesn’t want to startle you. You don’t look up until his shadow stretches over your workbench, and when you do, the look in your eyes hits him like a gut-punch.

Flat. Guarded. Resigned.

Like you’re expecting him to scold you.

König’s heart cracks wide open. He grips the edge of the table just to keep from reaching out.

“Doing good work.” He says softly, and you just blink.

It’s such a small thing- barely even a compliment- but your throat bobs like you’re swallowing something down. Then you duck your head and go back to your task, not looking at him again.

But you don’t flinch.

Not this time.

Nikto is next, and he doesn’t hesitate.

He remembers you. Remembers the way you’d stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the rain, eyes scanning the horizon with sharp focus as you both waited for the enemy to make their move.

You hadn’t been scared. Not even a little.

And now?

He catches you outside the rec room, sitting on the stairs with your knees drawn up to your chest. You don’t even react when he approaches, just keep staring at the floor like it might swallow you whole.

Now, you look like you’re drowning.

So Nikto doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t say anything. Just crouches down beside you and sets a cup of coffee at your feet before walking away.

You stare at it for almost five minutes before finally picking it up.

The next morning, he does it again. Same cup. Same coffee. Same wordless offering.

It becomes a routine- something quiet and steady, something you can rely on when everything else feels too heavy.

And then there’s Horangi, who pushes the hardest.

He pushes, because he knows you can take it.

You had before- back when you’d yelled at him for ignoring orders and running off alone, eyes blazing as you shoved him back toward the evac point. He’d liked your fire back then, liked the way you didn’t back down even when he towered over you.

But now?

Now your fire’s gone out, and there’s only one group to blame.

So Horangi pushes. Tests the waters, pokes at the edges, trying to find the spark he knows is still there. He is the loudest of the three, sharp and quick with his words, but he also knows when to keep them soft. He finds you cleaning your gear one night and sits down beside you without asking.

“You missed dinner.” He says casually, pulling out a protein bar and tossing it onto your lap. Pushing past the bubble you’ve wrapped around yourself, yet not being overbearing or too much.

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not your Alpha,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t have to listen to me.”

You close your mouth. Look down at the protein bar. Then, without a word, you tear it open and take a bite.

Horangi grins. And just like that, he’s in.

And when you finally- finally- smile at one of his jokes?

He knows he’s got you.

141 starts noticing the shift almost immediately. Soap catches König lingering near you in the gym, eyes following the curve of your spine as you stretch, and something inside him snaps.

Ghost sees Nikto brush his fingers against yours when he hands you something, and his jaw clenches so tight he can hear his teeth grind.

Price overhears Horangi making you laugh- a real, honest-to-God laugh, a sound he can’t hear any longer even in his dreams- and has to excuse himself before he says something he can’t take back.

It gets worse when your scent starts to change; the bitterness fades first, then the sourness.

The first time Price catches a hint of warmth blooming underneath, it stops him dead in his tracks.

Because it isn’t for him. It isn’t for them.

It’s even worse to know that they drove you to it, and have no one to blame but themselves.

They let you fall through the cracks. Let the weight of their own issues and distractions leave you stranded in the dark, too far away for them to pull you back when they finally noticed you were gone.

And now? Now KorTac is picking up the pieces, with no hesitation.

König steadies you. Makes sure you eat, makes sure you rest, makes sure you feel safe even when the world outside is crumbling. Doesn’t push you away when you, big hand lingering on the curve of your spine until his scent is left there.

Nikto grounds you. Offers quiet comfort without demands, without expectations. Makes sure you know he’s there, always there, steady and unshakable. A lighthouse in the stormy seas, the hand that pulls you out of the swirling ocean.

Horangi pushes and pushes. Draws out smiles and laughter, reminds you what it feels like to be wanted. Finds excuses to bump shoulders or brush against you when you pass, just to see if you’ll let him.

And you do. You let all of them, slowly greeting them with the quietest little purr (cat activation noise).

Because it’s easier to be wanted by them than it is to be unwanted by your own pack.

And slowly- so slowly it hurts- you start to come back to life; your scent changes. Softens. Warms. The bitterness fades and the sourness disappears.

And all they can do is only watch as König takes the space they abandoned. As Nikto feeds the hunger they ignored. As Horangi brings back the fire they let burn out.

And they can’t do a damn thing about it.

