#Nikto fluff

[syntheticsymp]

Something fluffy with Nikto ♥️

his lover asked him “since I’m not allowed to wear pants, can you get me a soft warm blanket hoodie for me?” She begs him for one! Nikto agrees.

a very rare compromise that Nikto can agree with her!

After being good to him for so long, he can't help agreeing. It was such a small request and technically wasn't against his rules. Besides, the way you were cuddling up against him, shaking from the cold, also played a hand in his agreement. He didn't want you to get sick now that winter was approaching.

So, he went to the nearest store and bought what you had been asking for. He would have ordered online to delay the awkward interaction with the store employee, but he also had no idea how to do that.

You had almost thought your request had been ignored since he had waited a while to get one for you (he was actually just waiting for the shipment to come in since the store last time was all out) but randomly, he came home with the fluffiest thing in his arms. You almost burst out laughing at the sight of him.

Your kidnapper, the terrifying war machine, walking up to you and presenting a pretty pink gift. He had gotten your hoodie in pink. You bit back a smile.

He didn't make small talk. Instead, he pointed to your arms, then gestured with his hand.

"Up."

You lifted your hands above your head without protest. He easily pulled up the shirt you were wearing, tossing it to the side. His eyes flicked over your body once, not hungrily, just observing. Then he pulled the fuzzy hoodie over your head.

It was a pretty underwhelming fashion show, but Nikto didn't mind. In fact, he loved it more than any of that gaudy lingerie he had seen at the store. You looked so soft in that fluffy thing, it was practically swallowing you whole. While Nikto never particularly cared for what you wore, usually preferring to see your bare skin, he had to admit, he liked this.

You seemed content, doing a little spin before asking, "What do you think?"

And maybe he smiled a little. As much as he could, really. Scarred flesh stretching uncomfortably across his face. "It is good."

That night he once again let you fall asleep in his arms, his twisted fingers carding through your hair, begrudgingly admitting to himself that the hoodie was soft enough that he just might have to get himself one, too.

[lizzy019]

Nikto who used to have a love language such as physical contact before he joined the military and hardened his personality and skin.

He knew nowadays that the callouses and cuts on his hands made it uncomfortable when he touched you, as the open skin from his scarred hands would scratch you. You couldn't tell him how nice his hands were. Big, thick, and warm to the touch.

Nikto loves when you allow him to randomly grab at your flesh to squeeze and hold. The skin on your body was so soothing to him, so untouched and graceful in its glory. The muscle was undefined, but he could feel it. Big hands can feel a lot, he says.

He spends his time away from you wishing he could get a sliver of your warmth, to feel you and to keep the confirmation that you're real and that you exist, not just another addition to his twisted mind.

Nikto often uses his expression to get your attention while you're doing things. You're doing a hobby you enjoy? He'll probably start randomly tugging at your clothes or poking random parts of you, even resorting as to flop himself on you for some physical affection like kissing or cuddles.

He's not picky. A touch-starved man like him just wants what he knows he deserves, no matter the amount. He's desperate to have you praise his body with your fingers, to caress his scars and leave a trail of admiration and appreciation in their wake.

During this time, he also likes to become more like his shier alters. The one that lacks his usual bark, often being more shy and timid but cuddly and sweet. They only talk in Russian, but you've heard him speak in his language so many times that you could translate enough.

"Никаких объятий? (No hugs?)" He asks, snuggling up to you while you watched something on the screen of the television.

You could only comply, adjusting so Nikto's heavy body could rest atop you for some deserved cuddles. After all, he knows he's been good and that he deserves a bit of care. A man like him, he wants what he wants even in all his different states.

You couldn't tell him that you liked this alter of him more than his original one.

[kyumisyumi]

Garden for two

Step 1: Make granny coded OC Step 2: Nickname her little Babushka Step 3: Ship her with the Russian

Ship: Nikto x F!OC (Adlean)

Word count: 4k

⊱⊶Taking requests⊷⊰

It was only an inch, just the smallest little bit over the border; that's what Adlean told herself in the beginning. Then came any other weak excuse she could muster to turn that inch into a meter and that meter into the whole yard. That little devil on her shoulder gave any and all excuses it could for her to keep expanding on this little project. 'The neighbor hasn't appeared for months...', 'he probably wouldn't even mind a little bit of maintenance on his lawn...', 'if he cared he would've petitioned for a fence...' and so on and so on. Until her voice and that devil's were indiscernible. Until it was only hers.

Adlean hadn't thought it would've gone this far. She'd raised a few houseplants, yeah, but had no real gardening nor landscaping skills to rely on. Just some YouTube tutorials and a dream. Yet, as she got one section done and then another and another, it became harder to stop. So enamored by an idea coming together and it being by her own unskilled hands. One of those rare times she'd set out to do something and it was actually done right. She'd chosen clover to replace the generic grass turf. A young cherry blossom here, a stone pathway there; sheet mulch and cover crops. Aside from native wildflowers there were handful of foreign flora that looked too good to resist in her eyes. Plus a few easy to grow crops the store recommended. Some ceramic decor, garden trellis, fairy lights. She went far over her budget turning this place into a scene from a fantasy novel, evidenced by the weeks worth of cheap ramen filling her kitchen; all she'd be able to afford for a while. But in the end, it genuinely looked wonderful, like one of those images you come across on pinterest.

However.

As large as her yard was, the need to keep going flowed strong in her veins even after every inch was fully decorated. Pulsing from her head to her heart to her hands as though Mother Nature herself was guiding her trowel. She hadn't gone as overboard on her neighbor's lawn; no trees, no ponds, just some wildflowers and better turf and a few mini garden figures hidden along the edges. Adlean figured if her mythical neighbor ever did show up and express distaste, she'd simply apologize profusely and undo her handywork. Alternatively, she'd hoped they might completely fall in love with the lawn and thank her for being so wonderful. They'd bake her a cake she'd weakly refuse and she'd make them cookies, cementing the perfect neighborly relationship she so greatly yearned for.

What she hadn't planned for were the angry yells and curses coming from a brick wall of a silhouette who was rapidly banging on her door.

"Roderick! Cволочь![bastard!] Get your fucking ass out here and explain this rubbish."

God, he was so loud. She could only imagine what the neighbors were thinking. Hopefully they'd at least poke their heads out to act as witnesses if things went bad. She was shaking in the little hallway that lead to her front door, rethinking her life choices and wishing she could undo the past- actually fighting the devil on her shoulder rather than giving in to it's mischievous whispers. Adlean momentarily considered calling the police to mediate but that would just unsettle the whole block of nosey elderly people that populated the cul-de-sac. Not to mention it might effectively deteriorate any chance of her being on decent terms with the person she would have to share a house with. That was something she didn't want to experience again; making enemies among neighbors was the reason she'd moved here to begin with. So, despite how much she didn't want to, despite how much her muscles tensed while her fingers shook, she approached the front door and opened it.

'I'M SO SORRY!' She thought the words but couldn't bring herself to say it, lips pursed in fear and anxiety the moment she got a proper view of the absolute unit in front of her. Compared to her, he was a giant, blocking any light from penetrating beyond her doorway and casting her in his shade. The man was wearing full black, with only a tacky gold chain dangling from his neck to stop him from looking like a humanoid shadow that had manifesting on her front steps. Terrifying. The balaclava concealing everything but the anger in his eyes didn't help either.

"What is this? Where is the bastard? He sends woman to face his problems." The man shifted forward as if he was going to try to push past her into her own home but thought better of it.

Nikto's momentary confusion at seeing the small black girl instead of the lanky white man he knew to live next to him had caused enough bewilderment to dampen his anger... for now. He studied her for a moment; she was short, barely tall enough to reach his chest and the many layers of oversized clothing didn't help. She wore light colors; baby blues, greens and whites, a large woolen coat over a sweater and skirt that reached her ankles. Her face was round and held brown almond eyes, a pointed nose and thick lips. Large framed glasses were perched on the tip of her nose, the plastic a matching shade of blue. Atop her head was a hefty mass of dreadlocks wrapped into a bun that was almost as large as her head. Looked heavy too. He brought his gaze back to her face, she was doing well to hide the distress in her features but Nikto could see the way her fingers gripped the ends of her sleeves for dear life. At first he thought her lips were pursed in annoyance but Nikto soon realised they were locked in fear, quivering slightly at the edges. He'd scared the poor thing. 'Fucking hell' He cursed to himself, the smallest drop of guilt creeping in for terrifying some random woman.

"Listen, didn't mean for- nevermind, who are you?" He asked, voice sounding like it grated against every surface of his throat before exiting his lips.

She took a moment, looking behind him to check for an audience. "I'm Adlean, I rent this side of the house. I assume you're my neighbor." Common courtesy had her wanting to say 'nice to meet you' but...

"Ahh, so not Roderick anymore." He tsked.

Adlean couldn't tell if he was happy or upset to hear the news. "No, I've been here for about 4 months now." She shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I'm sorry for messing around in your backyard. I got a little carried away and the home has been empty for so long I wasn't even sure if you existed. I'll remove it all, starting tomorrow... or pay to have someone deconstruct your lawn if you prefer." She spoke quickly, he could almost hear the regret in her tone.

Nikto contemplated for a while, or at least he pretended to. It gave him more time to watch the woman squirm in front of him- a bully, even in guilt. "We will give this some thought." He sighed, his body sagging slightly as his anger simmered.

"Alright." Adlean said quietly. "You can leave a note in my mailbox when you decide." She slanted the door, giving him time to spill any more grievances before closing it.

Nikto stared at the closed door for a while before retreating to his side of the home. He was no longer angry but his body had built up so much of it that it now bounced around his skull, waiting to be converted into some other emotion.

So he had a new neighbor now. Good. He hated the slimy bastard who would leave dog shit in his yard and fill his trashcans while he was gone. Instead he now had a neighbor who seemed to like messing around on other people's property. He strolled to the window and pulled back the curtains, looking out at the wilderness she'd turn his yard into. It wasn't bad, the plant-life seemed haphazard at first but now that he'd taken a second look he could see they were laid out with purpose. He wasn't sure what he thought at first; that Roderick had thrown random turf and weed into his yard out of spite or to monopolize the space somehow. A small part of him almost welcomed the conflict, a nice little spat before he would settle into the mundane.

He looked over on her side where her skills really shone through, it was pretty but he was sure as hell glad she kept it to her side. Nikto's eyes shifted to the movement along the side of the house, watching as his neighbor 'Adlean' left her home. Distress remained in her features as she looked around briefly before making her way to a spot beneath a small canopy, a book in one hand and a tumbler in the other. He watched her settle onto the grass, leaning slightly against the young pink tree. Nikto told himself that he was only watching to learn about the stranger he would have to partially share a space with. It was only natural he'd want details on someone within proximity... He watched her toy with the cover of the book, lifting it as if to open it but letting it shut close again and again. Her chest rose and fell into a sigh, too distracted maybe, before looking over at the likely source of her ire; his side of the property. Her gaze ran over the fence and flowers and pathway of mulch before eventually landing on the house, the window and him. She visibly stiffened before hurriedly averting her eyes.

Nikto stayed for a moment longer before leaving the window.

Nikto wouldn't hesitate to admit himself a pervert at times. He could appreciate a woman's body, the things they can do and how they make him feel. However, he never fancied himself a creep, not until now at least. Only a handful of days had passed since he'd returned home from deployment and what should've been a time of -fitful and fleeting- relaxation was instead a slow decent into madness. His body moved as it should; it woke, it cooked, it sat in front of the tv for hours before resting again. However, within his mangled head was a spider weaving silk. Its hairline triggers spreading through his ears and along every surface connecting his home to hers. Waiting for the telltale vibration of nearby movement; prey. He would know the moment she'd step outside into her yard to read or maintain her garden. Her door neither slammed nor creaked but he would hear it, would feel it, would sense it with an acuteness that was usually reserved for the battlefield. And as though it were protocol, he would be by a window, hidden from her curious glances at his home.

