#nikto x f!reader

[celestialwhoree]

Say Goodnight n Go 6 out this weekend sorry for the Nik neglect🥴

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #Nikto #cod nikto #Nikto x reader #nikto x y/n #nikto x f!reader #nikto x you #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #celestialwhoree #say goodnight n go

[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

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty x you #cod mw22 #mw2 #mw2 2022 #mwii nikto #cod nikto #nikto x reader #nikto #call of duty nikto #cod smut #x reader smut #call of duty smut #smut #cod x female reader #x fem!reader

[thedovesaredying]

Little Chicken | Cowboy!Nikto x F!Reader | Oneshot

Figured out a cute little nickname for Nikto's reader in the Cowboy AU originally created by @ghouljams as always! I thought it was fitting since "chicken" or "chook" is an affectionate term where I live and I think it's an adorable petname.

Nikto has complicated feelings about watching his girl doing her job. She's by no means weak or incompetent at it, but he can only hold his nerve for so long.

Call of Duty Masterlist

“Цыплёнок,” Nikto huffs, trying in vain to call you back while he watches you continue to wade through the knee-deep water of the river. He normally trusts your ability to handle yourself with large and dangerous animals; this is your job and you’ve been doing it for years. But this? This is too far even for him.  

“Nikto! Come look!” you excitedly call to him, looking back to grin at him with that blindingly bright smile that shows off your dimples. In any other situation, seeing such a loving, genuine smile aimed his way would give him that warm feeling in his gut. Instead, it just concerns him even more that you’re paying attention to him and not the animal at your feet.  

“нет, we can see fine from here,” he keeps his eyes glued to the huge creature floating in place only a few feet from you.  

“Aww, c’mon Nikto! He’s only a little fella, can’t be more than seven or eight feet,” you look back to the alligator sitting on the riverbed. You hum to yourself, tilting your head this way and that as you observe the animal, “he’s got a nice thick snout, so it’s definitely a male.” While you continue to list different facts about the species, Nikto can only watch as the alligator in question starts drifting closer.

“-and look, because of all the sensory nerves along the top of the head, tapping the water’s surface like this will cause him to-” you reach down toward the water and- Before you can do... whatever it is you’re planning on doing, he takes a couple of long strides into the water and reaches down, hauling you bodily from the river.  

“нет, абсолютно нет, не происходит, нет,” He throws you over one shoulder and carries you back to dry land, regardless of your protests.  

“Nikto, Nikto put me down,” he ignores you, “I know what I’m doing, I wouldn’t have let him actually bite me.” You grumble when he continues all the way back to the truck the two of you arrived in, corralling you into the front seat with his broad body blocking you from attempting to escape.  

You hop up into the seat, turning your body so that you’re sitting facing out the open truck door. The truck is high enough that you can look him in the eye without craning your neck, and the pout you subject him to is admittedly rather endearing. “You will be the death of us, Цыплёнок,” he sighs, gently knocking his forehead against yours.  

Your brows furrow slightly, “I’ve never heard that one before, what does it mean?” you ask quietly, refusing to break this soft moment.  

“It means chicken,” he replies, and tries not to grin when you giggle, “you are like a little chicken, yes?” 

“Are you saying I’m a coward?” you pretend to clutch your pearls, but the dramatic reaction is ruined by your bright grin.  

“No, of course not,” he reassures you, “you’re stupid.”  

He receives a slap to the chest as you gasp, “Nikto!” You glare at him, poking his chest with a single finger, “I guess that makes you a donkey, then, because you’re a complete ass.” 

The cackle that bursts out of him is entirely genuine, but he can’t help it, not when you come out with something so unexpected. You quickly join him in laughter, and the two of you must be a strange sight, sitting in a truck beside the river, giggling like a couple of teenagers.  

“You’re lucky, Цыплёнок, no one else would be allowed to get away with being so rude.” Perhaps he’ll keep the name, it suits you, to be a sweet little chicken, and you don’t seem to be too put off by it given the way you plant a soft kiss against his clothed lips.

-

Translations:

"Цыплёнок" - Little Chicken - An affectionate term for a partner.

"нет" - No

“нет, абсолютно нет, не происходит, нет” - No, absolutely not, not happening, no/nope.

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #call of duty nikto #cowboy au #nikto x reader #oc chook

[nrdmssgs]

Sorry but I NEED a happy ending for Nikto and that reader. An AU, What If, whatever, but I need fluff and happiness

Pieces of them

Masterlist

Part 1

Pairing: Nikto x f reader Angst\comfort Reader goes KIA

Thank you @amongthe141 for encouraging me for writing more for this guy, thank you to a very dear @atenceladusiaawfytbwb for reminding me about this story. @iwanncry @bogboyfriendbreadslice @sinner-sinta loves, sorry for bothering you, but just in case, you wanted a happy ending - here it is.

"Are you out or not? I don't have all night!" She laughs.

Nikto doesn't like it when she laughs - it feels as if someone tickles him from the inside.

"Dumb ritual," he mutters, taking a step outside and facing dark night skies.

"Anything, I come up with is dumb, of course." Her voice is calm and unbothered by his commentaries. "Now tell me, which one do you see?"

He lifts his head. Usually he manages to recognize two, or at best three, constellations. But today he is almost going blind from the brightness of the myriad stars. They are so large that it seems that he can reach some of them with his hand.

Niktos breath catches in his throat. Why didn't he notice this before? Why didn't he see all these stars hovering right above his head? The night sky became so wildly mesmerizing, since...

"Hello, it seems you are trying to reach me, while I'm deployed. Leave your message, and I'll call back after an ungodly amount of sleep, hot shower and a few decent meals. Bye!"

He winces. Just recently, she called him every evening and forced him to go outside before bed and tell her at least two constellations that he could see above his head. Recently. Or maybe it was a million years ago, in a past life? Or did this not happen at all? Maybe he made her up?

Nikto shakes his head. Her voice, pre-recorded for the inbox, is not a figment of his imagination. And this sky above is unusually bright, but still real. He raises his head, covers his mouth and howls in horror and pain.

***

The worst thing is that there's even no body left to bury. She was confirmed to be KIA, yet Nikto couldn't even say goodbye.

First he waited by her door. Like a dog on a leash. Scared and desperate. Like a beggar. Hopeless.

He wrote her, he wrote so much, but never got an answer. So Nikto ran away, not being able to spend one more night at her doorstep, waiting for nothing. Ever since, he was on the run, chasing the last traces of her. He barely slept or ate and just drove from one hospital to another, inspecting their list of deceived soldiers.

Nikto deserved that last goodbye. Even if her body was all deformed, even if there were just a few bones left - it was still better than chasing her pre-recorded voice every evening and suffocate himself to not howl at the moon.