Because the truth is- KorTac wanted you from the start, and now that they’ve got you?

They’re never letting go.

[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".

[cherie-doll]

I said "do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

(Yes, of course I will, my darling)

― yandere!cod men x reader ― ε price, ghost, soap, gaz, roach, makarov, alejandro, rudy, phillip graves, keegan, könig, horangi, nikto з suggestive?

꒰ ͜ ‿ ͜ ♡ ͜ ‿ ͜ ꒱

ଘ You're no plaything for Price. He doesn't just like you, he adores you. Cups your pretty face in his hands; delicately. His rugged and rough hands become gentle as soon as he comes into contact with your skin, treating it as if it were finely-grained porcelain. He treats you the exact opposite of how he treats anyone else. Whilst he leaves everyone else covered from head to toe in blood for coming near you, you're covered from head to toe in the most expensive items you wish for. But, he doesn't want you to forget that his money doesn't represent his love for you, it does not begin to cover not even half of what it should. He'll be sure to remind you not to be spoiled rotten. He's fond of you and while he's interested in you, you should listen and obey to what he advices you. He is more experienced after all.

ଘ Compare what Simon's scars and bruises are to your unscathed body. Let his hands roam over your body, taking in all he works for. Let them wander and familiarize with what he's toying with. His breath on your skin as it quickens, losing his train of thoughts as he fondles you. He's convinced you're meant only for him. No one else should touch you this way, no one could do it like he does. And please return it! Cradle his head in your lap, so the sizzling subsides and he feels alive. Let him know he's the best, the one. Let him lean in and capture those soft, plump lips in a passionate kiss. Don't pull away, don't deny him his heaven. And don't you dare let anyone else trail your body with their eyes like he does. Why, he'll feel as if they're already doing what their mind desires. He's screwed up in his mind but he'll move heaven and earth for those thighs to wrap around his waist at night spilling the warmth between them. Make him feel warm and welcome, give him the world he burns everyone else for. He sacrifices others at the feet of your altar.

ଘ Johnny's smug smile can fade rather quickly with one sensual move from you, watch him get lost as his breath is winded and his body is overtaken with an all-consuming fire of passion. Oh, he can't even fathom the idea of anyone before or after him experiencing such things. He'll be paralyzed the moment you sit on his lap and putting your hand to his chest, let it trail over his heart which at the moment beats wildly. It's a sensation he experiences when plunging a knife deep within someone else's chest, he reckons the feeling is almost the same. He thinks his victims rather lucky they die this way. How many other people can experience that fleeting, overwhelming feeling?

ଘ Kyle's hand kisses are done with such reverent trembling and respect that he'll have your skin tingling with warm sensations as if the late evening sun was seeping into your skin. Let his and your body blend together like the watercolors on an artist's canvas does. Bask in his affection like you'll sunbathe on the beach. Take in all the good he brings you, accept every touch of his that starts with a secure embrace and ends with the colliding of your bodies. The cold with which he lashes out for others has no place with the gentleness he entreats you with. Keep your eyes on his, locked in his steady gaze immerses himself in fantasies. He feels dizzy as if his world was spinning, losing himself in the sensations. And after the elation, let him shower you in praises, caresses and gifts. Let him buy you two rings for each finger, how many could you want to show off having a caring partner when you slide his card at the register? Make your hands look pretty whilst his are leaving a trail of crimson blood after him.

ଘ Roach couldn't ever hurt anyone else, he didn't know what he was capable of until the importance of you came all too clear. You're something that shouldn't belong to anyone else in the world. It's a quick descent down the spiral of violent devotion. His soft gaze usually filled with admiration and sentiment for you hardens, his pupils dilating as fear takes over. He's only acting on behalf of all his anguish, you haven't the heart to condemn him. He's shown you what your heart is worth, couldn't you give him some sort of heaven? He will do very well at whatever it is you ask of him, just wait while he shows you. There isn't anyone else like him he says over and over as if a prayer or spell he could make come true.

