#nikto x fem reader

[multific]

Opposites Attract

Nikto x Reader

Summary: He saved you by accident. He didn't even see you in the room. But after doing so, you didn't want to leave his side.

Nikto was known throughout the army for his rugged appearance and tough demeanour. 

When he wasn't on a mission, he spent his days working in the fields, his hands calloused from hard labour, and working out. 

But despite his rough exterior, Nikto had a heart of gold.

It was something he hid very well.

It was something the years and torture took out of him.

One day, he met a soft and kind woman whom he saved during a mission.

You were the complete opposite of him, gentle, kind, and delicate. 

Your presence was like a breath of fresh air in Nikto's otherwise harsh world. 

After saving you, you didn't want to leave his side. He was the only person who protected you.

You felt safe with him. 

From the moment he laid eyes on you, he was smitten. He found himself drawn to your softness, grace, and quiet strength.

Despite your differences, you soon found yourself falling deeply in love. Nikto would bring you wildflowers he picked from the fields, and you would tend to his wounds after a long day. 

You never asked him about his mask. Never asked about his past.

Even without asking, you knew he was struggling. 

You were the perfect balance of rough and soft, yin and yang, fire and water.

Though your love was not without its challenges. 

The people around you whispered behind your backs, questioning how a man like Nikto could ever be worthy of a woman like you. 

But neither of you cared what others thought. 

You knew that your love was true, and that was all that mattered.

It was all you needed, one another.

As the seasons changed and the years passed, your love only grew stronger. 

Slowly, Nikto learned to soften his rough edges, while you found strength in his unwavering support.

And so, in probably the most unlikely scenario, a rough man and a soft woman found their happily ever after, proving that love knows no boundaries and that sometimes, opposites truly do attract.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou 

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[lizzy019]

Nikto x Chubby Reader! I don’t really see enough of those 😢 on Tumbler or anywhere else. (And yours truly is a chubby lady here)

Ahh, I've written one already somewhere! I'll write this here as smut because... (as a chubby girl as well) WE NEED RECOGNITION!!! this is HEAVY on insecurities jsyk but ENJOY <3

~~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~~🌿~~~~~~~~~ 18+ ~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, you were practically curling in on yourself as Nikto tenderly peeled the fabric of your clothes off. You had agreed to this only for the sake of his happiness, even if you weren't entirely comfortable with it.

Fucking gravity, making your breasts fall out to the sides in the ugliest manner. Like they had no interest in what Nikto was willing to give you. You wish they were perkier sometimes, that they were able to stand proud whenever given some freedom.

Nikto was careful with you, you were his doll anyway. Precious skin that glowed in the dim lighting of the room, hair tossed in wild swirls on the pillows. How could he not adore you when you were so effortlessly pretty? A man like him felt such shame for taking you for himself, even when you assured him of his worth.

The callouses on his hands were rough, yes, but they felt oddly soft when they traced your hips. The motion held no malice, only an undying appreciation in its wake. Despite you wanting to hide away, cover yourself up and escape his apartment for the sake of your modesty, you just couldn't sum up the courage when the sharpness of Nikto's eyes pulled you just a bit closer.

"Моя любовь, stop scrunching up your face. You're not old enough for wrinkles." He tried to joke, truly. Nikto didn't like seeing you stressed or nervous about something as lovely as these intimate moments.

And it worked, to his surprise. Your expression went from furrowed brows and an anxious look in your eyes, to a warm smile and puffy cheeks. Under his mask, he could feel his own lips quirking up to match yours, you were infectious in your mannerisms.

Your hands gently came to smooth over his biceps, and your once happy smile soon fell to one of lament and confusion. Why had such a handsome man, muscular and built come into your life? You felt slobbish beside him, like he could have gotten someone who didn't feel ashamed of their own flesh.

Nikto was persistent though. Sure, he wasn't very connected to his emotions, but he was to yours. You could be stubborn at times, especially with your self image. But you being fully nude in front of him, seeing the little plush of your tummy, the little lines along your hips and under your lower belly, how fucking massive your tits were...

He was a starved man, after all.

But he waited, he waited until you gave any signal that you were even remotely close to comfortable so he could lavish you in all the love he could possibly give you. He wasn't very affectionate, but you were different than him. He'd adapt to better fit you any day.

Once you finally seemed to relax knowing Nikto wasn't judging you, he acted quickly. His hands scooped up the round globes at your chest, squeezing them like his personal pair of stress balls. Your own hands were quick to latch onto his mask, hastily finding the clips and undoing them. If you could suffer being insecure, so could he.

And he didn't argue. He stilled so you could undo his mask more easily, letting the metal and fabric mask fall from his face as you aimlessly tossed it to the floor.

Yes, you recognized that face. Misshapen, misaligned, a bit battered and unframed, but pretty. Handsome, per se. The bags under his eyes were nothing new, you could see them even with his mask on. But his pretty pink lips, buzzed hair, uneven stubbly beard, burnt face... you just admired it in silence.

"Нет, I see you looking at me like that. None of that. You cannot love me and not love yourself." He huffed, the soft rumble in his speaking just making you swoon.

But you giggled and used the leverage you had to your advantage. You pulled his head down just enough until you could press your lips perfectly against his. The taste of faint nicotine and vodka was all consuming, and the way he pressed his hips against yours had you muffling the softest crooning noise.

It wasn't long until Nikto separated his lips from yours, moving them to make a trail down your neck, to your chest, your sternum and abdomen until he met right in between your thighs. Those big, squishy thighs that he swore he could live between. Using the strength he had to lift them over his shoulders while his thumb lazily spread open your labia.

Pretty coloured cunt just happily clenching around nothing, but you were simply just a bit uneasy with the way he was staring at it so hard. His thumb just shallowly plunged into the sweet hole of yours. You weren't wet enough, he knew this well. Maybe you were still too nervous to really get wet.

So both his hands went to loop around your thighs, his hands squeezing them in a swift pattern to keep you relaxed before he dove in.

A soft cry was torn from you while he licked and sucked at your pretty cunny. Warm tongue lapping up any juice you let go for him, and your legs were seizing up as your hips tried to buck up into him. The noises tumbling from your mouth left Nikto working twice as hard, pushing himself closer so his nose tapped and rubbed lightly against your clit.

You were practically seeing stars, back arching and curving to the point where you were sure you'd need a chiropractor after this. The bubbling in your lower abdomen was harsh, and you knew you were getting dangerously close.

Your hands pressed his head closer to your aching center, the sounds of your moans heightening the closer you got to sweet release. Nikto didn't stop his assault, no, not when you were practically humping your pussy against his face.

It didn't take long for you to crumble, a loud sobbish whimper escaping you as you came undone from simply his mouth. Nikto just enjoyed his meal like the hungry man he was, licking whatever leftover juice there was and even making sure his lips were clean before he continued.