His squadmates try to reach out to him, buts it's no use - Nikto ignores their calls and doesn't bother reading messages. He keeps chasing her ghost and that is all that matters.

Until one day he stumbles upon König himself at one of the hospitals. Nikto notices a printed list of names in his hand and pulls it harshly, almost tearing the paper apart.

"She's not there."

Nikto ignores Colonels words and goes through the list, quietly muttering names. Only to find out, that König is right.

A crumpled piece of paper flies into the wall, to the displeasure of the head nurse. The Colonel picks it up, carefully straightens it and places it back on the counter.

"We are not ok about her fate, just as you. We can search together, An-"

"Shut up! I'm not searching just for a squadmate, not trying to lighten my conscience! You don't know who she was! Even she didn't..." Nikto stops himself in the middle of the sentence. He knows, It's wrong to vent his anger to the Colonel, who did nothing wrong in the first place.

***

König starts sending Nikto strange addresses: they switch from military hospitals to the organizations helping war survivors. The search becomes much more complicated, because many people, who end up in such facilities, have no IDs. So Nikto has to visit each ward and have long talks with nurses.

It drains his last bits of energy, so when he hears 'we actually have someone fitting your description', he doesn't even react right away. Nikto nods automatically, stands up and stops only at the doors.

"Wait, there is someone?" He rushes back and nearly knocks the nurse over.

Grabbing her hands, he barely whispers 'please, let me see, just one glance, please' with his white, dry lips.

He expects to be escorted to the basement, where the morgue is usually located, but is taken to the common room. A few people slowly walk along it with absolutely lost faces. But Nikto doesn’t look at them - his gaze rests on the painfully familiar profile. Her face.

Eyes tired and faded. Her skin is pale, her hair is very short, and there is a long and voluminous scar on the head. Nikto notices that she is shaking.

“She’s cold. Do you have warmer clothes or a blanket here? I’ll pay for anything!” He turns and meets the sympathetic gaze of the nurse. Irritated, he knocks on the glass door. Several people turn to look at him, but she doesn't pay any attention.

"Sir, I'm afraid you don't quite understand the situation correctly. She experienced clinical death, woke up from a coma. These tremors are not from the cold." After these words, Nikto already feels his hands getting colder.

He begs the nurse to let them speak. "A minute, just a minute!" But she leads him away from the room.

"Sir, she needs to be prepared for any meeting. Meanwhile, we will need some documentary evidence of your affiliation. We have to protect our patients from any illegal encounters."

For a split second Nikto imagines, how long would it take him to push her to any room on their way and block the door, so he can run back. But he shakes his head, banishing the mental image.

He patiently listens and even writes down, what documents he has to provide. He covers his own mouth, when the voices inside line up in the choir, asking him to scream.

***

Nikto fights for a single chance to talk to her, as if his life depends on it: despite his anger, he contacts König, asks for a help with forging required papers, he takes his own meds religiously, fearing to harm her otherwise.

He counts minutes, till he can hold her hand, just make sure, it is really her. Alive.

When he is finally allowed to talk to her - the nurse asks Nikto to wait, while she makes sure, the patient is ready. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, as the nurse sits on the bed next to her and tells her something softly.

In a few minutes she nods and the nurse walks past Nikto. "No sudden moves, keep your voice down. She gets scared easily. There will be personnel right behind her door," she whispers and leaves them alone.

Nikto walks around the bed and finally sees her: a mere shadow of a warrior, an almost lifeless shell, curled up, hugging her knees. Words roll up in a lump in his throat, and he just descends on his knees, trying to meet her lost gaze.

At first, she hides her eyes, as if not looking at him would make him not existing in her world. Nikto cant believe, this is all that left of the smiling, lively, skillful amazing her. His hand raises to the huge, ugly scar on her head automatically, but she catches him and shakes her head in a silent plea.

"Of course. I-I`m sorry, I won't touch... Of course, I won't. I'm so sorry." His voice is just a tad louder than a whisper.

Feeling, that his voice is shaking, Nikto takes a deep breath and looks her in the eyes. He wants to tell her so much, every cell in his body begs to hold her, cover her with a blanket, warm her. But he knows better than to stress her with too much information or questions or contact. He's been reading days and nights now about her current state. That's why Nikto just sits before her, staring into her face.

She reaches out to his cheeks, and he wakes from his stupor.

"My face must be scary. I brought a mask, but they said, it might scare you even more." Nikto shows her the mask, but she pushes it away and rests her hands on his face. It's only when her fingers touch his skin - he realizes, his cheeks, chin and neck are wet with tears.

He tries to get a grip on himself, but her touch crushes the last bit of self-control, he had. Tears keep running down his face as she cups it with all the care of this world.

"They will come. They will come. They will come. They will come." At first, he doesn't make anything from the words, leaving her lips. He is so shocked by her tenderness, that he is afraid to move or talk back.

She brings him closer and closer, until she hugs Nikto, clinging to him desperately and repeating 'they will come'. Only when her face hides on his shoulder, Nikto masters a simple question.

"Who will come? You're waiting for someone?"

She keeps muttering the same mantra, but points at a bed drawer. Nikto hesitates for a few long minutes, not wanting to scare her off by a sudden movement.

He reaches out and opens the drawer, which appears to be full of... pieces of paper. He hugs her back with one hand and takes a handful of pieces with the other.

Several pieces of paper fall to the floor with a dry rustle. Nikto squints his eyes at the remaining pieces of paper and freezes. A star map. Torn into tiny pieces. Their nightly ritual has survived everything - even death.

Maybe she didn’t remember him, maybe she didn’t remember what exactly they did in the evenings, but this starry sky, even in the form of a map, remained with her as small pieces of hope. Pieces from which she assembled him and herself.

Nikto opens his palm, letting the remaining paper fall on the ground, and hugs her with both hands finally. He finally finds the right words for her.

"We've come for you, love."

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod #cod x reader #mw2 #mw2 x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod headcanons #cod nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #nikto x you #nikto cod #nikto angst #call of duty mw2 #call of duty nikto

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

☈ your bones singing into mine [interlude]

one - two

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

Nikto is a possessive, handsy, and handsome drunk.

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

Everything about him is violent, sudden, and sharp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Nyet. Not an agreement—a declaration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#nikto #nikto cod #nikto x reader #cod nikto #mwii nikto #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod mw x reader #my work #oc: spider #fic: your bones singing into mine

[grizzersmamma]

Coffee Cups | College AU | Nikto x F!Reader

Short snippet fic based on the college AU from @ghouljams. I needed to feed the brain worms something and I'm gonna make it everyone else's problem. Unedited at the moment because I'm writing and posting on the fly.

You spot Nikto on his way to his first class of the morning, hurrying along the walkway with little regard for those around him. He doesn’t notice you at first, not until you flag him down with a slightly harried flailing of one of your arms. He slows his stride enough for you to catch up but doesn’t come to a complete stop.  