ଘ Makarov does not care whether he deserves you or not. Unlike the others who will commit unspeakable acts out of guilt and use their "pure" intentions to purify their actions, Makarov is selfish and relentless in what he wants. He does not flinch at your attempts of control, it's lost the moment he takes you in. He's determined to taste everything you have to offer, whether it's willingly or not. But he does like things to be served on a platter for him, he also has no problem taking it himself. Let the hand on the back of your neck guide you in the direction you are to walk, be docile and you'll surely receive tenderness. He can never deny that he loves the way your lashes flutter as you look through them up at him as he pats your head for being so good. Overtime you might notice small details showing his exterior cracking and revealing the soft, white underbelly of affection. He feels as if his chest caves in from your actions, the subtle red at the tip of his ears. Keep pulling at his neck collar, he'll like that fake sense of control you have.

ଘ You wouldn't ever catch a glimpse of Alejandro's manipulative strategies until he finds someone threatening. Is it wrong you're not seeing enough of other people? His biggest fear is you falling for someone else, the danger of you getting too close to someone is palpable for him. The intimacy you two share is from the harvest he's worked so hard for. He's been slaving away for so long to just let someone else lay a hand on you. He kneads you into what he desires, anything to feel the beating heart in your chest which pumps only for him. He'll keep polishing you until he gets down to the bare essence of you, which he can only dream to capture. The rhythm he wants to feel rushing through his veins, circling throughout his body.

ଘ Rudy's tenderness blinds you as he takes you to what you can only describe to be paradise. With the shining of luxury, all new and just for you he says. He'll press a million sweet kisses on your face before dropping that a most bothersome person will no longer be graced by your presence ever again. To him it's like a quiet act of love, to you, it's unimaginable. Don't worry your head will all the details, isn't it better to have no worries? He's all smooth indulgence telling you to keep looking at the adorned future he has ahead for you, telling you not to pay attention to the blood that stains the walls of the hallways you walk. He would lay out a new, fancy red carpet over the corpses for you to step over and continue in this fabricated dream.

ଘ Phillip knows exactly how to get the best out of you. Can you blame a man for knowing how to get what he wants from you? Let him tease and tug for he knows what every maneuver of his does. The hands that massage your skin don't get dirty, he'll always have others ready and willing to carry out whatever order he gives. It's what he's accustomed to and how he intends to keep it. But the droplets of blood that splatter do not miss his skin. The stain is still there, still under the skin of the thumb he pushes inside of you, feeling around for that bliss. Let his protectiveness clothe your body, he's already blurring the lines between obsessiveness and possessiveness.

ଘ Keegan's eyes will have you coming to a stumbling halt. Asking for something only you know how to give so good. Those erratic eyes that are unpredictable as they are deep, representing the deep dive you have to be holding your breath for. Are you ready to indulge? Because the impact will have you gasping for air, and when you try to take one you'll only swallow a mouthful of carnal desire. He ignites such a heat it's scalding to the touch, you don't know what's happening it's like you lose control. It happens so fast that when it's all over you'll let his lips, from which hot breaths slip through, kiss all over your sweat glistened body. His eyes might be softer and hold it for a while until he's back to the merciless, cold gaze which freezes everyone's else blood, feeling it lump within their veins.

ଘ Let König go on his fast rampages. They're over quick anyways. And afterwards, when he comes back, cradle his head between your thighs his tongue tangling as he stutters out promises to buy you what you wish if only you let him lap at your sweetness until his thoughts are left to reckless abandonment. Let him get what he can't get anywhere else. Call him handsome as your bury your fingers into his hair, your fingertips trailing his jaw and down his neck to where his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. Place kisses on his cheek until he turns his head in one swift motion and captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He wants it all, wants all of you all at once it makes him messy, shaky and weak. But he just wants someone to hold him, rubbing his ears and whispering words of affirmation in his ear.

ଘ Horangi could care less what other's want from him. You're in his viewpoint and he's determined to apply as much pressure as possible to make you bend. The reason he justifies himself with is the lullaby he's lulled to sleep with. Everyone else wants something from him, why shouldn't you? Everyone else is just in the way, he says over and over again, trying to make you focus on his lips instead of the bodies on the floor. With what he's done, he expects a standing ovation from you, nothing but complete adoration and servitude. He's a man who chases after impulses, who knows how long until this candle runs out. For now, ignore the brusque hand and acknowledge the underlying intents. He'll keep this lecherous momentum going until you're feeling faint from the mere touch of his hand.