'Adlean' was nothing compared to the Slavic goddesses his homeland produced. Their beauty was bold, sharp, stunning in a way that both defined and challenged the concept of beauty itself. Hers was... mild, delicate, a type you'd miss if you looked away too fast. Where his type of women would strut as though the ground would rise to meet their feet, she glided unhindered and unbothered. He had his preference and it wasn't her, yet, here he was glued to a window like a mut watching their owner pull into the driveway after a long days work. His eyes drinking her in as though she was the only source of clean water for miles and he was cursed with perpetual thirst. He would drink and drink and drink and never have his fill. Maybe if he got to look closer; shoved his head into the oasis rather than graze his hand along the surface to sip from his palms. Maybe then his lips would no longer be dry and his stomach no longer crumbling inward in it's pursuit of sustenance.

But therein lied a problem; the duality of a man like him who liked pretty things but could only mar them. If she was an untouched fragment of nature then he was mankind; giving it an appreciative glance before bulldozing it to build a highway. Nikto looked down at his hands, his fingers secreting ichor that only his eyes could perceive. Their putrid reddish-black gliding along his knuckles only to fall where they'd be reabsorbed back into him. Just like watching from afar wasn't enough, watching up close would soon fail to placate him. He'd want to touch, to grab, to squeeze, to crawl into her skin. He paused his thoughts to watch her prune one of the vining plants, his eyes stuck on the Alabaster white that bled from her gentle digits. He wanted to know what would happen if their hands touched. Would his muck dissolve her colors, crawling along her hands to forever taint her with his sins. Or was her hue potent enough to wash away his own, or at least, force it to retreat somewhere deep inside where he would no longer have to see it. Would they mix to create something new or would they slide right off each other like oil and water- incompatible. Nikto knew the answer, he was a broken man who broke his surroundings to reflect himself. A piece of him here, a piece of him there. A piece of him in the knife he stuck in the enemy's neck, a piece of him in the bullet wounds riddled in his targets. A piece of him in every whore he'd ever paid for and a piece of him in every comrade he'd sever once they got too close. A piece of him in every therapist they'd forced him to see, who would mark him good just to make sure he'd never step foot in their office again. Thankfully, he'd managed to keep his home untouched, no shard of him to be found in it's modest decor.

He watched his neighbor retreat into her home, satisfied with the maintenance she'd done. A contemplative glance over to his side before closing her door. He hardly knows his neighbor, but he knew she did not deserve to have a man like him in her life. She was made for a normal man who would give her a ring and children. Not for a broken soldier clinging to the pieces of his mind, scrambling for the shards that he himself discards. He was subject to his emotions but his actions, his actions would always reflect the meticulous decisions of a well trained soldier...a practiced killer. His brain and it's inhabitants could be as much of a mess as it wanted but he was in control. This was noise, nothing but his mind trying to create chaos and latching onto the first thing it could find. He knew there was nothing to be gained by entertaining this little 'fixation' of his.  He knew. He knew. He knows.

Nikto knows to leave pretty things alone.

"Neighbor, we bring gift." Nikto spoke once she'd opened her door for him, the small bag in his hand containing a Russian tea mix. A gift; a peace offering. "Make up for... Earlier incident."

Adlean stared at him for a moment, her gaze flicking from his eerie blue eyes to the brown paper bag crushed between his scar ridden fingers and back to him. When she saw his familiar silhouette at her screen door, she'd prepared herself for some kind of verbal altercation, despite the fact that he hadn't technically yelled at her the first time. She'd been kicking herself repeatedly these past few days. Annoyed that she'd caused her neighbor trouble due to being impulsive and annoyed at how much anxiety she'd allowed to build in her body because of it. Adlean had spent so many years working to overcome that part of herself that inflated every little issue in her life, but that training went straight into the garbage that lovely Sunday morning he came knocking at her door. It was forgivable, she told herself, he was a big man and with only one barely barricaded door to separate them she was right to worry. Yet she was pissed at herself all the same. That constant irritation had her brows involuntarily knitted together and her eyes narrowed into a look her friend often teased her about, likening her to an angry librarian or a ticked off school teacher. That sour look had permanently plastered itself on her face since and it was what greeted her well meaning, neighbor.

"Maybe not then... " His trailed off, voice somehow sounding more ashen.

It was near impossible to read his face behind a mask but she felt a hint of disappointment. It snapped her out of her foul mood and she quickly fixed her face. "Oh! No, no, I appreciate the gift." She held her hands out for the item. "Thank you."

Adlean forced a smile onto a face that still wanted to scowl. This was great, a sign she hadn't completely messed up her chances. Maybe she could take it a step further. "Would you like to enjoy this tea together? On the veranda out back?" She quickly added the last part, not ready to invite him directly into her home. Generally nerves weren't something she had to battle but the circumstances had her words coming out a little more shaky, her hands a little more fidgety. "In about half an hour, if you're not busy."

The Russian's eyes creased ever so slightly for a brief moment. "Да[yes], yes, that would be... Good."

With another awkward moment of swaying and silent nods the door was eventually closed. Adlean took a moment to inspect the tea with a little smile on her face. Teas have always been the go to gift of people in her life, despite the fact that she actually doesn't like them that much. "I guess I must look the type." she muttered to herself, grateful all the same. She compared the tea he got her to the one she bought to gift to him but couldn't bring herself to knock on his door. Maybe she'd give it to him later, or save it for the next time she overstepped.

A deep sigh made it's way out of her lips. This was good. This was her chance. They didn't need to be best friends, just cordial at the very least. She would accept that much. Anything but enemies, she wouldn't go through that again, never again. With that sentiment echoing through her mind, she went out to sweep the veranda and put the chairs together. 

Nikto had put those thirty minutes to good use, taming his mind and avoiding the questions he asked himself. He would move on impulse. Those impulses had granted him an invitation to her company after all. If she hadn't he might've found some reason or excuse to make his way into her home, testing her boundaries to sate his curiosity. It didn't sit well with him to be so distracted but in the comfort of his own home, he'd allow it for now.

Nikto stepped out into the back yard. Their home had a veranda that span the entirety of the structure's length. There use to be a small fence to separate the sides but Roderick had toppled it over some years ago. Said he'd gotten into a fight at a party he threw and pushed a guy into it. A check of the security cameras confirmed there was a fight but it was his bony ass that got knocked to the ground. Bastard never bothered to replace it. The memory only made Nikto that much more grateful his neighbor was gone. This area wasn't spared from Adlean's questionable decorating choices, though it seemed all the plants here were fake, she'd added many along the railing and wall. Two lanterns above her door hung from fake branches. It wasn't Nikto's style, far too cluttered bordering messy, but it did suit her.

Adlean was already out, smiling with her eyes as he approached. She really did look like an old lady at times; legs crossed and tucked beneath her chair, her large glasses dangling precariously on the tip of her nose, hair up in a neat bun, draped in layers upon layers of knitted fabrics. The outdoor table-chair set was also within the aesthetic of her back yard, possibly custom made, designed to look like branches in the shape of furniture. Nikto was hesitant to sit, while the chair looked large enough for him they still seemed delicate, like they'd snap under the weight of his gaze alone. Adlean assured him it was fine, but it took a while before he could let his guard down and put his full weight on it. On the table, sitting above the green cloth covering it's surface, was the familiar orange color of his tea in a glass pot, two matching cups on either side and sugar packs placed in the middle. Adlean poured his glass before hers and Nikto didn't miss that she waited for him to drink first before taking a sip of her own.

"Thanks for agreeing to this, I really should apologize again for essentially trespassing." She began. There was genuine remorse in her words but despite this she seemed far more content, especially compared to earlier.

"No need, we're not upset. In truth, we just wanted reason to pick fight with neighbor." He paused. "Past neighbor."

"Was he... Problematic?" She asked.

"A problem; he very much was." He made a sound like in the back of his throat, like slate against metal.  "Thorn. Worm. Would come into our yard, just like you, but always with mess. Had annoying dog too. He was always loud, shit music playing at all hours of the night. Made us hate having a neighbor, would've moved if not for fact that we're barely here."

Adlean grimaced. "I know what that's like." She elaborated after Nikto gave her an inquisitive glance. "My last neighbor was great until rumors got out that her husband was having an affair and for some reason she believed it was with me. She started messing with my packages, tampering with food I had delivered and even my mail. Throwing things through my window and I'm pretty sure she released a possum in my home on four different occasions."

"Hm, what did you do in return?"

"Nothing... I just kept trying to talk to her but she wouldn't listen."

"Weak. If Roger ever did such things; I would have his tongue."

She chuckled, enjoying the blunt response. "Yea, well I was pretty weak back then."

"And now?"

"Now, I try not to be." She answered, a smile on her lips anyone could tell was fake.

The conversation drifted away and they spoke as two people new to each other would. Nikto wouldn't say much about himself but she compensated by being open about her life. She went into further detail about the things her old neighbor had done, some of it so bad he developed a slight appreciation for Roderick. She updated him on the surrounding neighbors, not that there was much given the area was just one big retirement home. She also let him know the shyly old woman that owns the house might pass it to her niece.

Nikto watched as she blew on her drink before taking small sips; her eyes lidded as the liquid rippled against her lips. It had to be on purpose, yeah? The way she moved was so slow, so calm. Nikto could damn near count the frames, yet the motions were fluid. Unbothered. She moved like someone with little care for time and how finite it was for us humans.  He envied it. He wanted that calmness, wanted to crawl into the chasm of her mind and set up residence. He made the correct decision getting closer. This must be why he enjoyed watching her so much; she looked like someone who knew peace. Exuded it. Combined with her voice, Nikto barely wanted to talk back, just listen. Just exist. He would never have true peace but when he watches her, his mind slows down just a bit and for a moment he can pretend. That's all it was, yes. She was a sustenance and he was starving.

She opened her eyes fully, lips still resting against the cup, then she turned them to him. Looking away would've been a good choice, to avoid appearing any more creepy than he already feels but he couldn't. He couldn't help but wonder how he looked to her. The Russian had no illusions about his appearance, to be sitting like this having tea in a garden didn't suit a creature like him at all. To any outsider he must look severely out of place; like a dagger among needles or a rock among feathers.

"Let's be good to each other, neighbor." she said in a quiet voice before returning to her tea.

He would. He would be good to her.

[sidemari]

• Bun in the oven •

Some texts about you telling them that you’re pregnant and some headcanons about how they’re during the pregnancy. 

Characters included: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Keegan P. Russ, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, König, Nikto and Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader 

TW: Mild angst, mentions of abortion and insecurities, implied smut. But everything works out in the end. 

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You call him from the corner of the room, that nervous smile on your face. Soap knows right away that something big is coming — he feels it, like he senses danger on the field… But this time, it’s something different. Something good.

“Johnny… Do you remember the night you came back home after being away for so long due to that mission?” You tested the waters by avoiding telling the truth right away.

“Yeah… How could I forget that night?” He smiled warmly, his mind flashing with the images of that day. “What about it, hon?” 

“Well… You know we got carried away and…”

“And…?”

“We’re having a baby.” You finally share your secret. 

He blinks. Once. Twice. His usual playful smile disappears for a second, replaced by a stunned look, as if he’s trying to decode what he’s just heard.

“Are… are you serious?” You nod, and he… explodes with joy. He literally lifts you into the air with a surprised cry, almost laughing and crying at the same time.

“Oh my God! We’re going to be parents?! Aye, fuck, baby, is this really real?”

He kisses your forehead, then your belly, even though it hasn’t even changed yet. He murmurs a bunch of sweet things in that warm accent — promises, plans, dreams. And then he whispers very softly, just for you to hear:

“I swear I will be the best father in the world… to our baby. And the best man to you. Always.”