You really didn't see how pretty you were to him, did you?

He gave you a few seconds of cooldown, watching your expression melt from high off of pleasure to calm in the afterglow. Your eyes fluttered open, and you giggled once you managed to see him. He had a bit of your mess on his nose.

"Nikto, your nose." You smiled, holding in the giggles as he tried to wipe it off.

Moments like these made you realize how lucky you were to be dating someone like Nikto. Sure, he wasn't perfect, no one was. But... he sure could be cute at times regardless of his looks.

The afterglow left you a smiling mess as Nikto cleaned you up and offered you pyjamas. Giddy from how happy you were because Nikto just truly adored you; you never knew the full extent of it.

So once you both were settled in bed, smiles faded to soft curled smirks, you could only pepper kisses to his scarred lips that gave you so much pleasure. Nikto could only let his expression grow fond as you did so.

The blankets were pulled over your shoulders, and your body was pressed up against his. He was warm, scaring off the chill of the room. And with a few kisses and a few soft "Я люблю тебя (i love you)"s, you fell asleep comfortably within his grasp.

Oh, he just adored every part of you.

[johnpriceslamb]

nikto n his kitty girl >>_< ur tail wraps around his throat n squeezes it as he makes u bounce on his throbbing cock, a groaning mess as u choke him which make his cock harder inside ur teeny kitty insides ^.^

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 3

Part 1 here.

CW: Asking for death, implied threats, men (derogatory)

AO3 | Death Masterlist

They have gone. Leaving you alone with instructions that food will be delivered to the door and to not wander. K left you an empty notebook and a series of pens. N nodded once to his bed and shut the door behind him. They shut you in this new cage but left the door unlocked.

You take your days; lining the empty pages with lines a hint of a breath between them as you fill one side diagonal and then the other horizontally. Six pages front and back filled with nothing but lines, a prison for the ink you have wasted. The pounding at the door becomes near constant. You have ignored the food. They are not here to force you.

The words begin to crawl out of you, filling the larger spaces you leave between your lines. You think yourself a dragon, breathing out poison and setting the world ablaze with the hate in your soul. You would say the fires of hell but you have found hell is cold, sterile, white and leached of color.

Exhaustion steals you into sleep more often as your weary body cries for nutrients again. On the fourth day someone opens the door. This man is large. Tall, not as tall as K, but broader by half. A dark hood with bleached weeping eyes stare at you.

“Come.”

He turns and walks from the room. Something about the command pulls you forward. This is a man that will end you. No morals, twisted even as they sat in N and K, would prevent him from granting you release.

He walks silently, massive boots landing without even a puff of air as he displaces the atoms that live between his foot and his next step. You cannot match his silence despite the slight existence of your body. The slap of your feet against the cool laminate follows you as you follow him.

Men drift to one side as they move to and fro, all with some unknown destination. They nod and murmur a quick 'Colonel', eyes categorizing you as not a threat before they pass. Some eyes linger though, the lascivious thoughts clear. Boys, failed by society, found release only in the stolen space within bodies that could not be human. For if they were human, if they were real, men would have to grapple with the baseless violence that marked them as beasts and not as men in fact.

The doors change. Where once the spread out openings were closed tight with solid pieces now windows peaked out at you between the walls and built into the doors. At a door like all the others the man stopped, and you behind him.

A key appeared from a pocket and disappeared into the same after its job had been completed. He opens the door for you, this colonel pulls his second power move by gesturing that you enter first. Stepping through you flick your eyes across the wall of filing cabinets, all shut tight. His desk is neat to a fault. You reach out and touch a pen laid neatly at the end of his matte black desk mat.

No nameplate sits on his desk to identify who he is. The colonel stares at the askew pen before lifting his eyes to you.

“Why do they keep you?” His voice does not rumble as you expect for one of such size. You had expected the growl of a bear but found the voice of a mild-mannered shark instead.

“They won’t kill me,” you reach forward and tap the pen again. It slides but does not roll as the clip lays in the way.

“Why?”

If you knew that you would be freed of this electrified meat suit. Instead, you reach forward and tap the pen again.

His hand shoots out, holding your wrist tight, nearly to the point of pain. Looking up you stare into beautiful blue eyes that should not belong to the reaper.

“Will you kill me?”

“Can you only speak of your demise?” He muses aloud before letting your wrist go and leaning back in his chair. It squeaks against his weight. “No. Krueger and Nikto are some of my best. If I take you away who knows what they will drag home next.”

Wish that you were a witch to drown in your sorrows. Before thinking better of it you skirt the large desk, using all your might to spin the chair so you can settle on your knees between his thighs. You stare up at him, mournful, as your cheek rests so close to his groin that you can smell the sweat of the day collected in his creases.

“Please,” tears you have not shed in years start, “Please kill me.”

He stares down at you, dead eyes unwilling to bend to your request.

“What does death hold that you cannot?”

“Peace,” you sob into the seam of his pants.

Hands pull you upward until you are nestled nose into his hood and arms around his neck. That is how K and N find you hours later. The colonel had worked around you, firing off emails and answering men as they entered his office. He had shared food with you too. Bits of his meal from his own fork pressed to your lips with the expectation of bending to his will. You do. Thinking later you decide it must be the gentleness of his touch, those killing hands holding you gently, that pulls you back ever so slightly from the edge that you crept toward.

K busts through the door, ignoring the unspoken demand to knock and wait.

“König you have something of ours.”

The heat of his gaze sweeps over you, displeasure tasting the air.

N steps through before shutting the door tight.

“I grew up hunting rabbits for my Nonna,” König, as they called him, rests a hand on your back. “We did not keep them as pets, locked in cages.”

They stiffen, catching the message that is beyond you.

“Send her in the morning. Rabbits must have a purpose or they need to feed the pot.”

N surprises you by snarling at his commander.

“She will not play whore for you König.”

König’s fingers tighten on your ribs.

“I have need of a secretary, you have a rabbit in need of watching. You will share or I will grant her request.” All signs of civility disappeared from his voice. Despite your cries for death you shivered.

K and N do not need to share a look to reach a congress. N blinks and K nods.

“Up kaninchen, they will wish to ensure you are well,” he flexes his thigh beneath you.

You stand slowly, already missing the warmth of his body that had seeped into your bones.

“Bring her dressed next time,” he says to them by way of dismissal.

Looking down at your too-large shirt and tightened sweats you frown. You suppose toes should not be out if you are to work in the colonel’s office. Did you want to work in his office? Did you have a choice?