“Morning, Nikto!” You chirp, arranging your bags in one hand while stabilizing the tray of drinks in your other, ensuring nothing spills.  

“Привет, Рыбка,” he greets, watching in concern as one of the hot drinks very nearly topples over. Before it can end up falling on you, he reaches out a hand to snatch up one of the cups. You’ve gotten into the habit of getting coffee for the both of you before class, and so he goes to take a sip of the drink he’s grabbed. He hesitates, however, when he sees the branding on the front of the cardboard cup.  

You see his nose flare slightly and his face screw up in disgust, “you would poison me with this?” he demands, quickly giving the drink back to you with a look of genuine horror. He’s a tad overdramatic but you’ve learnt how to tell when he’s being serious and when he’s just being a bit of a drama queen. Anyone else on campus would’ve been searching for the nearest exit if he’d said that to him, but you just roll your eyes.  

“That’s one’s for Love, I’ve got your coffee here,” you assure him, pulling out one of the other cups and handing it to him, “a long black with an extra shot of espresso from the coffee shop in town.” You practically have his normal order memorised at this point, knowing exactly how scalding hot he prefers it.  

He takes the offered drink and immediately takes a swig from it – you're not sure how he can handle a coffee near enough still boiling – and sighs in complete bliss, “Спасибо от всего сердца и души.” You have no idea what he’s saying, but it sounds somewhat like some form of thanks.  

“You’re welcome,” you hum back, rearranging the drinks in your hands so that they’re correctly balanced in the tray.  

He takes another sip before continuing, “how these Americans can call that, that... foul, excessively sweet, substance ‘coffee’, is an insult!”  

You’ve heard this particular rant many times previously and simply nod along while he hisses and spits about how inferior American coffee is compared to other parts of the world. You sip at your own coffee and offer the occasional agreeable hum when expected. “You have first years straight up this morning, yeah? How are they going?” you ask when Nikto pauses his tirade to breathe.  

He doesn’t even need to think about the question, offering you a confirming nod, “yes, they are...” he mulls over his response for a moment, “acceptable.”  

It’s practically high praise for Nikto to consider a fresh batch of students ‘okay’ or ‘acceptable’ so early in the year. You hope for their sakes they’re able to maintain it since your best friend isn’t exactly the most forgiving when it comes to falling below his high standards.  

You reach the door to your department far too soon for your liking, but with any luck you’ll be able to catch up again during the day if your lunch breaks line up. You wave him goodbye and wish him luck with his classes but miss how he hesitates to leave after you close the door behind you.  

Perhaps one day he’ll muster up the courage to take you to that coffee shop as more than just a good friend.  

- 

Translations 

“Привет, Рыбка,” - Hello, Rybka (little fish – an affectionate term for a woman) 

“Спасибо от всего сердца и души.” - Thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul (can be said formally or informally)

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #nikto call of duty #nikto x reader #female reader #college au #these idiots be pining at one another #Love is probably side eyeing them HARD

[kyumisyumi]

Duet

It would've probably made more sense for me to write this about Soap but there's tonnes of Soap content and I'm tryna feed the starving.

Warning: Quickly written, barely proof read

Ship: Nikto x Banshee!Reader (F)

Word count: 1k

⊱⊶Taking requests⊷⊰

It was like throwing up pins and needles, using your voice after so long. The sounds clawed against your throat as if begging to never see the light of day. Your own song fighting to return to the darkness of your vocal chords, wishing to never be uttered. But this wasn't your song anymore and that's why it needed to be sung. Needed to be released into the cool air to meet the oracles in the stars. It was an ugly tune; gargles and keening as your emotions morphed into rancid sound. Your bloodline had ended decades ago. You remember the moment the elder, happy without child, closed her eyes for the last time. The final composer of your songs laid for eternal slumber with a smile turned towards your distant figure. Her end marked the beginning of your hibernation. A solemn existence. You lied to yourself that it was a prize for centuries of dutiful work, but loneliness festered inside your core as your wondered for years without purpose.

Then came the sound; timber against timber. The click of a composer's wand. Something you never thought you'd hear ever again. Click click. You were being summoned. Called for by Death to let you know your job was not finished. Like a hound to its name, you followed it. Your apprehension and confusion weighed heavy but no force inside you was stronger than the instincts pumping through your inhuman form. Click click. Like children to a dinner bell, you followed it. The fabrics draped around your greyish body clipping in and out of reality, snagging on branches when it unfortunately caught only to dissolve into mist. Stones and twigs piercing your feet before phasing through your ethereal form. Click click. Like sunflowers to the morning rays, you followed it. Something inside you beating feverously; a life that wasn't your own cradled within your chest. Click click. Like a magazine into a gun, because that's exactly what it was. When the thrumming inside your chest calmed down, you could finally hear the sounds of gunfire whizzing through the air. Hoof beats storming the ground revealed to be the boots of man. Soldiers. They bolted through the concrete and dirt of wrecked structures, firing their weapons into their own kind. None of that mattered to you however, you had seen war plenty of times. All that mattered were the clicks that called for your song and the person holding the gun. Click click.

It alarmed him, naturally, when he began to hear the eerie melody of a woman's song. It first reached him amidst a fitful attempt at rest within his small tent. Nikto wasn't sure what to make of it. Another case of his mind playing tricks on him? That the enemy had released hallucinogens into the air? However, when he'd asked his comrades if they heard it too all he'd received were worried looks in response. It was in his head then. Was this karma? Had all the lives he'd taken conspire in the afterlife to haunt him? If so, this was an odd tactic; to sing him hymns rather than rip his soul from his flesh to drag it down where he belonged. He'd tired himself out clawing at the walls of his mind, trying to find a source within. And so he just listened, all of him. It drove him insane almost as much as it brought him peace. Words he could not decipher being whispered in a tune unknown yet somehow familiar. A song that wasn't in his memory but somewhere deeper, somewhere more him than he could ever conceptualize. No matter how much it unnerved him to hear this mysterious singing, the way it warmed his body and stilled his mind became a drug to him. If this was a new level of madness, he had little complaints.

When he heard it in the midst of battle, the effects were reversed; it riled him up rather than calm him down. Like the being was singing life into him. It diffused into his skin to settle within the nerves and muscles beneath his flesh, pushing him ever forward. It whispered truths he'd always known. That he was a harbinger of death, a machine of violence serving those who wrote his cheques. How he felt about it made no difference to what he was. Nobody. Not a person, just a weapon. It felt almost blasphemous to commit acts of cruelty to music so beautiful but his body called for it. A head he'd bashed into a wall, a spine snapped beneath his feet, this bloodshed was his offering to the being that sang for him. To the unknown creature that had decided to take up residence in his mind.