When the morning sickness starts, he becomes your personal bodyguard against any suspicious smells: “What the hell is that in the air?! It smells like poison, honey. Close that window!”

He researches everything about pregnancy and becomes the most emotional “expert” on the planet. He sends you messages like: “Did you know that the baby already has little fingers today? LITTLE FINGERS, BABY!”

He talks to your belly every day, telling them about his missions, his friends on the team, and asking if the baby prefers soccer or rugby: “If you kick now, it’ll be rugby, okay?”

He starts to become obsessed with photos. He takes a thousand selfies with you and your belly, even while you’re sleeping. 

He refuses to let you carry anything, literally: “Not even the bag. Not even the remote. Let me carry it, honey.”

He massages your feet every night, and even develops a ‘military relaxation technique’ just so you can sleep better.

He has a hospital bag ready with 30 unnecessary things, like three types of chocolate, a teddy bear, and a mini speaker to play Scottish music for the baby.

He’s always reminding you how beautiful you are, even when you feel uncomfortable and insecure. “No matter how big your belly is, you’ve always been the love of my life, and now you’re carrying our little miracle. And no, I don’t give a single fuck about those stretchmarks. You’re nurturing a life inside your womb and your body is adapting itself because of it. I still think you look damn hot and I’m forever thankful that those pregnancy hormones shifted you into a little insatiable thing.”

He gets touchy-feely, sometimes hugging you in the middle of the night just to say thank you. 

He makes up nicknames for the baby while he’s still in the womb, like “Little Soap”. 

He gets really emotional during the first ultrasound. He holds your hand tightly and tries not to cry… but fails miserably.

He makes special playlists with soft Scottish music, movie soundtracks and even records himself talking so the baby can hear at night.

He buys miniature army clothes, but also absurdly cute ones, like animal costumes, because “he needs to have style in the nursery”.

One day he shows up with a crib set up in the middle of the living room just because “he wanted to see if it would look nice in natural light”.

He learns to cook your favorite foods (even if it turns out to be a disaster) just so you can eat what you want safely.

He keeps notes with the dates of the first times: first kick, first time their heartbeat was heard, first photo of your belly. He’s creating a secret “dossier” of love.

He swears he’s going to be the most present father in the world. No matter how much life changes, he will always be there for you two. 

It was a quiet night at home. The sky was clear, with a million stars shining through the open window. You were sitting on the couch, with a cup of hot tea in your hands, and Soap was lying next to you, with his head on your lap, apparently tired from the intense mission of the day. The conversation was calm, but you knew it was time to tell him the news. He was so focused on caressing your stomach as you played with his hair, that he didn't notice how nervous you were.

"Did you know you're going to be the best dad in the world?" You said softly, feeling your heart race. Soap looked at you with a crooked smile, his eyes shining with evident affection.

"I have no doubt about that, love. But what do you mean, best dad? If I'm not, who will be, huh?" You laughed, but you were feeling overflowing with happiness. Suddenly, the moment was there, and it was as if time had slowed down just so he could hear your words.

"Well… I can't say who's going to be the best father, but you're the best for me, and… Our daughter is going to be very lucky." There was a pause. Soap stood up quickly, looking at you, confused, as if he hadn't quite understood. His eyes were curious, but his smile stubbornly wouldn't leave his face. 

"Wait… What?" He asked, his eyes shining even brighter. You laughed, feeling the heat rise to your face. 

"I… we're expecting a little girl." Soap's eyes widened for a moment and he was silent, processing the information. When it finally sunk in, he leaned forward, with a dazzling smile.

"A little girl?" he repeated, his voice full of disbelief. 

"Yes, a little girl," You said, your heart almost jumping out of your chest. "You're going to be the father of a little girl." And then, he simply laughed. A genuine, happy laugh, one of those laughs that seemed so honest that you felt your soul warm. He stood up from the couch, holding your hands tightly before he jumped close to you, not caring about the teacup that almost fell to the floor.

"Are you sure about this? A real little girl?" He asked again, his eyes shining with happiness.

You laughed then, finally, the feeling of nervousness disappearing. He was more excited than ever, and his happiness was contagious.

"I'm sure!" You answered, laughing along with him, the two of you hugging each other tightly. "We're going to have a daughter, Soap." He ran his hand over your belly, still not fully believing it, but with a sparkle in his eyes that didn't fade. 

"I promise that I'm going to be the best dad in the world. It's going to be a pleasure to watch our little girl grow up." You leaned back against the couch, feeling your heart beat faster. 

"I know you will." And as he continued to rub your belly, smiling like a fool and in that moment, you were more certain than ever that he was the kind of father who would do anything for her. 

Keegan P. Russ 

You hadn’t planned to tell him like this. You wanted something elaborate, symbolic… maybe a candlelit dinner, a note written in your nervous handwriting. But there, sitting on the couch, with his hand resting on your thigh and his eyes intently watching a movie, you felt the right moment — a comfortable, intimate silence, just the two of you.

“Keegan…” You began, your voice low, almost as if you were keeping a precious secret between your lips. He turned his face to you right away. He always did that — when you spoke, he listened. With his eyes, with his whole body. It was a habit of his to offer you his total presence.

“Is something wrong?” He asked immediately, already with that protective look that always came when you hesitated.

“No… it’s just...” You took his hand and brought it to your belly, as if that would be enough. Maybe it was. For a moment, he didn’t understand. He looked back at your face, at your eyes filled with unshed tears, at his hand under your still flat stomach, but which held a secret growing in silence.

“Are you...?” He didn’t finish the question, but his eyes said it all. You nodded, with a shy, uncertain, but hopeful smile. The air between you changed. He didn’t say anything for a second too long — but you saw it. His shoulders relaxed as if he had been waiting for this news without knowing. His eyes watered, and his mouth opened slowly, a whisper coming out between his lips:

“Are we becoming a family...?” The way he hugged you that night was different. It was a protective, reverent grip. As if you were made of porcelain. As if the most important miracle of his life was inside you — and it was.

The focused, meticulous soldier appeared in a new form: in nutrition spreadsheets, reminders on his phone with alarms for his snacks, vitamins, and appointments. He went with you to all of them—even when he was exhausted, even when he had just returned from a mission the day before. He sat next to you, held your hand, and listened intently to every word the obstetrician said.

Keegan was the type of person who didn’t say much, but showed it all through his actions. He learned to cook healthy meals even though he didn’t know how to cut a tomato properly at first. He would run his hands over his belly before bed every night, with a caress that felt like a silent prayer.

And when the symptoms got tough — the nausea, the aches, the bloating — Keegan didn’t run away. He showed up with tea (and if you refused to drink them, he’d force you to, saying it was for the good of the baby you were nurturing), warm blankets, and concerned eyes. He sat on the floor beside your bed when you didn’t want to talk. He was just there and it was enough. 

Sometimes, during the night, he would wake up just to check if you were still sleeping well. He would run his hand over your forehead, carefully adjusting your position, as if he could protect you even from nightmares.

Keegan, during your pregnancy, was as firm as steel and as gentle as a cozy blanket. He became your safe haven, your silent and constant guardian. He slept with his hand on your belly, talked to the baby when he thought you couldn’t hear, promised he would be there, always, that he would take care of you, that no one would ever hurt you both. 

You found him in the kitchen, cooking your latest craving: berry pie.

“Baby,” You called, leaning against the door frame. He looked up immediately, a small smile forming when he saw you there.

You walked over to him slowly, your heart racing, and pulled out the small pair of blue booties you had bought that morning.

“For when he gets here.” You said, placing the booties in his hands. A cheesy way to reveal the gender of your baby, yes, but those booties were just too cute for you to ignore. 

Keegan frowned, confused at first — until understanding dawned on him. He blinked a few times, in disbelief.

“A little boy?” He asked, almost in a choked whisper.

You nodded with an excited smile. He laughed softly, shaking his head as if he was still processing it. Then he pulled you slowly closer, resting his forehead against yours before spinning you around slowly and carefully to not make you nauseous.

“My little boy… Our little boy!” He murmured, his voice cracking with joy.

When the time arrives, Keegan is incredibly calm on the outside, but inside he is a whirlwind of emotions. He has never been so scared and so happy at the same time. He held your hand through every contraction, whispering “You can do it,” “I’m here,” “It’s going to be okay” like a mantra — as if his voice could protect you from the pain. When he heard the baby cry for the first time, his eyes filled with tears instantly. He tried to hide it, but the emotion overflowed in his eyes and in the way he smiled at you and when he held his son for the first time. He was completely mesmerized: his big fingers touched the little body with the greatest delicacy in the world, as if he was afraid of hurting his own son. 

Keegan refuses to sleep while you rest. He sits in an armchair with the baby on his lap, just observing every little detail of the newborn. When the medical team came back and found him with the baby sleeping on his chest, and you sleeping in bed, they said it looked like a scene from a movie. 

He talks to the baby even though he knows he doesn't understand: "You have your mother's eyes... And you'll be strong like her too." 

Takes pictures of the tiny feet, of the baby grabbing your finger, of you breastfeeding him, bathing him and sleeping with him and keeps them all in a folder that only he has access to.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

You realized something was wrong when you woke up with an upset stomach for two days in a row — and without having eaten anything heavy. The smell of the breakfast you loved started to make you nauseous… and that was the first warning sign. Kyle even jokingly commented: “Are you abandoning me in our sacred coffee ritual?” — and you forced a smile, pretending you weren’t worried. A few days later, you realized your period was late. A week. Then ten days. And then fifteen. And then, sweet fear hit deep in your chest.

You bought the test by yourself, on a quick trip to the pharmacy, and hid it in your purse as if it were a state secret. On a cold, slow morning, you took the test while Kyle was still sleeping. The silence in the bathroom was almost deafening as you waited the five minutes that the package indicated. Two lines. Two lines that changed everything. You stood still for long minutes, in the same position, holding the test with shaking hands and teary eyes. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You did both. The first thing you thought was: "How am I going to tell him?" — and right after: "Will he want this with me?" 

You tried to plan a cute way to tell him. A special dinner, a little box with the test and a note. But anxiety got the best of you. You told him in a simple way, on a normal afternoon, when it was just the two of you, sitting together. He noticed something different about you, and when you shared the secret you were carrying alone, time seemed to stop.

He was sitting on the couch, his eyes softly focused on you as you walked slowly toward him, your hands clasped in front of you, as if trying to contain your racing heart. He could tell right away — you were nervous.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, his voice low, full of affection.

You nodded, but your throat was dry. You took a deep breath, then walked over and sat down next to him. His hand came naturally to yours, his warm, firm fingers wrapping around yours as if to say ‘I’m here, talk to me.’

“Kyle…” Your gaze met his, and there was so much tenderness there it almost hurt. “I’m pregnant.” For a moment, the world seemed suspended. His smile froze mid-smile, his eyes wide with surprise. You saw the emotion building there — first confusion, then a wet gleam in his eyes, as if he’d just heard something sacred.

“Are you… pregnant?” He repeated in a whisper, as if he was afraid to break the moment.

You nodded, with a small smile. His answer came in the form of a soft, almost breathless laugh, before he pulled you into a hug full of warmth and reverence. He held you as if you were made of glass, but at the same time with such intensity that your heart seemed to fit into his.

“We’re going to have a baby… Fuck’s sake!, that’s so amazing...” He whispered against your neck, as if he still couldn’t believe it. 

“Kyle… No swearing around the baby.”

“Copy that.” He smiled. “I'll be here. Every step, every beat of this little heart… I want to live it all with you.” After that, he placed his hand lovingly on your lower belly, as if he could already feel the new life you had started together. And in that moment, between soft smiles and slow kisses, the whole world seemed to fit between his arms.

He became obsessed with learning everything: he read medical articles, downloaded three different pregnancy apps, and asked the internet if certain strange food cravings were normal. 