Following your keepers back to your room you let them prod at you and answer their questions. No, he did not hurt you, no he did not touch your body in a way you did not agree to, yes you ate today. When you are delivered to the showers you clean your body perfunctorily, pausing only once to notice that your breasts have started to return. When you return to the room you share with N, K at your side, you find the mattress empty. N has settled himself across the cot you used, light breathing the only indication of life.

“I don’t want it,” you snap at both of them.

“It is our failure that has brought the colonel’s attention to you, the least we can do is upgrade your resting hours,” K pushes you toward the bed. His hand is firm, but not unkind. “Morning comes early.”

You lay down, glaring across the room at N as S kills the lights and leaves you to your nightmares.

Likes are amazing! Reblogs are better (that lets your followers see what you like.)

Part 2 | Part 4

Death Masterlist | Masterlist

@meinemauschen

[andreas-river]

I would like to request a Nikto x Reader :)

Nikto overheard a conversation you were having with the other operators on base about how beautiful the nearby flowers are blooming in spring. He has begun a daily ritual of hiking up the hill to find the prettiest and gathering them for you. Secretly leaving little bouquets in places you would find.

ʻʻLingering scentʼʼ

Pairing: Nikto x Fem!Reader

TW: none, mostly fluff.

-

He never meant to eavesdrop on you.

That’s what he repeated to himself every time, watching the space ahead of him but with his ears focused on the tone of your voice, hearing the smile that you had. He never felt it before, nor did he know that you could feel a smile in someone’s voice.

There were small details, the way you pointed at the flowers outside on the way to the base, his eyes travelling all the way around to see the camp at the side of the road.

And to be honest with himself, he never noticed them, until now.

He couldn’t ever be a gentleman, there was no way that he saw himself give a bouquet of flowers to someone. The thought almost made him feel sick from the bottom of his stomach.

That same night, Nikto walked out of the base, a flashlight in his left hand as his boots left imprints on the cold ground. The snow was long gone, the days were becoming longer and longer, feeling like a fish out of water as the temperatures became warmer.

When he dropped down and pointing the light at them, gloved fingers brushing at the stem as he picked it from the ground, he realized that he never observed a flower in his entire life. The petals looked so bright under the artificial light, the center a bright yellow, reminding him of the time he saw you wear a yellow shirt.

He never expected to see you with that color on you, attracting more than a few pair of eyes, yet you walked straight like you weren’t a complete walking headlight.

He collected others from the ground, without even counting them as he held them in his other hand, walking back while trying to figure out a plan to give them to you. That’s when the thought hit him like a train: he was planning to give you a bouquet of flowers.

—

The following day, he stayed more than usual at shooting wooden targets with his rifle, his fingers tingling as if pure electricity was flowing in his veins, trying to keep himself at bay. He still remembers how he found himself searching for anything that could’ve kept the flowers together, finding only a rubber band inside one of his drawers.

He didn’t know what was driving him to such actions, he just felt like it was the right thing to do after hearing what you said.

At one point, he was forced by his teammates to get out from the training area, almost pushing him all the way. He sat with them as they were eating their lunch, his box still closed—he would eat it only in the privacy of his own room.

Still distracted by the flow of his own thoughts, he didn’t acknowledge your presence until you walked by, surprised to see you alone. He listened as you asked for a plastic cup—a bit weird, bottles were most used, until he watched you pouring water inside it as you gently placed flowers inside. Those flowers.

Until you turned in his direction, finally going back to reality and seeing his teammates waving at you, inviting you to sit with them.

He didn’t realize he was staring at you until your eyes watched him back, yet your smile never faltered for a moment, sitting in front of him and placing the flowers on the table.

“And where did those come from?”

He watched you blush at the question, murmuring that you didn’t know, and telling how you found the little bouquet of flowers tied at the handle of your door that same morning.

He held back a groan as Rodion tried to understand who could have been the gentleman behind that gesture, your face becoming redder by the second as his teammate tried to think of any person.

You let out a nervous laugh, distractedly fixing the flowers inside the cup.

His heart skipped a beat when you shifted your gaze on him, even if it was only for a moment.

—

It happened again, and again, your room perfumed from all those flowers that somehow ended up in spots where you always went. Always held by a rubber band, always tucked in a corner—yet you knew exactly what the corner would be.

You were dying of curiosity since that morning you first found them, soon being aware that someone was doing that on purpose, but not leaving any trace behind.

But you knew better than that.

The way he stared at you—someone even said that he was a creep, but there was more than meets the eye. The more you watched him, the more you started to understand that his eyes gave out more about him, or the way his legs shifted when he was sitting, or how he crossed his arms in his chest or if he left them at his sides.

It was a difficult book to read, too many difficult words to understand and concepts hard to grasp at first glance.

But you wanted to know more, to know him more and the reason behind those flowers.

Slowly sticking your head out of your room and closing the door behind you, you stealthily walked out, going straight to your favorite spot in the little yard of the base. You could feel your heart beating loudly in your chest, almost afraid that someone could hear it, even if it was impossible.

At night everything was easier for you. It happened occasionally in the past that you would meet him, the insomnia having the best of you both, ending up talking—you would always do most of the talk, he would just sit and listen at everything, from the gossips that went around the base to personal matters that heaved on you, feeling almost childish to trust him so blindly.

Apart from seeing him in the field, you knew nothing about him, except all the thing other said about him. All the rumors that went around the base, the way everyone dared to talk behind his back but shutting their mouth the moment his shadow appeared closer to them. They were afraid of him, that was obvious.

But that didn’t stop you at all, reasons why you sat under that tree in the middle of the night, waiting for him to appear.

Little did you know that he was observing you from afar, trying to walk his way around but knowing well why you picked that spot—you already knew. And like in that moment, you already managed to put yourself in his way, always stopping him in his tracks at every inopportune—and opportune moment.

The dirt under his boots made enough noise to attract your attention, watching you turn around, your eyes light up the moment you saw him. No one ever watched him that way.

“You should sleep at this hour.”

Your smile widened after his words. “I can say the same about you.”

He didn’t answer your statement, the flowers in his pocket burning like fire, their perfume making his head spin. He noticed the way you breathed in, surely noticing the sweet scent lingering around him. Not saying a word, you just shifted, making space for him on the bench, patting the cold material with your hand and inviting him to sit.

After a moment, he obliges.

For some time, he just imitates what you do, watching the sky above, clouds and stars blending in one big painting, letting all thoughts slip away from his mind, somehow less clouded than ever.

You let the wind do the talk this time, your smile never faltering for a moment, not even when he finally gets up from the bench, the first lights of dawn filling the sky in bright stripes. He cannot help but feel the shadow of a smile forming behind his mask as your lips murmur a ‘thank you’, voice too low to understand—but you both surely didn’t need the voice to understand each other.

You follow him soon after, this time leaving the scent from the chamomile flowers lingering for a bit longer on that bench, their petals flying away with the wind of that new morning.