This felt right, this felt like destiny. Nikto carved his path into the enemy stars like the bullet through his chest. Falling to his knees like a man in prayer before laying to meet the Gods.

It was only then that you went to his side, looking into the confused blue eyes of your composer. They searched yours, forgetting where he was and what he was doing as the shrouds of your body filled his vision.

"женщина[woman], sing for me." His voice was much like the metal instruments he played.

You held his hand in both your own, watching the calm slip into his eyes as he listened to your ugly wails. You'd heard the lyrics he filled in. Oh, how they made your heart bleed. But now, in his final moments, you sing to him in words he could understand. Serenade him with the truth of who he was, cradling him to hide his tears. The thumping in your chest was slowing down as your song mellowed to it's end. The final verse came in the sound of a rattle.

#kyumiwrites #call of duty nikto #nikto x reader #nikto x you #nikto angst #mwii nikto #cod fic #quick fic #banshee #possibly innacurate banshee lore #sad ending #even death must die

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Legend: G -> General Audiences M -> Mature (violence, gore, abuse) E -> Explicit (smut!) DEAD DOVE -> Read the tags carefully

> FIC MASTERLIST <

Mi Querida Esposa || best friend to lovers! | G | fluff | "Amor a Alejandro" challenge |

Tu Querido Esposo (follow up on the one above ^) | G | fluff + funny |

Who wears the pants. || husband!John | E | smut | DEAD DOVE |

Confidence. || young!John | E | smut |

Three. Four. Five. || toxic!husband!John | E | smut , humour | "O, Captain!" challenge |

Lost in Ikea. || strangers! | G | hurt/comfort | "O, Captain!" challenge |

Temporary Fix. || skirt chaser!Johnny x fat!reader | E | smut | DEAD DOVE |

Talk. || baby daddy!Kyle | M~ | fluff | DEAD DOVE |

Bereavement || Ghost | M | angst |

Sleep. || Ghost x f!reader | G | fluff , angst |

Boxing AU || Ghost x Soap | M | fluff |

Ojalá || stripper!Ghost x f!reader | E | smut~ |

Bait and Switch. || victim!Ghost x scammer!reader | M | crack , dark? | DEAD DOVE |

> COMING SOON <

Don't cry. || rogue!Nikto x fat f!reader | M > E | dark | DEAD DOVE |

> HEADCANONS <

Simon is a natural caretaker | G | fluff |

When you're feeling sick. | G | fluff |

Ghost as the 141 Captain. | M | angst |

Ghost's Skull | M | angst | DEAD DOVE |

The 141 Shopping | G | crack / humour |

The 141 on Holiday | G | crack / fluff |

#ikea writes 💚 #masterlist #blog housekeeping

[romanoffbelovamaximoff18]

WandaNat Foster Parents

Chapter 1 - First Meeting

Pairing: WandaNat parents x y/n female reader

Overview:

The avengers rescue you from a HYDRA base during a mission and Natasha doesn't want to hand you over to social services so she and Wanda take on your care.

**********************************************

Natasha felt her heart break as she watched you curled up in the corner of the quinjet. The team had just rescued you from a HYDRA base and were currently in the middle of a heated debate on what to do with you.

"We need to run tests on her! We have no idea what those HYDRA scientists have done to her!" Tony yelled in frustration.

"No! God she's only just escaped all that. I say we just hand her to the authorities and she gets taken into the care system. She's off of our hands too!" Steve yelled back.

"Steve we can't send a possibly enhanced child into the care system!" Yelena yelled, throwing her arms up in frustration.

Natasha watched you flinch and tears started streaming down your cheeks. It was enough to make her run over to you. She kneeled down a little way away from you so you had space.

"o, pozhaluysta, ne pugaysya malyshka. nikto ne prichinit tebe vreda" she says softly in Russian, you were speaking Russian when she rescued you.

You look up with tear filled eyes and crawl over to her, one leg dragging behind a little bit.

"moya noga ochen' bolit" you whimper as you settle in her arms.

Natasha frowns and gently pulls you onto her lap. It's not hard to tell which leg is hurting. Your right ankle is covered in bruising and swelling and big patches of grazing.

"We'll get you medical help as soon as possible mylashka" she whispers in your ear.

You nod and she smiles.

"What's your name dorogoy? How old are you?" She asks gently

Your breath hitches for a second.

"Y/n, I-I'm f-fourteen" you choke out.

Natasha's eyes narrow.

"Fibber. Come on, how old are you?" She says, seeing right through you.

You sigh.

"I turned eleven two days ago. At least that's what the scientists told me. They were getting ready to do a more vigorous training routine" you mumble softly.

Natasha sighs and cuddles you close.

"Touchdown in thirty seconds!"

You and Natasha look up as the quinjet touches down on the landing pad. Natasha had texted ahead in time so Wanda wouldn't be in shock. She gently helps you up and wraps an arm around you as a crutch. Yelena rushed to help too and the pair managed to get you off of the jet together as Wanda came rushing out. Yelena took hold of you as Wanda jumped into Natasha's arms and she spun her around. Yelena chuckled.

"They're always like that. That's Wanda, Natasha's girlfriend" she whispers to you.

You smile weakly and Natasha smiles.

"Let's get you to medical malyshka" she says gently.

Yelena smiles and gently takes your hand.

"I'll take her, you girls haven't seen each other for almost three weeks. We'll be alright, right Dekta?" She says gently.

You nod and Natasha smiles, giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"Come find us when you're done, we'll run you a warm bath and get some decent food in you" she says gently.

You nod and Yelena helps you down to medical where Dr Cho is waiting for you. Yelena introduces you and gently lifts you onto the exam table. Dr Cho runs through some questions with you, being extremely gentle all the while. When she's ready to examine you she gently asks you to remove your clothes, that's what makes you tense.

"I don't want to. Yelena I don't feel safe anymore. I want to go. I want Natasha" you whimper softly, starting to cry.

Yelena sits beside you and pulls you into a cuddle, rocking you gently and gently stroking your tangled hair.

"Detka you don't have to be afraid anymore. We just want you to be healthy" she soothes.

You shake your head.

"I don't want you to touch me with no clothes on. The men did that and it hurt!" You wail into her chest.

Dr Cho approaches gently, brushing some tears from your face.

"My dear I would never do anything like that to you. It's not right. I just want you to remove your clothes so I can check for any other injuries apart from your ankle and do a quick blood test and some observations. I promise you. Yelena can stay in the room the whole time. I'll lock the door and dim the lights. You'll be perfectly safe" she soothes, gently wiping your face with a tissue.

You nod and Yelena gently helps you out of your grimy clothes. When you're done she gently helps you lay down and pulls her phone from her pocket with a set of earbuds. She puts one in her ear and one in yours.

"Music makes everything better" she giggles, turning on her favourite playlist.