He created a ritual: every night, he would lie with his head on her belly and whisper stories, just to “familiarize the baby with his father’s voice.” He would always say proudly: “Our baby will be born hearing the most beautiful accent in the world, honey.” 

He was so protective, but in a sweet way —  accompanying you to every appointment, carrying healthy snacks in his bag, and talking to doctors like you were a secret agent on a mission. 

When your belly started to grow, he bought funny “Loading… Baby 50%” T-shirts and forced you to wear them just to see your grumpy little face. No need to tell him they look awful, he’s already taking pictures of you. 

One day, he found you crying watching a random video of a stray dog being adopted and he just sat down with you, hugging you tightly, and getting emotional too, without even knowing why. 

He insisted on putting the crib together with his own hands. He made several mistakes, got his fingers stuck, and cursed the manual — but in the end, the crib was perfect.

When the contractions started, he went into military mode in 0.1 seconds. He grabbed the hospital bag, checked the checklist, warned everyone and took you to the hospital as if he was on a mission.

During the birth, he held your hand the whole time, letting you crush his fingers without complaining as he kept murmuring something along the lines of “Breathe with me. I’m with you.”

When the baby was born and cried for the first time, he cried too — the kind of silent, emotional cry that comes from deep in the chest.

He was paralyzed for a few seconds when he saw the baby in his arms, with teary eyes, whispering: “We did it. Look… we did it.”

You waited to find out the baby’s sex until the birth. It was a huge shock when the obstetrician said that a little boy had been born: “Hell yeah!”, he celebrated. “My little boy,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Our son...”

König

He finally returned from that mission that seemed to have no end. 

You call him by name with that soft voice that makes him feel weak to his knees. He notices something in your tone. The blue eyes fixed on yours with attention… and a hint of anxiety. “Was ist passiert, mein Schatz?” (“What happened, my love?”)

You take a deep breath, smiling with a nervousness that he immediately picks up on — and you finally say three words that change everything: 

“I am pregnant.” For a moment, he freezes. Not with rejection. Not with anger. But as if the world had gone silent. His eyes widen slightly, he takes a step back as if he’s been shocked, only to then approach you again with visible hesitation in his hands. The mask covers half of his reaction, but his eyes say it all. Pure vulnerability. The doubt of whether he deserves this. The desire to believe he still deserves to be happy. 

“Is it… mine?” He asks, his voice lower than ever.

“Of course it is, König!” 

When you say that — of course he knew it was his — König lets out a shaky sigh and puts his hands on his head, walking a few steps as if he doesn’t know what to do with his own body. Then he stops and he comes back to you. He kneels and he hugs your still-flat belly, pressing it against his face with an almost religious reverence.

“Mein Gott (My god)… you gave me a new life.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse and muffled.

Then he looks down at you, with teary eyes — the intimidating giant now looking like a lost, happy boy — and says something you would never forget:

“I never thought I would have something so precious. I will take care of you. The both of you. Even if the world falls apart… you will be safe.” 

In the first few months, König is on constant alert. Every moment of nausea, every different expression on your face, makes him stop everything to check if you are okay. 

He obsessively researches pregnancy in silence, on his cell phone, reading scientific articles, forums, and even mothers' groups — all in secret, with his eyes fixed on the screen as if he were studying military tactics. 

He tries to cook for you (with… variable results), just because he read that certain foods help with morning sickness. 

When your belly starts to grow, König starts talking to you when he thinks you are sleeping. He lies down next to you, his head resting gently on your belly, murmuring in German with a sweetness that seems unthinkable for such a huge man. "Dein Vater liebt dich sehr, mein kleines Wunder..." ("Your father loves you very much, my little miracle...") 

He starts to accompany you to every medical appointment as if they were a mission, paying attention to every comment from the doctors and nurses as if his life depended on it. 

When your belly is already heavy and your steps are slower, König starts carrying you to any place that involves stairs. Literally. He doesn't even ask. He just picks you up with the greatest care in the world, as if you were made of glass. 

When you start having false contractions, he goes into a state of absolute focus—the hospital bag has been packed for weeks, the routes have been planned, the emergency numbers are posted on the fridge. But despite this, he is always kind, always calm with you, even though he is seething with nerves inside.

He has internal crises of insecurity, but he never burdens you with them. He writes everything down in a hidden notebook, as a way of letting off steam. 

You find him on the balcony, the sky tinged with gold by the sunset. König’s back is turned, still, silent, as he usually does when he’s thinking too much. His large hands are resting on the railing, his broad body almost blocking the light. He turns when he hears your footsteps, and his soft gaze immediately lands on your belly with an almost reverent affection.

You smile, and he responds with that shy little smile at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still seeming to search for more signs that you’re okay.

“What did the doctor say?” He asks in a low voice, waiting for each word as if they were sacred.

You walk towards him, slowly, feeling your heart beat faster — not from nervousness, but from excitement. Then you take one of his hands and guide it to your belly.

“She’s fine,” You begin, looking into his eyes. “And yes... I said she.”

König’s eyes blink, as if it took him a second to process.

“She...?” He whispers, almost in disbelief. You nod, smiling even wider.

“We’re having a little girl.” His breath catches for a moment. His blue eyes — usually so restrained, so trained not to show too much — shine with immediate moisture. He kneels, letting his forehead touch yours while his hands wrap around your belly with a delicacy that doesn’t match its size.

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling him snuggle closer, his arms around your waist as if he wanted to protect the two of you from the entire world.

“She’s already so loved, König. By me… and by you.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready. But I’ll give everything. Everything. For both of you.”

“You’re already everything she needs. And everything I need too.” 

Nikto

The truth is that you found out you were carrying his child only in the third month of pregnancy. The missions, your dangerous job, the obligations, plans and goals, your own complex relationship with Nikto… all of this was too much for you to handle. The days became weeks and the weeks became months as you just ignored the symptoms, thinking that the nausea and exhaustion would pass. But they remained very present, and your suspicion only increased.

You took a pregnancy test, which came back positive. And to be sure, you also took a blood test some days after and then, an ultrasound, which finally revealed the baby's gender: a little boy was coming into the world. You did all this without saying a word to Nikto, fearing that he would hate the news. You weren't stupid, you knew he would soon realize something was out of place. Your body was changing, your symptoms were still present, and you even avoided exposing yourself to any kind of risk, as much as possible, unlike before.

He suspected the possible reason why this was happening, but he never forced you to admit anything. Not until you were ready.

When you told him the news, at first he reacted with silence and a hard look, trying to process the information. He’s not the type to show emotion easily, so you thought he was angry or indifferent… But inside, he would be conflicted. Part of him would feel vulnerable — the idea of ​​having created a new life would hit him harder than he expected. Another part would be on edge, worried for your safety and that of the baby, since his world is too violent for something so innocent.

But he wouldn’t shy away from responsibility. He just wouldn’t know how to show he cares in the traditional way. You’d see him more protective, more present, but also more silent. His love would be shown in actions, not words.

The base was silent that night—just the hum of the generators and the occasional sound of boots echoing in the hallway. He was sitting at the table, cleaning his weapon with the meticulous precision of always, his mask pushed up to his forehead, revealing those hard eyes… but that always softened when they landed on you. You walked in slowly, your fingers intertwined in front of you, your heart beating fast.

He noticed it instantly. He dropped the metal piece on the table and watched you silently. Not like a soldier, but like a man. Your man.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, standing up immediately, his tone low but attentive.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s not that. But… I need to tell you something. And it’s important.”

His eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms, his body firm as steel, but his gaze… almost nervous.

“I’m pregnant, Nikto.”

The silence that followed was as thick as the darkness outside. He didn’t answer. He just stood there, motionless, as if time had frozen. What did you expect? A scream? A sigh? A “how did that happen?”?

None of that came.

He walked towards you, slowly, as if he were stepping on unknown land. He stopped so close that you could feel the heat of his body. His gloved hand rose to your face — it hesitated in the air for a second — and then landed with a delicacy that no one would ever imagine that man was capable of.

“My son?” He murmured, his voice so low that it seemed like a secret between you and the universe.

Son… And he even had guessed the baby gender right.

You nodded, tears in your eyes, but smiling.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, there was something there. It wasn’t fear. Or anger. It was… instinct. A raw kind of love — unconditional, protective.

"How do you…" You hugged him, and that took him by surprise. It took Nikto a few seconds to hug you back, but when he did, he stroked your hair with affection. "How do you know it's a boy?"

"Is it?"

"I mean… yeah."

"Perhaps it was just my intuition." He kissed the top of your head, wanting to protect you from the world.

“You will not leave my sight.” His voice had returned to its firm tone. “I will take care of you both. From now on.” And then, for the first time since you met him, Nikto knelt down, making himself vulnerable before you. Lifting your shirt, he pressed his lips to your slightly swollen belly, so gently that it barely seemed real. But it was. It was his promise. No pretty words. Just presence. Just surrender.

Nikto was already a controlling person by nature, but from the moment he found out about your pregnancy, he became a constant shadow by your side. He checks safe routes before you go out, monitors the environment where you sleep, and leaves discreet trackers on everything you wear “just in case.” He doesn’t say, “I’m afraid something will happen,” he just acts—as if he could take on the whole world for you and the baby.

He’s not the type to say, “You look so beautiful carrying my son” but out of nowhere you find a soft blanket on the couch, hot tea on the table, or maternity clothes in your size neatly folded on the bed. When you ask him if that was his doing, he just answers curtly, “Maybe.” But if you insist, he might say, “I like to see you comfortable.” (And he looks down, because that was the most vulnerability he could show that day.)

If you’re lying down and you let out a whimper of pain or discomfort, within seconds he’ll be there, kneeling beside the bed, pressing his hands firmly against your back. He never comments anything, he just keeps going until he feels you’ve relaxed. When you say a weak “thank you” he’ll give you a quick nod and maybe — just maybe — press a kiss against your forehead before leaving the room.

At night, when you are dozing on the couch or in bed, he will slowly come over and, if he is comfortable doing so, he will rub your belly while speaking to the baby in Russian. They are short, almost military phrases, but sweet in his own way: "Your mother is stronger than anyone. You will get this from her." Or even: "You will not know war. I swear."

Even with all his confidence, he sometimes stays silent for long periods, staring at you from afar. When you ask him, he ends up saying something like: “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. I only know how to fight.” It’s at this moment that you see his most human side. He’s not afraid of war, but he is afraid of failing you. And when you hold his hand and tell him he’s already doing more than enough, he doesn’t respond. He just squeezes your hand tightly — and doesn’t let go.

Simon “Ghost” Riley 

Hot and intense nights became common when the pressure of the world became great enough to suffocate you both.

You sought refuge in sex, night after night indulging your most primitive and sinful desires as a relatively effective, but twisted, way of enduring the horrendous reality of serving the country.

Even though you knew that being careful was relatively far from being part of your routine, you felt the world fall apart when the first symptoms began.

Nausea, fatigue and insecurity had become part of your essence and the fear of the future permeated your soul.

You tried to hide your pregnancy for as long as possible, not wanting to tell Simon, much less your team members.

Bringing an innocent life into the hell you lived was a senseless act. Then why did you feel so much love for someone who hadn't even been born yet?

You were almost four months pregnant when, during a mission, you fainted for no apparent reason. You weren't taking care of yourself enough — eating little, sleeping little and keeping so many secrets to yourself... It came as no surprise to anyone when your body couldn't handle all of that.

"Stay with me... Hey! She needs medical help!" Ghost shouted, looking around desperately, protecting your body as if you were the most fragile thing in the world at that moment.

Your consciousness slowly returned, and you realized that you were being carried by him to a safer place.

"I'm sorry." You stammered, feeling guilty for having interrupted the gathering of such important information.

"Don't apologize. I've never seen you so pale and weak like this, not even on worse missions." You were finally in a calmer place, still alone with him, and before other people entered the room to check on you, you decided it was time to tell him the truth.