[luci4theminorannoyance]

Hellooo, and could you do nikto with a fem reader who loves hugs ? It’s okay if not :)

a/n: sure!! I’ve been a bit unsure on writing nikto recently, but I’ve been looking over my work and I think I’ll go back to writing him more often again!

nikto:

-he’s not one to let people come within an arms reach most of the time, mostly for his own personal comfort. But rarely, he’d let you hug him

-it slowly morphed into a thing after every mission, and then after every training, and then at every break, the subtle shifts making it so that he doesn’t truly mind it or notice it till one late night fly back to base, where he sits with you sleeping, head on his shoulder

-it was a warm, uncomfortable feeling for him to think about too long, but he enjoyed having you around all the same, so he wouldn’t mind. Why would he? Your the sweetest girl he ever could think of

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

78 / 1.7k / part 2 of remora!reader surviving orca!König's tank for mermay 🦈

...

“Alex? Alex!” Your hands press up against the glass. But Alex—the diver you trusted, the one who you thought was your friend, turns away from you. "Please..."

König watches the commotion from a distance. His hand—palm wide enough to fully engulf a human's skull—flexes in annoyance. Your desperate wailing disrupts the fragile hierarchy of the tank. He tolerates it for exactly fourteen seconds before surging forward with a speed like he isn’t the biggest thing in the tank.

His shadow swallows your smaller form against the glass. The next thing you know, he's snatched your thrashing wrists above your head with one hand and pressed you against the tank's barrier with the other.

"Quiet."

The barked command makes the glass behind your head ring. Net-like fabric floats around his head as he stares you down with eerie stillness. His tail coils beneath you and his body is taut—ready to shake sense into you the old-fashioned way if you wiggle.

Remoras are clingy by nature, feeding off scraps from proper predators. Weakness incarnate. Yet something in your wide-eyed stare pricks at recollections of his own helplessness years ago. He dismisses this immediately.

"Improve your posture before Horangi circles back," he mutters, jerking your wrists higher. "He chews on twitchy things. Understand?"

You stare at him, utterly still. You can't quite make out what he's saying over the roar of blood in your ears. Still, you're careful to keep your tail from brushing his as you hang limply from his grip. You shouldn’t touch an angry orca without begging permission.

König’s pointer finger hooks under your jaw to force your chin up. "Begging makes you smaller." The last word comes out punctuated by a mean poke of his pinky finger’s claw against your neck. "Do you hear me? If you value your pretty throat, stop bleating like seal bait."

You blink up at him, pupils still huge. You swallow and try to choose your next words carefully. What comes out, however, is, "You think it's pretty?"

A beat passes—long enough for Horangi’s silhouette to glide past the tank's far not-coral formation.

König’s exhale bubbles out in a low, irritated tsch that flutters the netting in front of his lips. He pushes your jaw to the side to make you break eye contact. He has half a mind to make you expose your neck, too. Your tiny remora brain must not have parsed his words correctly. "I meant the tendons. Weak spots. Delicate." He makes his voice arrogant and attached. "In that sense, yes."

"Oh." Tendons. You have pretty tendons, then. Your fingertips—still hostage above your head—tap unthinkingly against the side of his fingers. You tilt your neck, opening it to him even more, despite his claws floating around it. "Do you like weak spots? I have a lot."

König’s head tilts. His grip on your jaw shifts—pressing your head back until your entire throat bows taut under his claws. One casual flick, and he could open it up like the human divers unzip their suits. His inky tail presses in to hem you in from below. Not that you're trying to escape.

"You mistake patience for interest," he growls, though his thumb makes another lazy pass over your throbbing pulse. "The question is whether your many weak spots make you worth the effort of keeping alive."

"It wouldn't be. Except..." You let your eyes wander down his body. Then you look away. "Well... No, it's nothing."

"Spit it out."

You wriggle in his grip again and shoot him a coquettish look. "For a mer as big and strong as you, it would be easy to keep me alive. I bet no one ever picks a fight with an orca."

A chuckle rumbles up from his chest. You think you've got him right where you want him until the sound becomes a growl that reverberates through your skull where he's still pinning it to the glass.

"Cringing flattery." He releases your wrists just to splay his hand over your ribcage. The span of his palm covers your torso. "But that's right, foolish schmarotzer. Every fight ever picked with me ends with the problem sinking to the seabed in pieces. Fighting is easy. Easy is tiresome."

He pulls you away from the tank wall and pushes you suddenly downward. After a long descent, your back hits the shallowly-sanded tank floor hard enough to dredge up a bloom of silt. You let out an uncomfortable uff. His palm splays wide against your sternum—not crushing, but containing. Two clawtips press divots into the skin above your heart. "I tire of flattery. Your lines are stink up my tank. Mold your clever mouth around something else."

"What else is there?"

König's answering exhale is a stream of bubbles that pop fizz against your face. The claws at your sternum drag downward, ginger enough to etch thin white lines that bloom pink. “Your tongue is as dull as your teeth. Better to use it for scraping barnacles off my scales. Or" —his thumb presses hard into the hollow under your chin— “begging. But you are much worse at that.” The pressure relents only for his claws to flex around your throat.

A shark’s silhouette passes overhead—Horangi’s lithe form pausing to observe the disturbance before gliding onward. König’s gaze flicks up, tracking him.

You watch him watch Horangi. Begging—for what? Food? Shelter? No, it's not that, you realize, seeing Horangi's brief smirk and feeling König's grip tighten in response. He wants your fear; your unquestioning respect. He wants you something easy under his thumb to beg for his mercy.

Your reaction is instinctive and immediate. You try not to seem as eager to please as you actually are, but you can't help the way your pupils dilate at having found a niche. "Please," you mewl. You clutch his wrist—the one connected to the hand still wrapped around your throat and chest—with eager hands. "Please release me. Throw me to the shark instead; he’ll be kinder." You make sure to say this loudly enough to reach Horangi's ears.

König’s head snaps back toward you, hood whipping through the water. The whites of his eyes flash briefly before narrowing to glacial slits. When Horangi draws closer, nostrils flaring at the metallic tang of adrenaline, König lashes out at him a territorial swipe of his claws. Horangi darts back, but his interest is clearly piqued.

König hauls you upright by the throat and shoulders. “Dummes biest,” he hisses. “You think you can gift yourself to the sharks? Your life is mine. I decide when you become chum.”

To emphasize this, he drags you toward the coral outcropping where Horangi has settled to watch as he sharpens a stolen diver’s knife against a rock. Horangi’s grin widens.

König stops just shy of Horangi’s reach. He thrusts you forward like a fisherman presenting live bait.

“Here.” His voice drops to a taunting purr. “Beg him for death, if you’re so eager.”