Music immediately fills your mind and you hold Yelena's hand tightly, looking at her the whole time Dr Cho is examining you. Every so often she pulls a daft face to make you laugh. When Dr Cho takes your blood you bite your lip.

"I already know what she'll find" you mumble softly to Yelena.

Yelena smiles and gently strokes your cheek.

"What will she find?" She asks gently.

"Super soldier serum, chemicals from HYDRA, low iron levels, low blood sugar" you mumble softly, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

Yelena gently strokes your cheek.

"Don't be embarrassed Detka, I've had super soldier serum, so has Natasha, Steve and Bucky. It's nothing to be embarrassed about here" she soothes, gently kissing your forehead.

You look at her for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"Are... Are you a widow?" You whisper.

Yelena nods and you close your eyes.

"And Natasha?"

"Yeah"

You squeeze her hand a little tighter.

"I killed the widow that freed me. I wish I hadn't" you mumble.

Yelena smiles.

"I know malyshka. I did the same thing" she says softly.

You smile and Dr Cho lightly taps your shoulder.

"All done y/n. You're ankle is fully healed thanks to my regeneration technology. Your bruises and cuts will require ointment for a few days but I'm sure one of the girls will help you with that" she says kindly.

You smile at her and Yelena helps you sit up so that you can change back into your clothes. When you're done Yelena smiles at you.

"Let's go find Natasha and Wanda yeah?" She chuckles...

🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤

#wanda maximoff #marvel #wanda x natasha #natasha romanoff #family #yelena belova #the avengers #fanfic

[celestialwhoree]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're not so easy to get rid of.

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

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

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

"I am busy tonight."

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #Nikto #cod nikto #Nikto x reader #nikto x y/n #nikto x f!reader #nikto x you #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #celestialwhoree #angies asks! #say goodnight n go

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

ICARUS (XI)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XII

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, threats, exploitation, described stalking behavior, very dark/toxic modeling standards/expectations, explosions, blood, implied harm/injury, death, plot progression, dirty talk, smut/NSFW, dry humping, semi-public intimacy, light dom/sub dynamics, Nikto likes to be given pet-names because I said so, implied previous breath play/cunnilingus/ p-in-v sex/rough sex/finishing inside, clothed stimulation, etc. (Series 18+)

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

“I’m not going to let you do all of it,” you grumble, rubbing at your thigh with your right hand. 

“Walk to me,” Nikto’s dark brow raises from below his mask, pale eyes darting you up and down. “Without your knees shaking.”

Your face flares up, and you bite back a sarcastic comment as the driver of the car walks past, sending a glance to where the Russian packs the back of the vehicle with your bags. Nikto huffs a chuckle as another settles into the trunk, flattening it with his gloved hands.

“Rude,” you mutter, glaring lightly. “You’re getting bold with your words, Nikto.”

“Surely we have failed somewhere,” your guard grunts, trying to scrutinize his talent of fucking you senseless last night. “You are still upright instead of collapsed to the floor. Did I not find that spot inside of your drooling cunt that made you say you would not be able to walk—”

“Okay!” You loudly, raising your hands, breathless in reaction. Your entire body is seemingly being rolled on a spit as waves of fire lick at your neck, and you have to force words out from the dryness of your throat. “I’m going to sit in the car—you have fun packing with your dirty mouth, you brute.”

Nikto hums arrogantly, and the smirk is plainly heard by your ears as they ring in embarrassment. “You did not complain about this mouth hours prior. Nor the tongue, Птичка.”

“Holy hell,” you push a hand into your face, grimacing. Brief shadowed flashes of a half-masked face sitting in the clutch of your legs leave you stuttering wildly. “Nikto!” 

Taking a large breath before opening the dark door, you hear that loud hyena bark of a laugh in return, before you slip inside and firmly slam the barrier closed. 

“Oh my God,” your response bounces off the windows, but the infectious smile grows steadily over your flesh until it needs to be hidden by your hand, tiny chuckles making your eyes crinkle. 

Shaking your head, you settle back and grasp the seat belt, clicking the metal together as the straps pull across your chest securely. 

You were going back to Yekaterinburg, but the realization was…less than concerning. There was a sort of liberation in your blood now—something to be proud of even if it was such a small thing. 

Your eyes glance behind to the rear window, seeing the great form of Nikto continuing to pack the trunk in your absence, back in his regular gear with the suit in the hands of the stylists. You can’t say you didn’t miss it, but having him return to some semblance of normalcy was calming to you. Home was the destination, first and foremost: back to your trinkets and your treasures, fabric, and soft rugs. 

You’d stood up to AMA and the jobs they’d assigned to you. No more parties, you’d told Iakov, who you still hadn’t seen a glimpse of since last night. No calls either. He’d never gotten back to you, but you were sure a hellstorm was brewing above your head.

Lips pull slightly, but the thought is pushed to the back of your mind as just a result of hurt pride. He’d survive. 

But you weren’t too sure if you would.

“Home,” you sigh, bringing back your smile forcefully. Even with all the added challenges being back in Yekaterinburg would cause, you can’t help the thrill of your heart at the thought of familiar streets and faces. Your mom wanted to talk, and AMA was getting on you about showing up to the building for a meeting, both to-dos were competing like fighting cats. 

You still couldn’t tell which was worse. 

The trunk behind you is audibly closed with a heavy hand, the metal of the vehicle moving up and down as Nikto stands back to the sidewalk and rolls his wrist—walking to the door before slipping inside next to you. Cushions dipping, you glance over and tilt your head as Nikto’s knee hits yours, the Russian readjusting his thighs before he grumbles under his breath and glances to the window. 

“All set?” You ask, putting your hands into your lap as your foot hits the small crossbody bag on the floor. It holds a few simple items to help pass the travel time—your book, laptop, phone, and a few scrap papers for random notes or doodles.

Nikto nods, glancing over to you. “Make sure you do not forget anything.”

You huff. “I’m good. Trust me, it helps to pack light.”

You’re given a slow blink, the man’s eyelids narrowing. He hums. 

“You have brought six bags,” Nikto utters gruffly, hearing his frown on the air. 

“And you were very gentlemanly loading all of them,” you grin, sending over your amusement-tight skin as the blank mask offers only numb attention. “Very sweet on me, Big Guy.” 

Nikto makes an annoyed sound under his breath, rolling his eyes partially. “You would not survive a deployment. Too attached to your items.”

You laugh. “Sue me for buying things I’d like to keep. C’mon,” your attention moves as Nikto gives a sharp order to the driver to leave, which he does with a glance backward and a sneer at your guard. “You’re meaning to tell me you don’t have anything you want to have near you a lot—something important?”

The bear-like man pauses as he settles back into his seat, the vehicle starting up. He takes a breath, and you see the Kevlar of his chest piece rise and fall. Nikto grunts, seeming to realize he’s staring at you as he pulls his eyes to the glass of the window quickly. 