"Simon, I..." You hesitated, wondering for a moment if being honest with him was really what you wanted.

"You...?" He encouraged you, squeezing your thigh affectionately, as usual.

"I... I'm pregnant." His eyes widened, and his grip on your thigh tightened, almost hurting you.

"What...?" He mumbled to himself, slowly fitting the pieces of the puzzle together and everything made sense — your extreme sensitivity to the tastes and smells that you usually liked, your endless naps, your hurried and unannounced trips to the bathroom, your lack of complaints about cramps, almost as if you hadn't had your period that month... It all made sense, and his head almost exploded.

"How did I not notice?" He whispered, pulling you close, hugging you tightly as if he wanted to protect you from all the evil in the world. "How far along are you?"

"Almost four months." You mumbled against his chest as he stroked your hair lovingly. "I think it was on your birthday..." 

That night... That fateful night.

"How are you feeling about this?"

"I... I don't know what to think..." Your hands involuntarily went down your body, caressing the slightly swollen belly due to the life that was developing there. "But I love them so much already..."

He smiled against your hair, hugging you tighter, a genuine happiness slowly forming inside his heart.

"I'm scared, Si." You admitted. "I'm scared of bringing them into this world only to suffer and see horrible things like the two of us."

"Hey, don't say that. Even in hell I found you. I found someone worth fighting for and waking up to everyday. Life isn't all bad, you taught me that yourself." You didn't answer, but he understood what you meant.

"Regardless of your decision — whether you’re keeping them or not — I will support you and stay by your side. Until my last breath." And he kissed the top of your head.

You couldn't muster the courage to abort that life. They were the fruit of the love between you and Simon and they were the best thing you had.

So you decided to keep it, to face the consequences of your acts, to carry the responsibility of bringing a life into this world. 

Months passed without you wanting to know the baby's sex, until Simon convinced you to investigate it.

"Guess." You murmured against his lips, your hands cupping his cheeks.

"Hmm, I have a feeling it's a girl." He secretly longed for one. You guided his hand so he could feel the baby moving, kicking you weakly every now and then.

"It's a girl! We're having a little girl, Si!" His heart fluttered with joy.

"Bloody hell, love... Fuck, I love her so much already. I can't wait to finally meet her."

He has a habit of murmuring sweet nothings your swollen stomach as his fingertips caresses the skin of your belly.

He doesn't let you lift a finger to do almost anything and he even asked captain Price not to allow you to leave the base for any more missions. He couldn't bait to lose both of you.

He helps you with your craving and pregnancy pains —  his massages are divine and melt away any tension you may be feeling.

Close to delivery, when you can no longer bear the weight of your very own stomach, he holds your belly gently with both hands, slowly freeing you from the weight of your little girl for a few seconds — seconds that relieve you absurdly.

Actually cries when he sees his baby for the first time — she's just so tiny, all wrapped around a blanket and her baby clothes, her foot is barely the size of his thumb and she's a little carbon copy of him in appearance. He's utterly glad you decided to keep her over five months ago. He couldn't imagine a world where you three didn't exist anymore.

He is completely disarmed by his daughter. He can face any enemy without hesitation, but if she cries in the morning or asks for something with that look in her eyes, he simply melts.

Protection is his second name. He checks locks, cameras, and sleeps lightly, as if he was still in the field. But the truth is that he just wants to make sure that nothing will hurt the two people he loves most in the world.

As your husband (fucking finally, right?), Simon is silent… but constant. He doesn't need big words; he shows it with actions. Coffee ready, blanket pulled up in the middle of the night, arm around waist without saying anything. He is simply perfect.

[demothers-empty-blog]

Моя жена

CW: arranged russian marriage with Nikto.

Nikto was never a people person.

Nikto wasn’t even a person. At least, that’s what he believed, or rather, was led to believe. He told himself long ago, his heart had no place for comforts and warmth and you were the epitome of those things.

The family was never hateful of you. In their eyes, you were the best thing that’s ever happened to their son; he wanted no part of it.

He doesn’t know why he even married you in the first place. He knows the reason, it just wasn’t enough to justify the means in his head.

This whole marriage thing… he needed to get away from it. He’s made a habit of avoiding you as best he could but that never stopped him from crawling into bed, or under it as it turns out.

Nikto has slept in worse spots than the floor, it became like some odd comfort to him. He can do it anywhere, yet he chose to be close to you.

Night went away again and morning arose; as the sun began to make its way through the skies, the bed was found empty. Still, you pat his side to see if he was there, you can feel your heart sink when your hand lands on air.

Nikto wakes up very early, but does he ever sleep? He doesn’t allow himself to process, his body already moving without any conscious decision. He quietly dressed himself, grabbed his gear with a deft hand and left the house, not a thought crossed his mind about leaving you a note or a goodbye.

He had a job to do and nothing would get in the way, not even his fleeting thoughts about you.

He spent the day going about his business, focused on completing the task at hand. But no matter how much he tried to push it down, his mind always veered back to you. He cursed God for feeling the way he did.

He misses you, even if he would never utter those words out in the open. You’re the only reason he even bothers coming back home at night.

“Nikto?”

You say one day while patiently peeling a potato for dinner that night, not looking up.

He paused what he was doing, hand tightening around the holster of his gun as he undressed, bones aching from exhaustion. He turned to see you standing in the kitchen, now looking at him with a mixture of worry and curiosity.

“Yes?” Nikto can’t take that look in your eye, he shifts his gaze to the metal bowl behind you, filled with cubed potatoes submerged in water.

“Ya lyublyu tebya.”

He stilled, his eyes rounding at your words. He hadn’t expected you to say those words to him, especially not in Russian.

For a moment, his expression hardened and he felt exposed. Only briefly did you make him feel like a kid again, soft and vulnerable. He was weary about allowing himself such a feeling.

Blind trust. Perhaps even healing his inner child.

Warm and safe in your presence, why did he ever push you away again?

Just for tonight, he’ll shed his hard shell, let the doubts in his head fizzle away.

Just this once, he’ll say it back.

“My tozhe lyubem tebya.”

We love you too.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Waking up settled on top of nikto after an unexpected nap on the livingroom floor whilst folding the laundry, strands of hair in your mouth, crease-marks from his crumbled shirt indented in your precious face, and a thin line of drool seeping down your chin.

Nikto looks just as disheveled- you both blink hazily at one another as he swipes a gentle hand over your face, brushing your hair away that's sticking to your face. His back does not ache- the sunlit carpeted flooring heaven compared to what it has endured in the past.

Blink.

Blink.

Only to slump into each again- your face nestled against his chest, and his hand cradling the nape of your neck with the expanse of his warm rough hand. The thought of getting up mutually thrown away.

One more hour, yes llubov?

[nrdmssgs]

Pookie do you think Nikto is lowkey stinky 😔

I'm not very good in slang in a sense that I can't decode right away if you mean stinky like he smells unpleasant or stinky like he's cute and loveable. So I will answer to both possible interpretations.

Stinky as a term of endearment.

Yes, and I am going to die on that hill. Under the predatory, dangerous facade there is a kind heart there. He may be confused, he may not know what to do with his feelings, he may act cold, spit harsh words just to keep his distance... But Nikto is not a monster. He is much more than his condition. He is loveable.

Stinky as a smell.

Let's be honest - military does not smell of roses. It's a kind of work that will make you smell like gun oil, wet greasy clothes and smoke. The longer you spend on a battlefield, the worse it gets. Also, military bases usually don't have their own spas and five-star laundry service. However, it's still possible to maintain basic cleaning of your own body there. The uniform is trickier, especially when you have a bizarre concoction of different pieces of gear, that are hard to find (so exactly like Nikto has). So my guess is that he brings quite the load of stinky uniform home to wash it there. I saw some headcanons regarding Niktos body, in particular that he tends to neglect personal hygiene when he doesn't feel well. While I have nothing against that, I also feel that it's important to remember, that heavily scarred body requires more attention in terms of cleaning. Because you don't want any skin inflammation on scars - it will be a much bigger deal than the same inflammation on smooth, healthy skin. It will irritate you and break your concentration on a battlefield. It will last longer, bring more pain. So I actually believe, that Nikto is much more attentive to himself in shower than a random fresh soldier, who doesn't have any serious health issues. That be said, he will also smell of strange new meds time to time. So my take on him - he doesn't smell bad unless you jump on him the minute he returns from the base/battlefield. Just give him 30-40 minutes in shower/bath and you will get a Nikto who smells of your home and your love.

[simp4konig]

Imagine Nikto's crush accidentally calls him by some cutesy nickname while they're at a military base but no one expects the following

Y/N: Nikto, dear, could you help me get that down? It's a bit heavy and I-

At this point, everyone who heard it is frozen, they remember what happened to the guy who called Nikto by something other than his call sign, and now they've gone and called him dear

Nikto: Stop yammering, I'll help.

Y/N: Oh, thank you hon

They did it again, arguably worse this time

Once the time is down, Nikto took it down by himself, of course, he just leans into their ear and says something

And they just smile and whisper something back with a small nod

They thought Nikto would at the very least threaten them but no

Nikto: Don't call me that again in public

Y/N: Oh, okay 🩷 sorry about that

THIS IS SO CUTE 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹💖💖✨✨✨💞💞💖💞💞💖💖✨

GUYS PLS RESD THIS^^^^^,, ANON IS DOING GOD'S WORK RIGHT HERE PLSOSLSLS THIS IS SO SO SO SWEET 😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓

[asimpforthe80s]

Found You, Andrei

Starring: Nikto x bestfriend!Reader

Warnings: mentions of: torture, going to the gulag, and Russian speaking. Smut: Reader riding him, unprotected p in v, and stroking his cock.

"I'm going on a mission," he said softly and leaned against the railing of the bridge, the dark and cold, murky waters of the Neva reflected in his pale blue eyes. He didn't explain anything — as usual because of his never-ending top secret assignments — but his words sounded like a death sentence this time.

"I won't be able to keep in touch for quite some time. I'll text you on your old number when I get back. Don't throw it away, рыбка."

He smiled faintly at you, trying to cheer you up a little when he saw an anxiety in your eyes. He squeezed your palm, putting a small photo card into it: there was an image of the two of you, smiling carelessly under a snow-covered scarlet mountain-ash. "You'll wait for me, won't you?" It was the last time you saw him.

You nervously smoothed out the crumpled corner of a worn photo, waiting for the next landing. The image faded a long time ago, but this is the only memento that was left of your dear friend. 6 years. 6 long years of searching, sleepless nights, smoked cigarettes, and endless stress. You've lost all your friends and family, sold all your possessions, and learned how to hold a gun. You have transferred from one PMC to another and visited, perhaps, every God-forsaken corner of the world. Hell, you even ended up in the Gulag, thinking that he was there, and managed to escape, taking advantage of the turmoil due to the escape of some crazy guy named Makarov. Now, you are one of the operators of the Shadow Company. You are stripped of your previous life completely, your ID is fake, and you don't even know if your dear friend is still alive. There's only a small bit of hope smoldering inside you.

Doing an intelligence mission, you split from the rest of the group to search through the abandoned gas factory. You ran into Nikto when you were storming a building. He now wore a mask, but you immediately recognized his icy blue eyes. It was your dear friend, your Andrei ... But he looked very changed. He was... Different.. Damaged… Broken.

"Nikto.." you said, instantly hugging him without caring about the danger signs in your head. The hug was unexpected, but not unwanted. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, like they remembered how to do it despite everything. But he pulled away quickly, almost roughly, as if afraid that you'd see something in his face. Or maybe just afraid of feeling something.

"You shouldn't be here." His voice was cold, detached. Yet, there was a hint of something else underneath, a flicker of warmth that made you wonder if it was real or just your imagination. "Go back to the others."