You stare at Horangi. You open your mouth but can’t form the words.

Horangi’s golden eyes gleam. He leans in. “Oh? Brave little scavenger—”

König yanks you back against his chest before the shark’s claw can graze your cheek. A low, resonant click rolls through his chest—an orca’s warning—as Horangi retreats with a scoff. “Not brave. Stupid.” He forces your head to crane up at him. “But stupidity is fixable. You want to be shark food? Earn it. Kneel first. Then maybe I’ll let Horangi take a finger. A fin.” His thumb traces your lower lip. “Your impudent tongue.”

You positively squirm as he holds you there and takes inventory of your weak points. You've never been objectified quite like this before. It's thrilling.

You’re rewarded with a sharp jerk of his claws. He bends you, forcing your spine to arch against the solid plane of his chest. You're meant to pick scraps from his kills, but here you writhe as if starved for a different purpose. "You vibrate like a shrimp in a net," he mutters. His big hands drag your smaller frame flush against the lethal curve of his pectoral fins. The scarred edges bite faintly into your hips. He could sand your scaled skin to pulp with a single thrash.

Horangi keeps watching. He scrapes the knife’s blade idly over the pad of his thumb. Then König notices you noticing Horangi noticing you. “Eyes forward,” he snaps at the tiger shark with a low, clicking sound in his chest. “This one is not your chew toy.”

“Fine, fine,” Horangi replies. He stretches and retreats with a curious flick of his tail.

König’s attention returns to you. You’re still not trying to escape. You must enjoy being manhandled. Stupid little putzerfisch. “You lick the hand that throttles you. Pathetic. But…” He drags a clawtip up your neck to tap your bottom lip. “Convenient.”

You resist the urge to catch it in your mouth and suck on it. "Convenient is good?"

"Convenient is tolerable." His finger pushes past your teeth before you can react, the blunt tip pressing down on your tongue. Saliva clouds the water as he drags the claw along the sensitive muscle. "Good would imply you have use beyond this."

You nod obediently. Or you try, but the weight of König's finger makes it difficult. "’M utheleth," you agree around his claw.

He pulls it out with a wet pop. "Useless and honest. A rare combination."

He releases you abruptly, sending you drifting backward in the current. Before you can right yourself, his palm slams against the sand beside your head, caging you beneath the shadow of his dorsal fin. The black-and-white patterning of his tail seems to warp in the murky water.

"You will make yourself less useless starting tomorrow." His claws pluck a stray seashell from the sand and flick it disdainfully toward the tank's filtration system. "Clean this cesspit. Remove debris. Scrape algae from the glass. If I see a single parasite on Nikto’s scales, I will peel yours off and feed them to you." His gaze follows Horangi, who’s now circling the tank’s upper levels with roiling boredom. "And when the sharks demand entertainment," he adds, leaning down until his mask brushes your temple, "you will not volunteer your tongue. It belongs to me."

With that, he shoves off the sand and surges upward, his tailfin disappearing in a cloud of silt.

...

part 1 / [part 2] / part 3

more mer au / more KorTac / masterlist

[yawnderu]

Sharing an air bnb with Nikto during mandatory leave because you trust each other. Finally getting to see his face, cuddling in a big jacuzzi tub.

Gaining Nikto's trust wasn't easy. The behemoth of a man had a fragmented mind, too broken from Zakhaev's torture, and yet the utmost effort you put into getting to know him proved fruitful after months.

“Jesus fuck. Put that thing away, Misha.” Your attempts at shielding your eyes are met with a laugh, feeling the water shift around your body, a mass of pure warm muscle pressing on your side. 

“... Is it hidden now?” His eyes crinkle, the smile of pure amusement hidden beneath his mask. Nikto doesn’t feel uncomfortable with nudity, and while joining you in the jacuzzi only happened because of the vodka warming his stomach up and giving him liquid courage, he was enjoying your reaction.

“Да. You can look now.” Your fingers part in front of your eyes, glancing up at him before looking down, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you realize the bubbles are covering his lower body. 

“I wasn’t expecting to be greeted by… cock.” Despite the initial surprise, there’s nothing but pure mirth dancing with your words. You feel his arm drape over your shoulder, pulling you closer, the smell of hard liquor hitting your nose, explaining why he’s being touchier than usual. 

“You’re welcome.” Despite how unpleasant and rowdy Nikto can be, your company served as a soothing balm, a small break from all the chaos going on in his head. There’s hesitation in his actions as he reaches towards the straps of his mask, his fingers stilling for a few seconds, your curious eyes looking up at him with an innocence that he finds endearing. 

“I take it off sometimes.” Not exactly a lie, yet not exactly the trust either— Nikto does remove his mask, though never in the presence of anyone else. The fear of getting judged for his face scars will always be there, and it took him months to gather the courage to even think about showing it to you.

The straps of his mask are removed with little to no effort, yet he doesn’t fully remove the mask yet. You can see the fear and doubt dancing within his light blue eyes as he holds the rough material, the only barrier between both of you. “I’m not going to judge, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your reassurance is accompanied by your hand running up and down his back, gentle caresses that he never allowed himself to receive from anyone, until you came along. It seemed to be the only confirmation he needed, as the mask slips off, placed on a table nearby before he finally turns to look at you. 

You admire his features for the first time, your eyes running all over his face for a few seconds. Nikto has a slightly crooked nose —likely from being broken one too many times—, the skin on his face more pale than the rest of his body, and the scars lingering all over his face. They look like chemical burns, running from his chin, up to his forehead, his skin tainted in a light red color. 

“You look pretty.” Pretty. The word almost makes him scoff, his gaze drifting around the jacuzzi before looking back at you, pure vulnerability in his expression. 

“I’m serious.” You insist, leaning closer to him before your wet hand reaches up, cupping his cheek. The suddenness of your actions is almost enough to make him flinch, and yet he decides to stay still, a part of him craving the praise after so many years of being lonely, of being broken. 

Your thumb runs along his skin, being extra careful with his scars, even if they no longer hurt physically. The reverence in your eyes mirrors his, nothing but pure trust and worship displayed in your actions. Your soft finger runs across his cracked bottom lip, taking your time to continue admiring his features before he closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

An Ode To Greed

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

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

Nikto was nothing less than an attentive lover. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Delicious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Вкусный.”  

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

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

[syntheticsymp]

Niktotine.

Babe you are so right. Never in my life has a single word ignited an idea so quick.

In my HCs, I think Nikto had been smoking since he was young (a teen in Russia thinking he's so cool) and was probably encouraged by his father. He likes the cheap cigarettes that hurt his lungs to smoke. And I like to believe that he swears up and down he isn't addicted, when he definitely is.