“A handful.” 

You sigh before it ends in a soft huff. “Any specifics?” Your interest is obvious.

“None we wish to tell about.” He glances, and seeing your teasing stare, he shifts, scoffs under his breath with no real anger, and shrugs his large shoulders before coming up with a simple answer. “My notebook, then.” Nikto’s eyelids lower, thinking back to the item in the back of his consciousness and the importance it holds. You’d only seen it once, he knows—back when he had written you a grocery list for your penthouse. Hell, if only you could take a glance at the contents now. 

Nikto clears his throat, continuing in a deeper tone. “Rag to clean my weapons.”

It’s a small chuckle he gets from you. “Makes sense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them dirty before.”

A steady silence falls before the Russian feels the need to speak again, and in his mind, he replays every word that you’d said to him throughout these fast-paced and eye-opening days. Being near you now was slightly different in a way he couldn’t have anticipated. 

Taking in the hues and colors of the city as it goes by swiftly, he frowns and spares you a side-eye as you dig around your bag—seeing your fingers slip out a book and lay it next to you before you flatten out the fabric of your pants. Nikto’s eyes softened gradually, but no one would ever notice unless they knew how to read him as perfectly as a midnight storm: trying to pinpoint where the thunder came from. He clears his throat and blinks, raising a hand to itch at his neck, pushing and pulling at the cover of canvas until his senses level out once more.

He enjoyed last night. Immensely. 

In his head, it’s all he can say about it without deeming himself a malleable fool. Some kind-coated idiot who hadn’t seen the betrayal that such a care can bring. Allowing himself to get emotionally involved is a death sentence, and Nikto was always pushing himself to be the perfect image of order. But with you, it was different, or, at least, that was what he told himself. The reminder of your sweat-heavy scent was firm in the back of his nose. 

The Russian’s body angles itself, and in a sure movement of his hand, his arm slips across your abdomen and steals the book at your side. 

Your attention darts up, your nice shirt pressed right up to your flesh as Nikto’s sturdy arm slides along it like a snake. You mutely watch him, your ribs being rubbed as all at once the man’s roaming grip leaves. Blinking, your heart beats a bit quicker as Nikto brings your book in front of him, tilting his head down to it as you watch. 

It was imperative that you remind yourself that having sex with the man didn’t make him yours. 

As you watch Nikto’s hidden fingers lightly brush the cover, your eyes follow the way he maneuvers the front to take a glance at the spine, seeing as the dust jacket is gone. 

“Crime and Punishment?” The Russian blinks as the car takes a right, slipping along the streets as the houses and buildings start to get more of a distance between them. Nikto looks over at you. “Fyodor Dostoevsky.” He pauses, keeping the book to himself as if trying to understand. 

“Aly recommended it,” your face goes heated at the newfound attention on you. “She read it in University.”

“It is good book,” Nikto hums. “Though, I found Notes From Underground more of an interest to me.”

“I’ll have to add it to the list,” you smile softly. “I’ve seen you read a lot when there’s time—do you like it as much as cooking, Nikto?” 

That seems to make him think, watching the Russian’s eyebrows pull in minute wonder. You wished you could understand what blue looked like…you were sure his eyes were beautiful. Especially when he was actively attempting to keep the conversation going. 

“We have not thought about it much,” he grumbles, flipping your book open to where you had placed a small strip of fabric as a bookmark—Nikto picks the thing up as he speaks. “Both are calming. Good distractions.” He looks at you. “I would not give rank, though there is a time and place for them.”

“Fair,” you breathe, shrugging. You lightly lean into his shoulder, and you hear Nikto grunt as his attention stays like a cat. “But I do have to say I think your cooking might be higher on my personal scale.”

A soft puff of air sneaks out of the mask and Nikto shifts his head down as you elbow the rough material of his gear playfully.

“Добро.” His tone is low, grating as every little ache from last night seems to flare in your muscles. “I…enjoy cooking for you.”

You stare at one another for a moment, getting lost in the intimacy of an open gaze, before you blink quickly and move back, chuckling as your body burns. Like a bird, if you had feathers, they would be puffed up by now. 

Nikto watches your fingers fidget in your lap as he twitches his digits against the cover of your book, setting it on his thigh as he spares a look at the driver. The man’s eyes are visible in the mirror, and when they lock, those dark brown orbs dart away as if on fire; blond hair cut close to his scalp. 

The ex-soldier watches the back of his head for a few moments, thinking. 

Hell, he would be lying by saying that he wasn’t on edge ten times more than he was before. Anyone glancing at you could be the person he’s after—it was maddening to the point of making him obsess over your safety to the tiniest degree. 

And yet, there had been no further texted images: no messages or dead birds. No bombs. 

Just that one.

‘I know what you did.’

Yes, Nikto thinks, sighing under his breath, you do know. But do you know what we did in that bedroom last night? Why don’t you come and punish me for it? Hm? 

“Pathetic,” the Russian whispers to himself, fingering the paper below him until he can peek at the next page to see where you were in the story. 

You turn your head from the window, watching gray trees finally begin making a permanent appearance. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Nikto mutters, attention-catching on that point he’d made to himself. Last night. He backtracks, lowering his voice until it’s only you who can hear—side glaring at the driver like a skittish mutt. “You are...” Pale eyes dig, pulling into a narrowed form as if your mind was the same as the book he holds open. Something to be read. “Adequate?”

Your brows pull in. “Why are we whispering?” You ask, keeping the same tone regardless as you lean closer again; both nearly nose to nose.

Nikto glares, but you can’t see his face beginning to slowly change shade. 

“We are asking if you are fit for the long ride.”

He sees your eyes blink slowly. “I’m fine…Why wouldn’t I be?” 

The Russian stays silent, openly staring without any discernible emotion in his eyes. You hear him take a breath, glancing once more at the driver, before leaning in further. He huffs sharply. 

“Are you alright after what we did—” A kiss is placed on Nikto’s hidden cheek as your laughs echo in his ear. 

You lean backward a bit, amusement leaking from you. Sparking eyes meet the ex-soldiers, frozen and taken aback with unmoving eyes. 

“I’m just joking, I know what you’re asking me,” you tilt your head, smiling as Nikto’s orbs dip to stare as a swirl of emotions moves in his gut. He swallows, unable to look away. “I’m fine,” you mutter, feelings softening to a bashfulness. “Nothing to worry about…I don’t break easily.” 

“Hm,” Nikto’s form returns to where it was previously, and you can tell he’s blushing, even if you can’t see his face or name the shade he would be. Yet, he’s still as blunt as ever as the smirk comes back into his voice. “...Are we sure, Птичка?”