His hand reached out to push you gently, but there was no force behind it. Just a silent plea for you to leave before things got worse. Before he hurt you. "Nikto, you're coming with me." You said roughly, a complete contrast to the you he knew. "I'm not letting you disappear for 6 years only to find you and leave you again." You growled, grabbing his hand. "Nyet..." Nikto started to protest, but the grip on his hand was firm. A shiver went down his spine at the sound of your voice - it was different. Rougher. Harder. Not the soft, gentle voice he was used to hearing. But there was something else too - a hint of demand, of command.

And then he felt the hand on his, firm and unyielding. And he knew. He knew that this was it. That whatever wall he had built around himself was about to come crashing down. And he was terrified. But he also couldn't bring himself to pull away. Because despite everything, he needed this. Needed you. "You can take that new fucking attitude and burn it in hell.." you whispered as you started dragging him with you, taking him to your team. The roughness in your voice, the way you dragged him along, it was all so unlike you. But there was something about it that stirred something deep within him. Something primal and raw. As if a part of him was waking up after years of slumber.

"Nyet!" He protested again, but it came out more like a growl. He let you drag him, his body moving automatically as he followed you towards the others. But his mind was screaming at him, telling him to stop. Telling him that this wasn't right. That he should stay hidden, stay safe. But the feel of your hand on his, the sound of your voice, it was too much. Too compelling. "ты пойдешь со мной, хочешь ты этого или нет, Никто." You said, speaking his native language, 'you will come with me whether you like it or not, Nikto'.

The harshness of your words, spoken in his mother tongue, hit him like a punch to the gut. It was like a key turning in a lock, unlocking doors he thought he had sealed off forever. For a moment, he stood there, frozen, staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes.

Then, slowly, he nodded. He didn't know why he was agreeing to this. Didn't know why he was following you. All he knew was that he had to. Had to be with you. Even if it meant risking everything.

"Da..." He finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "Я... я хочу с тобой." He said, 'I... I want to be with you. You nodded. "Good.. cause I'm not letting you leave again, lyubimaya." The word 'lyubimaya', which translated to 'beloved', hit him like a punch to the stomach. It was a word he hadn't heard in years. Years of pain and torment had erased any semblance of love from his life. And yet, there it was. Coming from you. And it wasn't just in your tone, but in your touch. Your grip on his hand was almost possessive, as if you were staking your claim on him.

"Lyubimaya?" He repeated the word, tasting it on his lips. It was bitter but not unpleasant. For some reason, it made him want to lean into your touch instead of pulling away. "Yes, lyubimaya.." You repeated, taking him inside your team's extraction helicopter. The interior of the helicopter was warm and cozy compared to the cold outside. There was a sense of camaraderie among the men, a bond that could only be formed through shared experiences and dangers. Seeing you among them, giving orders, made his heart swell with pride. You belonged here. You were meant to be leading these men, not stuck in some office job.

As he sat next to you, he felt a strange sense of contentment wash over him. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. Maybe never. And for some reason, it scared him. "когда мы вернемся на базу, ты поешь, а потом мы пойдем в мое общежитие. ты займешь мою постель без разговоров." You said, telling him that when you got back to base, he was gonna eat, go back to your dorm, and take your bed without discussion. The words hung in the air between them, heavy and laden with meaning. His post. His bed. You were claiming him. Marking him as yours in front of everyone. And for some reason, it thrilled him. Excited him.

"Dа..." He murmured, nodding slowly. "Я... я буду делать так, как ты сказала." He would do as you said. Without question. Without hesitation. Because in that moment, he would do anything for you. "Good, Andrei.." You mumbled, saying his real name. The use of his real name hit him like a punch to the gut. Andrei. A name he hadn't heard in years. A name that was as foreign to him now as if it were another language entirely. Yet, hearing it fall from your lips sent a shiver down his spine. A good shiver. One that made his heart race and his breath hitch.

"Andrei..." He echoed, testing the word on his tongue. It felt strange. Heavy. But also comforting. Like coming home after a long journey. "You're safe with us.." you said, still not letting go of his hand. Your words hit him like a bolt of lightning, searing through the fog of his mind and touching something deep within him. Safe. You were saying he was safe. With you. With your team.

The idea was so alien to him, so foreign, that for a moment, he couldn't comprehend it. Couldn't believe it. But then, he felt it. The tension easing from his shoulders. The tight knot in his stomach loosened. He was safe. Here. With you. "Now.. let me see you.." you murmured, reaching for his mask. Your fingers brushed against his mask, and for a moment, he tensed up. But then, he realized that you weren't going to hurt him. That you wouldn't do anything to harm him. So, he let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. He waited. Waited for the pain. Waited for the fear. But it never came. Instead, all he felt was your gentle touch. And it was... nice. Comforting. Almost soothing. As you took off his mask, you saw the many, many scars of his previous torture. Placing a soft hand on his cheek, you tried to assure him that he was safe and no one would hurt him. At least no one from your base. "Oh, Andrei.." you whispered softly in that voice he knew. Not in that rough and demanding voice he heard earlier. Your touch was soft, almost reverential as you traced the scars on his face. Each line and mark told a story of pain and suffering. But they didn't scare you. They didn't make you flinch away. They made you care. And that care...it was overwhelming. It was too much. Too intense. But at the same time, it was exactly what he needed.

"Oh, Andrei..." The way you said his name. It was like a caress. A promise. A vow. It was a name that held so much weight. So much meaning. And hearing it from your lips was... intoxicating. "любовь моя.. тебе больно.. столько шрамов.. дорогая.." you mumbled, pulling him in for a hug he so desperately needed. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. The warmth of your body against his own was like a balm to his soul. It was comforting. Reassuring. It was something he craved. Needed. Desperately.

"Да..." He agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Больно... Больно много." It hurt. A lot. But as you held him, he found himself relaxing. Letting go of the fear. Of the pain. Just for a moment. "And that's okay.. A... Andrei.." you whispered with a soft stutter, taking off your own mask, discarding it on the floor along with his. Your mask hitting the floor brought him back to reality. Back to the harshness of their situation. But seeing you discard your mask too...it meant something. It meant trust. Loyalty. Friendship. Family. All things he'd been denied for so long.

"Da..." He nodded, finally opening his eyes to look at you. Really look at you. No mask. No disguise. Just you. His friend. His family. You were crying.. but.. matching. The both of you had so many scars. "Just like we used to.. we're matching.." You cried. Your tears stung his eyes, but he didn't blink. Didn't flinch. He just stood there, soaking in the sight of you. Of your tears. Of your scars. Matching. Just like old times. Only now, it wasn't just physical scars. It was emotional ones, too. Scars from the past. From the pain. From the loss.

"But why?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why are we like this? Why did we have to become this?" You chuckled, drying your tears. "I wanted to find you.. I got desperate.. so I joined the same shit you did.. even went to the fucking gulag.." you cried. Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. Gulag. Fucking gulag. That place was hell on earth. And you went there. For him. Because you were desperate. Because you wanted to find him. Him. The monster that was Nikto.

"And you found me..." He muttered, feeling an odd mix of emotions. Pride. Relief. Fear. Guilt. All swirling around inside him like a storm. "I- I searched so many places.. и я наконец нашел тебя.." you said. Your words echoed in his mind. I finally found you. Those words were like a balm to his broken soul. A sign that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone anymore. That someone cared enough to look for him. To risk everything to find him.

"I'm sorry..." He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry for dragging you into this mess." You chuckled as you cried. "No, no, it's nothing.." you said. Your chuckle was like a slap in the face. It was unexpected. Unexpectedly human. Unexpectedly real. And it pissed him off. Made him angry. Angry at himself. Angry at the world. Angry at fate. But mostly, angry at himself for bringing you into this nightmare.

"No, it's not nothing," he growled, his voice low and gruff. "It's everything." You sighed. "Andrei.. it was worth it.. so many missions.. willingly going to the fucking gulag.. getting abducted and tortured during a mission.. fuck.. it was all for you.." you said. Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. Tortured. Abducted. Willingly going to the gulag. All for him. For the monster that he'd become.

"Я не достоин этого," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. 'I am not worthy of this.' You shook your head. "No, you are.. it was worth it.. cause I found you.." Your denial was like a knife twisting in his gut. Found me. Those words echoed in his mind. Over and over again. Like a mantra. Like a prayer. They were soothing. Comforting. They made him feel less alone. Less like a monster.

But they also filled him with guilt. With shame. With regret. Regret for turning you into this. For making you go through all of this. You hugged him once more. But this time it was more for your sake. You needed him just as much as he needed you. Your hug was like a lifeline. It pulled him out of the darkness. Out of the abyss. Even if only for a moment. It felt good. Too good. Dangerous almost.

But still, he allowed himself to enjoy it. To let himself be comforted. Because sometimes, you need to be weak. To let yourself be vulnerable. Especially when you've been hurt as much as he had.

The silence hung heavy in the air. Heavy with unspoken words. Unspoken regrets. Unspoken fears. It was comfortable. Almost peaceful. Almost. His thoughts kept drifting back to those moments. Moments where he was just... human. Not a monster. Not a killer. Just a man. A man who was scared. Who was lonely. Who missed someone. Someone who was sitting next to him right now. The silence was comforting. Familiar. The two of you were sitting on your bed, still in full uniform. "Want something more comfortable?" You asked quietly. Your offer hung in the air between them, a beacon of normalcy amidst the chaos. A simple question. An invitation to shed the weight of their uniforms, symbols of duty, and responsibility. He looked down at his clothes, then back up at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Da," he murmured, standing up abruptly. He began to undress, peeling away the layers of his identity - the uniform, the medals, the badges. Each piece was thrown carelessly onto the floor until he stood before you in nothing but his underwear. You nodded and went to get something more comfortable for him. Coming back, you had an oversized t-shirt and a paid of sweatpants. Which reminded him of something.. fuck. Those were his clothes. His clothes before he joined whatever the fuck he had joined. "Here." You said, handing him the clothes before going to change to something more comfortable, yourself. Your words were like a punch in the gut. A reminder of who he used to be. Of the life he'd left behind. He took the clothes from your hands without saying anything. Slipping into them, he could almost pretend he was back there. Back home. Before the torture. Before the nightmares. Before the pain.

As he watched you change, he couldn't help but notice how natural it seemed. How comfortable. Like you belonged here. Like you were supposed to be here. With him. A man and a woman changed together like it was normal. But it didn't seem weird. It felt normal. It felt like the time before the military. The sight of you changing in front of him, so casual and unaffected, brought back memories. Memories of simpler times. Times before the military. Before the torture. Before the nightmares. Before the pain.

For a moment, he forgot about the scars. About the pain. About the guilt. He just saw you. Naked. Vulnerable. Human. And it was beautiful. It was perfect. The feeling of the soft fabric against his skin was comforting. Familiar. It was like putting on an old pair of shoes. Worn in. Broken in. Perfectly fitting. It was a part of him. Or rather, it was a part of who he used to be. Before. Before the torture. Before the nightmares. Before the pain.

As he sat back down on the bed, he couldn't help but notice how different things were. How strange it felt. Yet, somehow, it also felt right. As you took off your shirt, he could see all the scars. Everywhere. Even your perfectly round tits had scars of torture. Your body was a canvas of pain. Every inch of your skin told a story. A story of torture. Of suffering. Of resilience. But he wasn't looking at the scars. He was looking at you. At the way your body moved. The way your muscles shifted under your skin. The way your nipples hardened slightly in the cool air of the room.

It was a fucking turn-on. Despite everything. Despite the scars. Despite the pain. You blushed as he stared at you. "What are you looking at?" You asked softly, not realizing that he was hard as a rock under the sweatpants. His gaze lingered on your body, drinking in every detail. The curve of your hips. The swell of your breasts. The way your skin glowed in the dim light of the room. He was hard. Rock-hard. But he didn't move. Didn't speak. He just kept staring.