Tw: smoking, implied kidnapping, Nikto being Nikto. Unedited and mainly brain worms

-

Nikto had long since perfected the art of torture, he knew how stress presented itself in his victims. Sweating, twitching, a bouncing leg. Normal people weren't good at hiding those tells.

And neither were you.

When he finally arrived home from KorTac, he could practically taste your panic in the air. As far as he knew, he hadn't done anything particularly upsetting today. You had been living with him long enough to get used to his behavior.

It didn’t take him long to track you down. Sitting on the couch, head in your hands.

What could possibly be stressing you out? Nikto had taken you away from all your problems. Had the freedom to go into town been too much for you?

The voices were questioning him, nitpicking his decisions, as always. He huffed as he attempted to block them out. They weren’t his priority. He had just gotten home, he had other things to focus on.

Nikto sat down next to you, not bothering to give you the space you needed. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, the hollow dip in your skin mimicking his own, deformed face.

He didn't want to ask, and to be honest, he really didn't care. But you were his pet, his питомица. He had a duty to you.

“Something is wrong.”

It wasn't a question.

You nodded slowly, turning to face him and hesitantly meeting his blue gaze. Your voice was pained when you responded. “Yes.”

You didn't offer more than that. And if you wanted to stay quiet, fine. Nikto wouldn't push. He hated it when people did that to him. If you wanted to tell him, you would. As long as you didn't lie or try to leave him, he wouldn't force you to speak.

So, instead, he acted. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap.

You kicked out. “Hey!”

His glare quickly silenced you. It didn't matter if you were in a bad mood, you weren't to fight him. He was attempting to be kind, giving you physical contact despite how he hated it. It was best if you didn't push your luck.

When he finally had you fully in his lap, he shoved a gloved hand in his pocket. You were tense, lips pressed into a hard line as you fought to keep quiet.

Eventually, he pulled out a small box of Parliment cigarettes and his smuggled lighter. Technically, the doctors said he shouldn't be allowed near either. The lighter was a danger in his hands and nicotine scraped his lungs.

But smoking worked better than his meds most days. Starting his day with his pretty thing handing him two orange pills and a cigarette in bed was just the right combination to keep the voices at bay. Just enough that they'd be content.

Who cared if the nicotine would rot his teeth when half of them had been pulled out by Mr. Z anyway. And if that man couldn't kill him, cancer didn't have a chance, either.

He handed you the lighter as he placed the cigarette between his cracked lips, balancing it between what remained of them. You took the lighter, just like always. It was a ritual for you to hold the flames to him. It was better than him doing it himself.

The white paper quickly caught fire and a thin trail of smoke wound its way to the ceiling, infecting the house that was supposedly a home. Parliaments left a scratchy taste in the back of his throat, a dull sort of ache he found just as addictive as the nicotine itself.

He blew smoke out of his scars as you started to melt into him. Resting your head against his chest, seeking comfort now that your stress had dissipated and morphed into weariness. You were seeking Nikto out, finally starting to give in to his broken version of love. That, or perhaps the smoke simply wore down your senses.

And, with ever watchful eyes, he noticed. It was hard not to.

The faint scent of cheap cigarettes followed Nikto like a ghost. You had grown used to the smell overtime, and even started to look for it whenever you were nervous, even if it wasn't intentional. You'd grow almost calm around him after he returned from smoking outside. And if he did inside, you would appear in the room in a matter of moments.

Even now, you were curled up against his chest, chin tilted upward so you could breathe in the nicotine as he exhaled.

A curious habit he had given you. Perhaps it was time to give you a taste of the real thing?

Nikto shifted you on his lap, forcing you to look up at him. You blinked a few times, still sleepy from whatever had caused you to stress earlier.

He held the cigarette out to you, tapping it against your lower lip, signaling for you to open.

Your eyes went wide. “Uhm, no thank you. I’m alright.”

“It helps us,” he reasoned, one of the first times he had attempted to do so. “It will help you.”

“What if I get addicted?” you asked, voice small.

Oh, питомица. You already are.

“We won't let you.”

He saw the flicker of hesitation in your eyes. You knew he wasn’t a liar. He had said before that there was no point in it. His word was good, the only thing left you could trust.

You carefully took the cigarette in your mouth, holding it between your lips just as delicately as you had done to his cock the night before. You didn’t breathe in, simply resting it there as if that would trick him.

Nikto rolled his eyes and pinched your nose.

You sputtered, forced to breathe in. Your eyes quickly teared up.

He pulled the cigarette away just as quickly as he gave it to you. Your cheeks were puffy with smoke, so he poked one. A thin stream of smoke fell from your lips and contaminated the air, mixing with his own smoke.

“Better?”

You slumped against him, offering a tired nod.

The voices in his head offered positive feedback for once. He had helped you. He may not be capable of emotion, but he at least had his питомица. He could have you without hurting or killing you. It was only a matter of time until he did, but for now, you loved him enough to rest against his chest. And he’d make sure you still loved him even if he hurt you. He couldn't have you leaving him, now could he?

He let out a proud huff, flicking what remained of his cigarette to the coffee table. Normally, he’d put it out on his pants leg or you, but he supposed he could hold off.

He used the squishy flesh where his thumb fingernail used to be tilted your chin up.

He mushed his lips against yours, tasting the nicotine on your tongue. You responded with the same desperation, moving just as sloppily as him. You were too tired to squirm, instead leaning into him just like he wanted you to.

You were becoming just as addicted to him as he was to you. And oh, didn't Nikto love watching your fall.

[diejager]

OnlyFans

Pairing: cod men x fem!sex worker!reader

Cw: OnlyFans, sex work, prostitution, paid sex, voyeurisme, P in V, unprotected sex, sex machines, handjob, smut, more will be added.

Summary: it was a stroke of luck that Soap found something so sweet and addictive as you, a little angel dressed in black lace and the prettiest pout with glossy lips.

Parts:

Discovery

Fans

Draw

Technical Issues

First

Master

Reunion

[underneathsoldiers]

Title: No Ring

Characters: Nikto, female!reader

Triggers: OCD, mental breakdown, pregnancy, overprotectiveness, arguing, mood swings.

Description: you got pregnant and he won’t stop worrying about you. It’s driving you insane…and he hasn’t put a ring on it. Happy ending.

You held the pregnancy test, with Nikto in the shower. He had returned from one of his “shifts”, an innocent label for one of his killing jobs. He had always kept you away from the dark. You weren't stupid, but played along with the facade for his comfort more than yours.

He came out with his face uncovered. You were still getting used to it, as he used to always wear a wool mask inside. But he let you see his scars and you kissed them. You hid the pregnancy test as you pulled out the moisturizer.

You had volunteered to give skin care to his scars. He was using petroleum jelly and you almost snapped at him at the ridiculousness of it. Instead, you showed him online medical sites that explained scar treatment.