“Bastard,” you huff, motioning with a hand as the Russian almost purrs at the dirty banter. Your finger points to him as you unclick your seatbelt, shifting so you can put your head into his lap similar to how you had on the drive here. Looking up, smug eyes stare down—your finger in his face making him want to grab at it as a dog does fresh meat. He still remembers how your skin tastes; he’s not too far gone to admit he doesn't like how he’s addicted to it. 

“You’re getting confident now.”

“We were always confident,” he grates through his accent. “You’ve given us something to battle your need to annoy me with.” 

“I like to call it teasing,” you smirk and Nikto’s leather gloves grasp at your neck carefully, making you pause as your eyes widen. Instinctually, you open the skin more to him, head tilting back and legs shifting over the seats to break open before you stop yourself with a small gasp.  

Those sand-paper laughs make your thighs close in on themselves as you glare weakly, face lighting up with pure embarrassment as Nikto’s fingers squeeze. You’re ashamed at the pulse of your core. A dog in heat.

There’s a face in your ear.

“One good fuck has you trained, hm?” 

“I’ve had better,” you try to hiss, one eye going to the oblivious driver. A second hand moves your book to the floor before it grabs at your thigh, going to pry it open with fat fingers. You strangle a gasp, biting at your lips as you squeak at the sensitivity. “Nikto,” you breathe in warning.

A palm cups your core, and you strangle the limb as the heel is rubbed against your clothed clit. He finds it with no trouble at all: already having you memorized.

You hear Niktto’s heavy breaths—his pulsing grip at your neck as you fight a whimper and your eyes flutter. Your pelvis starts grinding downward in broken stutters, and the Russian leaves his hand there, body completely hanging over you as he stares at the back of the driver's head, wanting to lick the flesh beside your ear, and for the first time, damning his mask. 

“Have you, yes?” Nikto wonders, words so steady no one would imagine what was taking place. “Hm. Maybe we will have to leave you alone next time, Little Bird. Get you to find someone else who gets you to scream like I have. Do you remember it?” 

Your panties are soaked, and the fluids leak out onto your pants as you continue to rut into Nikto’s gloved palm, back arching over the bulk of his thigh to push your body over his lap, getting a better angle as your guard follows. You listen, and Nikto’s getting harder by how your spine runs its vertebrae over his clothed dick. He jerks once or twice up into it, not above fucking you in front of someone else if this escalates any further. As long as you keep your eyes on him when you cum. 

He likes hearing the small noise you make as your orgasm hits.

Nikto breathes, finishing his sentence as you get yourself off to his palm like a good little charge, “How you pleaded for my cum inside of you, Seraph?”

Your cunt flutters, wildly sensitive from last night enough to a point where every grind of your hips felt like Nikto’s cock was still bullying its way in and out of you. 

“You cried, yes? As we were bouncing you up and down? How many rounds did that pretty cunt take as you took me so well? Four? Пять? Шесть? Oh, Птичка.” Nikto glances down at your work, smirking as his scars pull tight at the image of the slick over his glove. You were drenched—he almost felt bad. Almost. 

“No, we know better than to play with my meal.” He burrows his face into your neck, beginning to let his hand move up and down as your thighs shake, he knows that feeling—that little tell of yours. “No one makes that pussy as wet as I do.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes rolling back and your throat tight with the fight between rabid moans and curses. Have to be quiet.

Your flinching eyes worriedly darted to the driver, who still hasn’t looked back at the two of you at all. If anything, the idea of getting caught…well, your hand sneaks down to Nikto’s wrist, pushing him even closer as his smooth chuckles mar your eardrums. 

You whine under your breath as you force his palm into you, angling it just right against your clit before your eyes start to roll back in broken increments—lighting making your back arch and toes curl. There are tiny squeaks from the leather seats, but nothing else. 

“Good,” Nikto pants, rubbing his erection into your back. “Tell us we are right.”

“You’re right,” you hurriedly whisper to him. “So wet for you, Baby.”

His eyes spark, and he ruts a bit harder, making you stifle a squeak. “Say it again,” he orders, eyes glinting inside of his sockets.

“Baby,” you wince, legs trying to suck in his fingers as your thighs close and rub into them harder. “Nikto, Baby,” your teeth mark your lips heavily.

His shaky breath in your ear accompanies you as your eyes roll back and your spine arches, and, part of a sharp noise exits your mouth as your orgasm hits you, before the hand at your neck sloppily places itself over your drooling lips. 

Layers of electricity playing through your weeping cunt, you fight for breath out of your nose as your eyes glaze over, head partially hanging off of Nikto to the seat below as your legs slowly stop their thrusts. 

A minute or two passes before your guard leans back, taking his hands off of you and grunting in masochistic pleasure as the ache of his untreated erection still grinds itself into your back slowly—almost torture in the way it keeps him aroused and unable to soften. 

Nikto’s grip finds your stomach after he can feel his dick leaking out into his underwear, making a cold mess against his flesh. In a hidden idea, he pushes his hand down into you so he has a better angle to thrust against a firm surface, letting his head connect with the back of the seat as he fucks up into you with his flexing thighs and clenched jaw. 

Your eyes pull open to watch him, your mouth half open as your study of his panting chest falls to how you can nearly feel the way his cock drags. He doesn't care at all about anything else about how it feels to get off against you—it’s not as good as finishing inside of your cunt, but he can imagine the warm walls well enough as he begins to make cut-of groans in his chest. Using you like a doll, your wide gaze stays stuck on the sight like glue. 

“I am going to fuck you in your bed,” Nikto sighs, only telling himself as he’s still violently aware of the audience he keeps. “Use that penthouse as an excuse to lay you out on every surface. Yes, fuck you good. Keep you and your soft body pleased with every drag of my cock.” 

Yet, he’s less concerned with the driver’s eyes now that you’ve cum in his hand—his sex appetite is strong, just as his regular one is; embarrassment is a myth to him regarding it. How many times had he resorted to locking himself in a bathroom when he was in the military, just to jerk off while watching in the mirror as thick ropes of cum splattered his chest? How many sneaked sessions in his barracks until his eyes would roll back, and he had to grind into a pillow with the cold stains of previous loads making him moan?

As long as he could see your eyes looking into him, he could bust just by a touch at his crotch.

Nikto strangles a low groan, shudders violently, and then his thighs stop—sag, and he pants, going limp against the seat. The spurts of his orgasm leaves wet patches in his pants, and he can imagine it pooling, instead, out of your pussy as it should be.

The both of you lay in the sopping remnants of your insatiable lust, leaking out to one another, and only think about what you both can have once you’re back in Yekaterinburg and alone.

Maybe there won’t be a meeting with AMA or my mom, you think as Nikto rubs a thumb down your cheek—letting your eyes slip shut softly as your nostrils flare with every breath. He hums in satisfaction, petting your thigh as he massages your inner leg.