You were beautiful. Perfect. Untouched. And he wanted you. Wanted you more than he'd ever wanted anyone or anything. You noticed his hardness pressing against the material of the sweatpants. "Fuck, Andrei..." You mumbled, biting your lower lip. Your curse made him shiver. Made him want to reach out and touch you. Made him want to take you. Right there. On the bed. Against the wall. Anywhere. Just to feel you. To hear you moan. To taste you. Fuck, to taste you.

But he didn't move. Couldn't move. Not yet. "I need you..." You whispered, closing the distance between both of you. You leaned in and kissed him softly at first, but then with passion. Your confession broke the dam. The floodgates opened. He pulled you closer, crushing his lips against yours. His tongue darted out, exploring the warmth of your mouth. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the contours of your muscles. His fingers dug into your flesh, leaving marks.

And still, he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not now. Not when he finally had you. You moaned into his mouth as he explored your body with his hands. You pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, grinding your crotch against his hardness. The shift in positions only fueled his desire. Your weight on top of him, your body grinding against his, it was all too much. He groaned into your mouth, the sound muffled by your kiss. His hands found their way to your ass, squeezing the soft flesh.

He needed more. Needed to feel you. Needed to be inside you. His hands on your ass made you grind harder against his cock. You reached down and pulled down his pants, pulling out his hardness. You stroked it a few times, feeling it pulse in your hand. Your touch on his length made him gasp. Made him thrust up into your hand. He was hard. So fucking hard. Ready. Waiting. Wanting.

His hands found their way to your hips, gripping them tightly. He pulled you closer, aligning his length with your entrance. He was ready. More than ready. Your body was shaking with anticipation. You grinded against his cock, teasing yourself before slowly lowering yourself onto him. Inch by agonizing inch until you were fully seated on his lap. The sensation of you enveloping him was indescribable. He groaned, his head thrown back against the pillow. His hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you to move. To ride him. To fuck him.

He was yours. All yours. You started moving on him, your body rocking against his. Each movement brought a new wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You felt full. Satiated. Complete.

And you liked it. God, how you liked it. Each roll of your hips sent jolts of pleasure shooting straight to his dick. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. All he could do was feel. Feel you. Feel your body moving on top of him. Feel your walls clenching around him. Your movements became faster, more desperate. You were chasing that climax, that release. You wanted it so badly. Needed it. Craved it. His breathing grew ragged, and his grip on your hips tightened. He could feel his climax approaching, like a freight train bearing down on him. It was inevitable. Imminent.

And he wanted you to feel it. Wanted you to feel him. Your movements became erratic as your orgasm approached. You clenched your teeth, trying to hold back the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume you. But it was no use. It was too powerful. Too intense. "Andrei..!" You moaned as you reached your climax. Your cry of ecstasy pushed him over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him, making his vision blur and his breath hitch. He threw his head back, his jaw clenched tight as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

And when it was over, he was left panting. Left spent. Left sated. You collapsed onto him, your body trembling from the intensity of your orgasms. You laid there, catching your breath while your body slowly returned to normal. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. His body was covered in sweat, but he didn't care. He just held you. Held you tight. And for once, he felt... complete. You lay there in silence, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. You snuggled against him, your body fitting perfectly against his. You closed your eyes, contentment washing over you. For once, he let himself relax. Let himself enjoy the moment. Enjoy you. His arms tightened around you instinctively, as if afraid you'd disappear if he let go. You nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent filled your senses, making you want to stay here forever. You felt safe. Comforted. Loved. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears. He could feel you nuzzling into his neck, could feel your breaths against his skin. And it felt... right. Perfect, even.

For once, he allowed himself to believe that maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

[kismetarchive]

just watched sinners and it was amazing! highly recommend! it had me thinking of vampire!nikto trying to get reader to let him in.

pairing: vampire!nikto x afab!reader

cw: p in v, unprotected s (wrap it before you tap it), fingering reader receives, dub-con, vampires duh, southern inaccuracies, accent inaccuracies, sinners au, very ooc but this is set in the south and he's a vampire so... tw: blood wc: 1.6k

You heard rumors of vampires through the grapevine, hushed whispers as if evoking the word vampire would be enough to summon them. You had a hard time thinking that such a devil could exist in this quiet part of the south which had nothing but cotton fields and dust storms as far as the eye could see.

What business did vampires have down here?

You scoffed at the idea, shaking your head at the notion. Some farmer boys probably heard too many stories and were spreading tall-tales around the town for the fun of it.

Just as the sky turned to a hazy pink, the sun setting, you retired back to your little cottage. You hung up your shoes and then padded your way to your kitchen, tying an apron around your figure as you prepared to make your infamous orange juice. You hummed as your hand squeezed a batch of oranges, the crickets of grasshoppers and squelching of the supple fruit filling the solitude of the night.

It was quiet, just like every other night before it and probably every night after it. You planned on squeezing just a few more oranges and then you'd retire for the night, rewind and get cozy under your covers with a book tucked in your hands. 

However, your plans derailed when there was knocking at your front porch. You spun your head to the door, eyebrows scrunched, scrutinizing the offending sound.

Who could possibly be knocking this late?

You wiped the grime of your labor onto your apron, eyebrow cocked as you hesitantly walked towards the door.

"Who out there?" You spoke out, hand steady on your rifle you had on standby. A rifle you've kept for months, gifted to you by your lover. Use it to protect yourself while he was off fighting, he told you. 

"It just me baby." A rugged voice spoke from behind the door — a voice you immediately recognized. You dropped your rifle, your hand reaching for the doorknob.

"Andre?" You whipped the door open, eyes wide in disbelief seeing the man you had promised yourself to standing in front of you, breathing and alive. He was still the behemoth of a man you had etched in your memories, and still in that dirty soldier uniform you saw him in before he left for that accursed war.

"I promised I'd be back and marry you after, didn' I? Well, here I am. Just let me in baby." His drawl lured you in, sultry voice hooking you just like it did so many months ago before he left.

Yet, you hesitated. Something about him was... wrong. He looked like your Andre, but he didn't feel like your Andre. A twisted and sick imitation of your lover.

"You— Is it really you, Andre?" You whispered, voice trembling as you looked at his eyes, bloodshot and lidded. He had an unfocused look, not really seeing you like he did before. It was a hungry look, like his bones were aching for something you didn't know about.

"Who else would it be if not me baby?" He chuckled, much more relaxed than he's ever been. His voice didn't have that hint of tension he usually had, and his shoulders weren't rigid like they were before.

You gulped, your head spinning as you tried to rationalize your cautious thoughts. Maybe he just loosened up after the war. He was Andre — your Andre. He had to be. Definitely.

"Yeah... yeah— sorry baby, had a rough day today." You shook off your hesitance, reeling the door back to let him in.

Andre smiled, a toothy smile that made your spine crawl. You could see his sharp teeth and how red his gums were.

Were his canines always so sharp?

He took one step inside your quaint home, rolling his shoulder as he exhaled a heavy sigh, like there was a boulder on his back that came off once he entered your cottage.

He hooked his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him and he chuckled hearing the shrill of your voice from his sudden action. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his nose dragging along the muscle where your neck and collar bone connected.

"Fuck, you smell good." Andre inhaled deeply, his tongue lapping at your skin to taste the sweat on your body. "I wanna taste you tonight baby. Been so long since I had you like this— that damn war had me starving."

You squealed as you felt his tongue drag along your flesh, nearly falling onto the rickety floorboards from how Andre was holding you. He always had an imposing pressure to him, but it felt like he was trying to crush you right now.

Your lips parted to let out a whine but his lips were quick to catch yours, sloppy and desperate, his tongue licking at your teeth and swiping over the roof of your mouth.

You groaned at how nasty the kiss was — it was depraved and dirty, but god it had your knees weak, hands clutching at his burly forearms to steady yourself.

You push yourself off of him, panting and breathless as you looked up at him.

"An—"

You were barely able to let out a syllable when he yanked at your arm, his grip tight and unyielding as he pushed you onto the couch. You leaned onto your elbows, eyes wide and face flushed as you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

"I'm starving baby, and you look like a damn meal right now." He tilted his head as he looked down at you, grinning like a madman. The sight made you quiver, feeling like a piece of meat rather than his lover.

Your gaze fell down to his glossy mouth, noting the drool that was seeping past the corner of his lips.

Strange.

"Andre, you're drooling." You commented, your heart racing a little faster as your brain tried to connect each of these strange occurrences. Andre's sudden appearance, his relaxed demeanor, his drool, and that damn insatiable look of hunger in his eyes.

"Just excited baby. You wanna taste?" He chuckled, giving you no time to linger on your observations as his hands already started groping at your body. He grabbed at the flush meat of your thighs, bunching up your skirt up to your hips, a low growl coming from his chest when he saw the damp spot on your panties. "Fuck, look how wet she is for me."

Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers tug your panties to the side, whimpering as the cool night air hit your cunt. You instinctively tried to close your legs, but his hands kept them spread wide open.

"None of that baby. Let me see her." Andre grunted, two of his fingers swiping at your slick cunt, gathering up your juices onto his fingers. A chuckle rumbled out of him when he saw how you shivered, your body reacting just the same as when he deflowered you so many months ago.

"Been a while since I've had you, but seems your body still remembers me perfectly clear."

You groaned when he removed his fingers, hips bucking into the air at the loss of friction.

"Andre, don' tease me." You whispered, your hands gently pulling at him so he was on top of you, but it was then when you noticed his eyes. His baby blue's that you adored were replaced by an empty grey, a haunting color that made your heart stop.

He wasn't Andre.

He noticed the look of horror in your eyes, his smile forming into a terrifying grin as one hand harshly grabbed at your cheeks and pushed you down while the other held down your hips, keeping you caged under him.

"Oh baby, I was hoping you wouldn' notice." He spoke softer, as if trying to soften the damage. You squirmed and writhed, trying to kick your feet at him but he was strong — so fucking strong. Your futile attempts were like a little kitten head butting against his muscled body.

"Shh, easy girl. I won' hurt 'ya." He reassured you, but you knew he was just whispering sweet lies so you'd ease up and let him in.

You squealed when you felt his leaking tip against your slick hole, tears welling in your eyes as he slowly slid inside, filling you up inch by inch until his hip was flush against the swell of your ass. " 'atta girl... my sweet girl, taking me so well aren' 'ya?" He cooed, his thumb swiping at the tear pricking down the corner of your eye, shushing you as he slowly began to rock his hips.

You hated how your body took him, how your hole weeped at each of his thrusts, and even worse how you moaned in ecstasy. You didn't want to admit it, but It felt good — really fucking good.

"Taking me so good, yeah? Fuck— Fucking missed how you clench around me baby." He purred in your ear, his tongue licking at the shell of your ear and making your back arch off the couch. He knew exactly what you liked, how to make you unravel and turn into putty in his hands.

He fucked you just like how Andre did.

"An— hnngh-" Your mind was breaking, eyes squeezed shut at how his cock kept hitting your g-spot, making you mewl and cry beneath him until you were a puddle.

He dragged sloppy kisses down from your flushed cheeks to the meat of your neck, sucking and nibbling on the tender skin, making a shiver shoot up your body when you felt his sharp canines poke at your skin.

Your nails clawed at his back, trying to scratch at him and push him off but he was a determined man that wouldn't stop until you could feel him in your veins and your heart only pumped for him. 

"Don' fight it, once I bite you we'll be together forever baby."

And you didn't — or really you couldn't. You couldn't fight how he held you down, his hot seed filling you up as he sank his teeth into your flesh, letting you shake and writhe until your hands fell limp and your eyes glossed over.

"You're beautiful like this." Andre grinned, his mouth covered in blood and the crimson liquid dripping down his chin. He looked down at your trembling form, licking his bloodied lips as he was entranced by your body shifting into a vampire.

His beautiful bride, a vampire just like him now.