You were doing it out of care. But you both felt an intimacy to it. Nikto would close his eyes and feel your touch, the softness of the cream that kissed his scars. You could feel that he trusted you more since.

As you were rubbing the cream, he didn’t close his eyes. His eyes were on you.

“What is on your mind?” He rasped.

You finished the application, then you presented the pregnancy test. He took it from your hands and stared at it, his brows furrowed.

Your heart raced. Neither had planned this. Yet you couldn’t imagine denying this unexpected gift. A child, a family. But you two had never discussed children, not even marriage.

Nikto suddenly chuckled, his face softening. "Such is life, eh?”

“Yeah,” You laugh with him. “It’s crazy.”

Nikto pulled you close and kissed your hair. “We can’t refuse it, can’t we?”

“No,” you felt immense relief, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his jaw.

(⁠*⁠❛⁠‿⁠❛⁠)⁠→

Nikto was obsessive when the pregnancy went along. Using that sultry voice, he convinced to get a tracker injected into your arm that detected your heartbeat. He took over grocery shopping and you had to smuggle in junk food and sweets when you had cravings. You wanted to appreciate that he cared and had your best interests in mind. You weren’t just a partner anymore- you were the mother of his child.

It’s not that he didn’t love you deeply. Heck, his protectiveness started before you even dated. But this had made it more intense.

You had to lock yourself in the bathroom so Nikto would let you hang out with your friends and family. You had intrusive thoughts about aborting the child so he would suffer. At one point, you had enough. Nikto had been unlucky to miss your tears so he got your wet rage: “I’ll never have another child with you. I’m giving it up for adoption.”

“You’ll change your mind,” Nikto said, now using that tender-now seemingly manipulative-tone.

“I will not raise another kid if you’re treating me like this every time I get pregnant!”

“I’m taking care of you,” Nikto said, “You’re fragile. And so is the child.”

You stomped your foot, “The baby will be depressed if I’m living like a prisoner.”

“You need to be safe,” Nikto said slowly like you were stupid. “You don’t know how dangerous it is out there.”

You couldn’t handle it anymore. “That’s because I married a criminal!

It was a low blow. He preferred to be called a revolutionary, but he knew that was an impossible goal. So he settled for terrorist, outlaw, and mass murderer. But being a criminal was an insult to his soul. Whether it was because he was a spetsnaz, or some other sensitivity, you never got to find out. You just knew that it pissed him off.

Nikto glared at you with hard, husky eyes and his posture was tense. His silence scared you. You stepped back and this seemed to drive the nail deeper in the wound.

“How can you fear me?” Nikto exclaimed, as though it was another offense. He turned away and stormed off, slamming the door closed. You ended up sniveling rather than sobbing, mostly because you were too tired to cry hard even more.

(⁠⊙⁠_⁠◎⁠)

He was gone for only ten minutes. He was still offended by your words, but he didn’t dare leave you alone. He couldn’t explain to you that his thoughts kept taunting him with possibility after possibility of you getting hurt, sick, losing the baby. He couldn’t explain that he loved you so much that he would kill the whole world to keep you safe.

"I married a criminal!"

He never even uttered the word marriage to you. He kept his thoughts on those things to his novels, as he used the literary discourse to express his own ideals. He didn’t know if you caught any hint of his true feelings (you did).

He skulked back inside. He found you laying back on the couch, wiping away your tears and glaring away. He felt immense guilt. He didn’t like seeing you cry, especially if it was his fault.

“Don’t cry,” He stepped close, but you kept your head turned away. He gently wiped your tears and your resolve broke. He relaxed when you leaned to his hand and let him cup your face.

“You said we were married,” Nikto said.

The expression on your face was more pained than he expected, as you said, “It was an accident.”

Nikto was filled with guilt and shame. He was having a child with you, you were everything to him…and he hasn’t even looked for a ring. He had assumed marriage was off the table because his existence is banned in every continent. But he had assumed that you had been okay with it. Foolishly assumed.

“I’m going out,” you declare, standing your ground and reminding him of how far he went from the main topic.

Nikto sighed. His anxiety was heckled, but he knew that you were right. You need to be happy and be with your loved ones. For the baby.

“Alright." He said.

You were about to argue, but you closed your mouth in surprise. Then you sit up and pull him close, covering him in kisses. He smiled, melting like ice under the summer gaze.

“But I will be close by,” Nikto added. Hoping that it wouldn’t take away your kisses, he added: “I won’t be spying. I will simply make sure I am close enough to protect you.”

“Fine," You nuzzled him and gave him more kisses. You didn't want to let this burst of energy go to waste, even if it was probably hormone induced.

⟵⁠(⁠๑⁠¯⁠◡⁠¯⁠๑⁠)

Your due date was a week away. You were feeling a strange sense of contentment, mixed with an undercurrent of stress building in the back of your neck. It wasn’t just the birth. It was Nikto’s sudden absence. He would spend time on the computer. You enjoyed the break from him at first, but then you got worried.

One Sunday morning, he’s a complete teddy bear. He cooked up a big breakfast and brought it to you. He fed you chocolate-dipped strawberries after lunch. His gaze seemed more sunny than made of moonlight.

He kissed your hand, your wrist, your cheek, your neck. Small pecks, teasing and sweet. It made you fall in love with him all over again. You returned his affections.

At the end of the day, he slid the ring to your finger. It was a pretty diamond. You didn’t care that he didn’t kneel and pull the ‘will you marry me?” question. You were both beyond that.

But just in case, you exclaim. “Yes, yes.”

[gofishygo]

nikto + reader blurb

notes: mostly fluff, sex mentioned but no explicit scenes, slight body horror (nikto's scars), canon typical violence [mentions], god i love it when characters manage to heal and come to terms with their past and fall in love

honestly hoping n praying that nikto learns to live the softest n slowest life ever after meeting reader.

he's never gotten a day of comfort in his life, not after those interrogations. scared away both women and men in and outside of the military ever since then- face and body already nothing short of brutish and jagged angles, a bulk of muscle and fat that shadowed over every figure, weathered down to a near-macabre sight at the result of warfare. now the right half of his gum is exposed, torn apart by shrapnel and knife carvings that dragged across his face. sliced-off nostrils, yellow teeth poised at the world that had wronged him like a vulture preparing to feast- it was his unfortunate charm, the one that left him so often kicked out of brothels and whispered about in bars and revered in the barracks, smoking freely without disturbance in places where such had been outlawed years ago. of course he sees you- all keen and watching innocently, so starry eyed that it seems to blind you from his nature.

nikto would look down at his hands and see them as none further than machines. structured with bone and flesh to take down targets, but a puppet to the whims of the other voices that thrived only in his head. he was no more than the manifestation of his disorders, only set to take down the corpses that kortac had pointed at, the ones that kortac claimed to have wronged him.