ଘ Resignation is a trait Nikto works hard to work out of you. Surely, you ought to trust him after all he's done for you. In his mind, he's dedicated such gentle caring to you, you should be grateful. Don't be afraid to take directly out of his hand, he prefers you lose that skepticism. And when you do start to gentle, oh he can never get enough of it. His fingers grazing and gliding over your body at any and every chance he can get. Let him delve deeper into you, it's only natural for him to want to know you better. Every quiver of yours, he feels through the epidermis of his skin. He just knows you that well. His jerking movements shouldn't startle you by now. Maybe if you were more open, you would be telling him what you want. Give him some sort of sign before that spark ignites an unyielding fire. Because to him, that trembling is a sign of a smoldering fierceness waiting to break through.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . ꔫ

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Nikto has a stubby little dick. It's sort of atrophied from how he was positioned during his torture, but fortunately they never touched it.

It's leaky, it's uncut, it's *handsome.*

His ball (I headcanon he only has one, I have NO clue why) is mostly shaved, it depends on his mood honestly.

He likes it when he has you on top, rocking your hips against his. He doesn't want to fuck you because when you fuck yourself on him you seem happy, and he's scared he won't make you that same happy. He likes when you take the lead, he *trusts* you to take the lead.

Imagine Johnny coming back from deployment and he goes to open 'er (your legs) up and then all you see is horror on his face.

You shaved. That's it. No period, nothing scary down there. But to him?

Guys he's fucking BAWLING. I think if this was his first time since coming back from deployment he'd lose his shit AND ACTUALLY CRY.

"bonnie... Ye shaved 'er bald," he says, having to keep from crying, "what'll keep 'er warm in the winter?"

[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 :)

[ns-imagines]

Dog Tags (Preview)

Nikto x Reader | SFW | Word Count: 1.4k

Authors Note: Preview/Introduction to the new fic im writing!!

Warnings: Depictions of gore/injury and mentions of medication

It's been over four years. You’ve been trying to catch him. 8 different counties. Your heart was pounding from adrenaline. “I finally got you” you proudly proclaimed as you dug your knee into his back. Nikto groaned. His leg was broken from a failed escape attempt earlier. It was honestly the only reason your squad was able to detain him. You were quick to handcuff him. The other agents from NATO watched. All of them armed and ready to give Nikto the lead if needed. One of the men read Nikto his rights. Wanted on 17 counts of terrorism and suspected war crimes. He was fucked.

Nikto looked around him, a cold gaze on his face which was covered by his mask. He looked for any possible escape. The pain in his leg shot up to his knee and hips. “You got me, but at what cost?” Nikto barked out in a cocky tone. You roll your eyes and put more weight on your knee in the small of his back. He winced but he still managed to force out a chuckle. You gave a quick nod. Immediately after, two men squat down to slide a hand through the gap by his arm pits. You back off as they lifted him up, holding him so he could put weight on his good leg. Nikto swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. He was in so much pain he wanted to cry. Glancing back at him, you turned to one of your men with a radio. “Call the medic for his injuries. I want them on the aircraft before we evac.” You said as you walked away towards the extraction point just outside. The man nods and calls it in on the radio.

Nikto hopped over while being supported by the two men. His wrist ached from the cuffs being put on too tight. Tears prick his eyes from the pain in each jump. They make it to the extraction point where a V-22 can be seen approaching. Nikto lets his head fall down in front of him. He stared at the ground trying to collect himself. He would hide it well but Nikto was panicking. Last time he was caught like this he was tortured. Americans don’t torture, right? He sucked in a sharp breath, noticing he had forgotten to breathe. He felt betrayed by his own leg and how it would make his escape almost impossible.

You walk onto the aircraft talking to the necessary people. They are all asking what information to report back to base. Nikto is forced onto the aircraft. The two men that escorted him seated him down and secured all his limbs except his leg to the seat. They buckle his waist and overhead chest straps. After speaking to at least 10 people, you went and sat across from him. Crossing your legs and arms to glare at him. He returns the look with a cold and dirty look.

A young medic walks over to the two of you. He had just left his schoolhouse, so he was brand new to hitting the fleet. His name tape reads “Pellet”. Nikto watches Pellet closely as he speaks to him. “Good Afternoon Ma’am! I'm here to assess your injuries.” Pellet chirps out. You smile and reassure him youre okay and point to Nikto seated behind Pellet. Pellet basically turns in one hop motion to face Nikto while saying “oh”.