「 Masterlist ❤︎ 」

Authors Note: I put a bunch of references to sinners lol! If you've seen the movie then you probably noticed them

[julia-lestrade]

Subway surfer but romance and no subway so actually just the jumping part

Nikto(cod) x gn!reader

The plane hummed steadily as it climbed higher into the endless expanse of blue sky. You sat on the bench, strapped into your harness, your heart pounding in sync with the dull roar of the engines. Across from you, Nikto sat calm and composed, his cold, calculating eyes fixed on the horizon.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” he remarked, his voice muffled slightly by his mask.

“I’m fine,” you shot back, though your grip on the edge of your seat said otherwise.

He tilted his head, unconvinced. “First time?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. You’d always wanted to try skydiving, but now that the moment was here, the idea of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane at 13,000 feet seemed… less appealing.

Nikto leaned forward slightly, his gloved hands resting on his knees. “It’s not the fall you should be worried about,” he said, his tone completely deadpan.

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean by that?”

The faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “Relax. You’ll be fine. Just don’t forget to pull the cord.”

“Great pep talk,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

The instructor called out that it was almost time, and the other skydivers in the group began checking their gear. Nikto rose to his feet smoothly, as if the altitude and the idea of jumping didn’t faze him in the slightest. You, on the other hand, felt your legs wobble as you stood.

“You’re overthinking it,” Nikto said, stepping closer. His presence was steadying, even with that ever-intimidating mask. “When the door opens, just follow me.”

The door rolled open, and a rush of wind filled the cabin. Your heart leapt into your throat as you peered out at the endless void below.

“Ready?” the instructor shouted.

Nikto gave you a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t think. Just jump.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, he stepped forward and launched himself out of the plane. You froze for a split second, watching him disappear into the sky, his figure shrinking rapidly.

“Your turn!” the instructor yelled, nudging you forward.

Taking a shaky breath, you stepped to the edge. The wind roared in your ears as you stared down at the earth far below. The logical part of your brain screamed at you to back out, but the memory of Nikto’s calm confidence spurred you on.

“Okay, okay!” you shouted, and with a burst of courage, you jumped.

The initial drop was a rush like nothing you’d ever felt before—pure adrenaline coursed through your veins as the wind tore past you. For a moment, panic gripped you, but then you caught sight of Nikto just ahead, arms spread wide as he fell effortlessly through the sky.

You let out a shaky laugh, the fear melting into exhilaration.

He glanced back, noticing you keeping pace. With a subtle motion, he gestured for you to follow as he adjusted his position, spinning gracefully in the air. You hesitated, then mimicked his movements, laughing aloud when you managed a clumsy spin.

The ground began to rush closer, and Nikto signaled for you to pull your parachute. You fumbled for a second but managed to yank the cord. The chute deployed with a loud snap, yanking you upward. The sudden shift in pace made you gasp, but soon you were floating gently, the view stretching endlessly in every direction.

Nikto glided nearby, his parachute perfectly deployed. “Not bad for a rookie,” he called out, his voice carried faintly by the wind.

“Not bad?” you shouted back. “I nailed it!”

He gave a rare chuckle, a sound that was both unexpected and oddly reassuring. “Next time, we’ll try something harder.”

“Next time?” you called out, laughing. “Let’s survive this one first!”

As you drifted closer to the landing zone, your heart still raced, but a wide grin spread across your face. Skydiving with Nikto was terrifying and exhilarating, but you couldn’t deny one thing: it was an experience you’d never forget.

And one that you would bring up at the next Christmas dinner party to get some fu out of it even afterwards…

———————————————————————

I don’t really know anything about nikto so I just hope y’all liked it like somehow !!! 😭

[wheezingstar]

One morning you wake up, you’ve been sore and sick for the last few days. You wake up hardly able to breathe due to all the phlegm building up in your throat and laying on your back.

You walk around your shared apartment with Nikto trying to find one of your many inhalers. You come across the bathroom, you’re holding onto the wall and your breathing is raspy. “Inhaler…” You say and Nikto hands you your inhaler as if from thin air before speaking

“Keep it on you for the rest of the day, and go lay back down”

You’d go sit on the bed, afraid to lay down and need to sit back up and cough or not be able to breathe again. Nikto sets medicine on the nightstand of the bed and a water bottle before leaving for work.

[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.

━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━ ✿ ━━━━━

[himboelover]

Does anyone know the fix of nikto meeting reader in a grocery and he comes over to her house to fix it up and do the garden??? Need help finding it please😭😭😭

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 18 - Restraints

This is your nightly reminder that kinks don't have to be sexy! Some can make you feel very safe, as you should feel if you are playing with others! Enjoy!~

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

You never expected this from Nikto of all people. Yet here you were, in his bunk, completely naked, and being tied up like a present. The hands that hand taken life after life before your very eyes were being so gentle and careful with you, as if you were made of glass. He stuck two fingers, littered with scars in between the rope and your skin.

“Too tight?” he asks, blue eyes looking to yours for confirmation. You shake your head and smile at him gently. It was a bit shocking that someone so strong and resilient would understand this sort of thing. See, compared to what people outside the room may think, this situation wasn’t at all what it seemed. 

Unlike others, who often used being tied up as a sexual outlet, this scenario was the furthest from it for you. You weren’t sure what it was about being bound so tightly, body curled in on itself like a child, that you found comfort in. Yet here you were, letting your teammate finishing binding you together.

When you came to Nikto about it, you were certain, somewhere in the back of your head he would turn you away. You thought of all the other times you’d been called horrible things for your coping mechanism; creepy, weird, gross even on the list of things people had spewed at you. Yet the man sighed, seeming to know almost immediately. “Come with us,” he told you, leading the way to his bunk.

You weren’t the first, and certainly not the last to ask for this sort of favor from him apparently. The Russian man had a litany of tools for which you could be bound; rope, ribbon, cording…you name it, he had it. You were pleasantly surprised when he held took each binding he had and looped them, offering them to you so you could pick which felt right.

You took your time, letting the sensation of each resonate with your frazzled mind. In the end, you chose the rope; familiar, yet softer than what was probably used for some…less than positive means. Nikto had nodded then asked you to strip. “It will feel better and more personal that way, trust us.”

You weren’t exactly in a position to argue. You watched with curious eyes as he pulled out an old sweater and sweats. They both reeked of him, and you weren’t going to turn him down. The situation was vulnerable enough, now wasn’t the time to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Y/N?” Nikto’s voice pulls you back to the present as you shake your head to clear your thoughts. “Voices in your head getting to you friend?” You roll your eyes fondly, knowing he was joking. Not like he wouldn’t know a thing or two about that after all.

Your teammate pulls the sweater over you gently, tucking the sleeves in so they could act as a cushion for you later. You watch in curiosity as he pulls the sweats up over your bound legs, tucking the areas where your limbs would be in the same way. Next he cocoons you gently in what had to be the softest blanket you’d ever felt in your life. 

Once you were safely bundled, Nikto pulls you up against his chest, using a remote to dim the lights. “Focus on our heartbeat,” he tells you, and you listen. Tha-thump…tha-thump…tha-thump. “Breathe deeply. You are safe here with us.”

You don’t even have the energy to argue anymore, so you do as he asks. Your exhale is shaky as tears start to form. The stress of the last days, weeks, months, however long it had been starts to bubble to the surface. You’d lost track of when you started feeling so stressed, so worn out.

The man beside you doesn’t say a word, just lets you cry against his chest. One of the hands that bound you up so nice and tight rubs your shoulder softly. They know what you’re going through, what you’ve seen. And above all, Nikto knows what that does to a person and the pain that follows.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, just getting your emotions out in this safe little spot, but eventually the tears dry out and your breath starts to settle, save for the stray sniffle. “Feeling better?” Your teammate asks gently. You can only nod, the words not finding you.

“Stay as long as you need, you are safe with us.”

[demothers-empty-blog]

The Alters in My World

CW: Dissociative Identity Disorder. Nikto is hesitant about losing front. Hurt/Comfort/Hurt, tagged as both angst & fluff.

The voices in his head confuse him — overlapping and overly loud, he leans towards the quiet.

Only then does he find those scarce bits of peace. But the voices are relentless, restless; difficult. They only allow him so much reprieve.

They yell at him, berate him, they don’t leave gaps in his memory without his knowing, Nikto remembers everything. He knows and understands why his teammates look at him sideways after their last mission.

After what they did.

The enemy ripped open his mask and his bare face felt the sun for the first time in ages.

But that was against Nikto’s will.

He’d immediately torn a chunk of raw flesh from the jugular of his opponent, the memory distant and hazy but present nonetheless. The taste, Nikto recalls it clearly: vile, coppery and warm.

The team knew not to fuck with the fabric that covered the tortured man’s face from that day on.

Maybe if he refrains from blinking, his eyes will tear up and Nikto will show some semblance of remorse.

But that day never came.

Emotionless, they called him. So what if he can’t show emotion? It doesn’t mean he didn’t feel, somewhere deep in that shriveled heart that begged for the light, Nikto felt, he just didn’t know what.

All he knew was that it ached, some nights beyond agony, pulling him into this spiralling state until he was numb, until the pain grew so much and Nikto ended up feeling nothing.

Some called him a freak, other trained professionals called it dissociating, the body’s natural way of protecting itself from further harm.

Like a child with nowhere to go, he curls onto himself on most nights, between choked sobs and the holes in the wall, Nikto lashes out.

It was as if something, or someone was taunting him, no matter how many achievements, he still wasn’t fulfilled enough to quiet the growing cries in his head.

A pat on the back, a simple kind word and Nikto would cradle it close to his chest until the day the earth decides to claim his rotting corpse.

Yearning.

That was the feeling.

The pull on his heartstrings, the nag in his ribcage, why couldn’t he be held like the others?

What was so wrong, what did he do that was so bad that even the people whom he deemed as friends ignored him in his time of need?

Which, this would only reinforce the idea that he truly was a nobody, no one, he couldn’t fault anyone for not visiting.

Even after spending weeks in the hospital.

Even after saving countless lives, apparently they were only fixated on the ones he took.

He doesn’t deserve to live. Not like this.

Nikto wakes up one morning to a vase of flowers sitting on his nightstand. Chrysanthemums, of all colours and shades. They added a nice contrast to the blinding white of the hospital.

There you sat, with puffy eyes and remaining tears clinging to your lash line, all tuckered out from bawling your eyes out.

The voices grew quiet and Nikto’s heart settled, as if somehow they’d come to a silent understanding. A sense of satisfaction washed over him and Andre allows his eyes to drift shut.

Andre allows himself to be, to feel, for the first time since his capture. He was hesitant, but with enough time and enough love, he became a somebody. Your somebody.

On the month of his birthday, he was called in. You pleaded him not to take the job but it’s what he does best.

I will be back, Moye Vse. Do not worry so much.

Nikto now, cradles your tear soaked cheeks in his calloused palms and hushes your cries with a kiss.

He didn’t want you coming with him. Even after arguing with the board to let you tag along, be his backup for Christ’s sake, they were adamant this was a one man mission.

The day of his birthday arrives, the house has never felt emptier.

The candles on the cake illuminate the worry lines in your skin, you sob into your hands.

Missing him felt more like mourning.

He was made. A vehicle stops in the middle of the dirt road, spotting him.

The knife slices through him like his body was made of cake, he wishes it was raspberry couli soaking his attire.

He shouldn’t be thinking about food right now, a mirthless laugh chokes him.

Cake. He thinks.

Our angel is going to hate us for not coming back to taste that damn birthday cake.

Usually, sleep was never so quick to claim him, but tonight, under the open stars, things were… different.

The jeep finally pulls away, the crackling sound of tires over pebbles grow distant. He is alone once more, with nothing else but a biting wind and the moon to keep him company.

He doesn’t deserve to die.

Not when he just found you.