and then you truly slip into his life, all doe-eyed and star-crossed. he thinks its none other than blasphemy, some sort of sick joke when you practically glue to him at the coffee shop, fixed on the crossword puzzles between his calloused hands. prodding around and occasionally chirping answers, some curious, but unfortunate, little thing that ended up right between his jaws. and he tries to spit you out, brush you off- your greetings at bars, parks, streetsides, alleyways none other than ignored with cold eyes and a masked face. but your laugh, sweet words- it trickles between cracks, melts the solute of stone, and soon enough, you're in his bed at seven am, tucked under his arm. he'd given you what you've wanted; held your body as gently as he had the ability to, growled some praise in your ear, let you sob into the pillows.

so he doesn't expect it when you show up at his door once again, oh-so-lovely smile on your face. certainly even more surprised when you keep coming, and cant deny the way his head goes a little fuzzy when he sees the notes you leave while he's in deployments, how you fold his sheets and put some flowers in a vase you'd bought that rested on his kitchen countertop. he leaves the door unlocked now, gives you the keys, and lets you in when the nights are cold.

you teach him things- how to tell if he's dreaming. learns to see his hands as more than accessories to murder, uses them as indicators to split his reality from the ones owned by his voices. you're teaching him how to make coffee and trim flowers and all he is learns is how to look at the world without staining it with blood. but it's okay- you help steady his shaking hands, hold the kettle of boiling water with him, and the weeks eventually unfurl into years.

and now, he wakes up next to you every morning, stays in bed cuddling with you until you reluctantly have to shove him away because although he's retired you still have a job, and he waters the plants and feeds the dogs outside, waiting only until you and the furry critters are well away to smoke. but it is not out of stress, no longer to rid himself of his heads, and more of a bad habit now. and the hole that the lack of conflict has left in him is so filled with you and your smile and your patience, with taking care of the garden, making coffee, helping with your paperwork. the never ending spurr of his voices still keeps him up at night sometimes, leaves him twitching. but it allows him to watch you fall asleep, feel your pulse under his cupped hand, even through the throbbing pain.

this is what life is meant to be like, maybe. taking off his mask and unbuckling the straps so he can feel your lips against what was left of his.

[lostintransist]

Death is Not Always Kind | Part 5

Part 1 here | AO3

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

Sleep is stolen from you as vomit coats your mouth.

Dreams should disappear.

Good ones.

Bad ones.

Weird ones.

They should cease to exist. All they do is torture.

Before the second round of acid eats away at your scarred lips there is a presence, a person, at your side.

A flashlight is turned on and pointed at the ceiling.

Then you are gone.

Sucked into the distant stars where time cannot touch and hands do not march on endlessly into the cosmos.

Coming back is a bit like pieces sliding into place as the sand that held them apart is siphoned away. It leaves grit between each bit.

The sound of a VHS tape being swallowed into the machine and its dance of humming would best explain your mind coming back online.

A mug of something warm is nested between your fingers.

Emotions sat distantly in your mind. The wiggles and lines of your pain trapped behind glass like a Picasso. Also fueled by misogyny and hubris.

Your ass is cold. Whatever you were wearing to bed did not keep nature from her due.

Looking from your hands to the surroundings you find you are seated on a curb outside of the building. The trees in the distant purple light of predawn are not shapes you are familiar with. Turning to the right, you find him.

Could be the smell, the slightest hint of cloves caught on the lightest of breezes. N sits beside you. He holds a mug like yours.

You should probably start calling him Nikto in your head.

When he lifts his mug it is only to one side of his mouth. The shapes molded of darkness in your vision are not your eyes playing tricks. He is missing part of his lips and a fair bit of his cheek that would normally hide his teeth.

A floodlight clicks on in the distance. The dim illuminated a few lumens brings more features into focus. Dark hair, half an ear missing, a nose that creates interest in a silhouette.

Shoes scrapping against the asphalt disrupts the tepid peace of the moment. A solider passes with a nod to you and a pointed avoidance of Nikto.

Watching the man disappear around a building and into the darkness beyond changed the tension again. With the light blinking off the darkness cloaked you, safety in its encompassing embrace.

At last, when the tea has gone cold, and the forceful shaking of your bones in your skin can no longer be ignored, Nikto looks at you.

The whole of him is scars.

It looks a lot you, when you can’t prevent your eyes from perceiving a mirrored surface.

He does not offer words, only a hand.

Resting the mug in his palm you fight every shiver that attempts to fracture your spine. Standing is a herculean task. Accomplished with the same weight of loss the demi-god must have felt to be violated by the untouchable rulers.

Nikto holds the door into the building open for you as each step quakes.

Too bad the gods had divined your fate, cast your lot with Sisyphus and Prometheus.

Death Masterlist | Masterlist

@meinemauschen @demothers-empty-blog

[andreas-river]

IS IT RAINING, OR I'M DROWNING AGAIN?

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

PAIRING: Nikto x F! Reader

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

Nikto hated the rain.

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

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

“Nikto?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t speak, and neither you do.

But that’s all he needs.

[luci4theminorannoyance]

hii it's me again

could I ask for a "part.2" of my last request? (reader losing her memory)

where nikto in the end has to explain her about their 'situationship' (ik you don't write nsfw, there's no need to talk about sex or smut XP) and after some time when she regains her memory maybe she finally sees his face and she gives him a quick kiss before she disappears because she got embarrassed..?

(yeh i got weird ideas sorry)

of course answer this whenever you can and want to :3

have a nice day <3

a/n: have a good day yourself! Your always so patient with me thank you so much 😭, I tried to add fem reader elements to this but it’s still very gender neutral like most of my writing

Nikto:

It’s been hours since you woke up, and honestly he was nervous. Sitting on his barrack bunk tapping his foot on the ground where his mask laid. Waiting for you to at least messaged him that you remembered him.

he didn’t know exactly why, you two weren’t that close- not enough to be exclusive at least, but his feelings for you and the fear of you forgetting him still swelled up in his mind..

he was pulled out of thought by the sound of you opening his door, walking in tiredly and sitting next to him

“please, tell me everything. My brains too foggy for this right now and you left me on a cliffhanger!” You mumbled, half teasing but still being genuine enough.

his words absolutely stumbled, thinking of terms do describe the desire he had for you and more so to describe the relationship you two had.

“Uh- I- were.. casual around each other I suppose. Close from time to time.” He said with a half chuckle, his hand warmly slipping into a hold with yours as your memories of late night make outs and cuddles in mission tents hit you like a truck.

and with that, you kissed him. Leaning over as is lips met yours before pulling back, him flustered just as much as you were as you stumbled out of the room.

at least he knew you remembered him, and so fondly too.