Pellet kneels and smiles at Nikto as he explains to him his rights under the Geneva Convention. Nikto zones out. Occasionally, giving you dirty looks. Pellet clears his voice and says “I'm going to have to cut your pants to assess your leg.” Nikto nods and says nonchalantly “Fine. Just do it quickly.” Pellet nods and pulls out a syringe and fabric scissors. Nikto watches him, his body stiff in fear that hell would bump his injury. Pellet starts with Nikto's ankle and stops cutting at just above his knee. Damn, he's white. You smile thinking about how you could tease him about how he should go get a tan. Pellet continues his work by sliding his pants a bit higher to expose his thigh. He carefully injects the morphine. Pellet moves his attention down to the break. It looked disgusting. All black and blue plus it was swollen. Pellet took down notes and stated that “I'm thinking transverse fracture in the fibula” You both look at him confused. “What” You both say at the same time reacting in a glare towards each other. Pellet lightly runs his finger about 3/4th down Niktos shin. “Clean break right here. I need an X-Ray when we get back for sure.” Nikto winces at the touch.

“This is going to hurt or feel very uncomfortable but the morphine should help.” Pellet states as he takes out a SAM Splint. (A split used in field military care. It looks like a big slap bracelet that doesn't bend.) Nikto looks at the roof and squeezes his eyes shut. He didn't want anyone touching his leg. It hurt to the point where it made him mad. Pellet wiped down Nikto and applied the SAM splints on both sides. Nikto was clenching his jaw so hard he thought he would break his teeth. Pellet quickly wrapped it up with field dressing and some athletic tape to secure it. Pellet stood up admiring his work. “All done.” He said, turning to face you. You dismiss Pellet and stand up to walk away. Pellet injects more Morphine into Nikto. He can feel his body relax. It makes him tiered almost.

The aircraft takes off. Nikto overhears it's a long flight back to the U.K. then they will fly to the states. Pellet comes around periodically to inject more morphine. Nikto falls asleep. Bad dreams and memories still cloud his dreams. Nikto's eyes fluttered open to someone running by. He groans and looks over to the cockpit where a small crowd stands. He can see you talking to the pilots. There were a lot of arguments and beeping noises all at once. Nikto listens to what he can. You grab the radio and speak on it in a serious but worried tone. “This aircraft is on humanitarian order and is carrying civilians. Stand down.” He hears you repeat it multiple times. A man stands next to you barking orders at the other men to take their seats and strap him. The aircraft jerks to the side. You repeat yourself on the radio before the pilots tell you to strap in.

​You rush to sit by Nikto, immediately pulling the shoulder straps over you. “You fucking bastard.” You bark at Nikto, who is looking at you blankly. He says nothing as you buckle the last remaining straps. You look at him disgusted. “Who did you call?!” Niktos' eyes changed to an expression of shock. “Me?! I've been tied to this chair!” He says, annoyed. His accent was getting thicker with anger. You scoff “You aren’t getting away from me again. I'm turning you in no matter what.” You grab the straps on your chest and squeeze your eyes shut as the aircraft jolts. Nikto notices your knuckles turning white from squeezing. You being worried makes him become worried. He goes to poke you but he is quickly reminded his hands are restrained to the seat. “What is happening?!” He demands, looking at the agent and Pellet who is seated across from them. Nikto didn't even notice him buckling in. Pellet was crying…? No one answered him.

It all happened in seconds. A loud bang. Heat. Cold air slapped him in the face. The whiplash. Then there was blood in his eyes. His heart felt like it was going to explode. He couldnt breathe, the pressure was so great. Blurring his vision. Sharp pain hitting his leg from getting hit with debris made him scream out in pain. Light. Then dark.

…

Nikto woke up slowly to a red flashing light and silence. A headache hit him. He could feel his head pulsing. He felt strange until he realized he was upside down. The blood rushing to his head didn't help. You were still strapped in next to him unconscious. Across from him Pellet was- Nikto wanted to vomit. He had to look away. Pellet's head was completely gone along with one of his legs. A disgusting blood mess. Nikito's vision starts to blur and blacken. The headache. The blood rush was so uncomfortable, almost painful. His leg was completely numb. A second later, he was unconscious again.

-

Military Lingo Key

V-22 Osprey- its like helicopter half plane. Pretty sketchy. Super loud when flying and bumpy.

Field dressing - softer brace that wraps covered wound or sprang. Its like the stuff they wrap around ur arm after giving blood but fabric.