Maybe we’ll fuck so much we’ll end up forgetting our names instead. 

Hell, it didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.

—

Halfway through Nikto’s audible reading of Crime and Punishment—in which he sometimes lapsed into Russian rambles in the middle of a sentence—you shift against the seat and mutter out a question. 

“So, he’s going to try to get away with murder?”

Nikto pauses in his speaking, looking over from the page as his mask shines into the light. It’s a little past noon if you had to guess. “Да.” Nikto’s brows furrow. “We are four chapters in—have you just noticed?”

“You’ve been speaking in Russian for the last fifteen minutes.”

Nikto curses under his breath, glaring at you incredulously after he closes the book with a single hand. “Why did you not say?”

You smile slowly. “It sounded nice?” 

The man sighs out loud, bringing up a hand to push into the plate at his nose in a funny display of exasperation. A laugh makes its way out of your mouth, and you shake your head. 

“It’s alright—I don’t mind. I just like listening to your voice.” 

“Hm,” Nikto looks at you, huffing, but you can tell he takes it to heart by the way his shoulders sag a small bit. “You are strange, Woman.” 

“As I’ve been told,” you breathe, chuckling. “You’ll re-read it to me later?”

The Russian’s head tilts to the side. “In русский or English?” 

Your eyes glint, your smirk rising, and you let the question sit in the air until Nikto’s eyes pull in understanding the longer you stare at him. 

He hums deep in his breast, gaze molten heat.

“Русский, then. Да, I will not complain if you enjoy it, Птичка.”

You call out breathily as you stare into his eyes, “Thank you, Baby.”

Nikto’s spine goes rigid, and before you can snort you slap a hand to your mouth and level your head to the window, body shaking with muffled laughter.

“Нелепый,” the man growls out, pushing at the fabric of his crotch and shifting his abdomen as your loud snort slips out. “You are much too confident in your abilities now—”

The car begins to shake and the driver curses out loud.

Immediately, all teasing is cut like a blade as Nikto’s eyes slash forward: slitted. 

Both of your attention is locked onto the driver as he snaps in Russian, banging a hand to the wheel as your body pauses. 

“Nikto?” You ask the question under your breath.

Your guard slips forward in his seat, grasping the back of the driver’s seat and growling out a low question in his native tongue. He only looks over his shoulder to you after a long and heated discussion. 

“He says the vehicle is not acting correctly.”

“Not acting correctly?” Your face pulls, form getting more rigid as the car veers off the main road to the side, grumbling like an animal as the hood shakes. “Why? How? It was working just fine yesterday.”

“I do not know,” Nikto utters, eyes narrowing. He glances at you, tension growing in his spine. “Keep near us. Do not leave my sight.”

“Right,” you nod, ears twitching as the driver parks the car and gets out in a huff, barking expletives and waving his hands. A sliver of nervousness slips into your blood.

Nikto has a bad feeling. 

The hair on the back of his neck stands up as he pops the door open, hearing his boots hit the asphalt as he breathes out. Standing to his full height, he keeps the fuming driver in the corner of his pale vision, holding the barrier open for you and keeping you from the mostly vacant road as a car passes quickly. 

“Slowly,” Nikto mutters, grabbing at your arm to make sure your lack of coordination didn’t send you to an early death. 

You give him a small smile, and he stares for longer than he should before the Russian blinks, holding you away from open traffic—his body keeps itself nearest to the road as you both move to the hood. 

“That can’t be good,” you murmur with a raised brow as the driver smacks the vehicle, waving his hand in front of his face as a thin tendril of dark smoke mists through the air like a grim cloud. 

“No,” Nikto stares, his fingers sliding along the fabric of your shirt—curling just at the small of your back. “It can not.” His unimpressed voice carries over the area as another car passes.

You stare lightly after, knowing it’s the second vehicle that belongs to AMA just by the make and model; especially by the license plate. It carries a number of personnel—most likely Iakov, your stylists, and a photographer or two. The car sees that you’re stopped, slows, and also pulls off the road a large distance ahead. 

“At least we’ll have another ride if this can’t be fixed,” you comment as you and your guard join the driver, Nikto grunting in Russian with an order to stop denting the car’s frame. A sigh slips your lips and you stretch carefully—raising your arms above your head and hearing your bones cracking. “Won’t be stranded,” you end in a strained voice before you sigh in relief and relax.

As Nikto and the driver descend into clipped words, your phone rings from inside the vehicle. Blinking, your body is quick to shuffle the way back and snatch the thing out, retreating to the grass to the right of the scene and a small way away—it’s still easy to see how Nikto keeps an eye on you, however. 

With his comment yesterday about a new picture from the stalker, you weren’t keen on being away from him either. The thought makes your skin crawl, but you know you’re better off never seeing whatever the contents had been…you’d already seen enough of that freak’s ‘pictures’ to last a lifetime. 

Answering the call, you push the phone to your ear. “Seraph,” you say, half-facing the road and half to the tree line. Your drive back home had barely started—already you’d run into trouble? These last few months were continually stacking on top of one another for the top ten worst moments in your life. 

Galina’s voice pushes through. 

“Where are you currently?”

Your face loosens, brows twisting. “Driving back to Yekaterinburg now, we just ran into some car trouble,” you pause, seeing Nikto going to open the hood but being stopped by the driver, who seems to think he can do it himself without any help at all. “...Is there something going on?”

Nikto only breaks away in attention to look over to you every so often, his fingers twitching and shoulders wound up under all that gear. 

Why is he so tense? You have to ask yourself in curiosity before your guard’s head snaps to where others from the second car spill out, beginning walking to you three—coming to help like little trees down the line of asphalt.

Running your free hand over the back of your skull, as always, Nikto’s nervousness makes you tense; especially when he shifts his hand to brush his beretta like that. That dark void of a mask is permanently stuck giving you half of a glare, and you can perfectly imagine his jaw clenching.

But everybody here was trustworthy, weren’t they? 

Iavov’s shorter stature makes its way forward quicker than the others, calling out words that you can’t hear. He holds something in his hands, and it glints in the light.

Galina spares no chance to breathe between rapid clipped sentences. 

“Sergi has had to be released from custody—Yaromir and I have little concern he was involved in anything that resulted in harm to another. We can not keep him.” You had expected that; it wasn’t surprising. “But he mentioned something that I believe you should know before you return.”

“What is it?” Your voice is low, concerned as Iakov and the rest raise their words. Nikto barks at them in Russian to stay where they are as his eyes glint dangerously for no discernible reason. The driver shifts his fingers away from the hood as you begin shuffling closer as well, spine straight with tension. 

The air was alive with a cord ready to snap.

“He mentioned something about knowing a man who works at Allurement in an off comment when he didn’t realize he was being recorded.”

Your feet speed up to the car almost instinctively. 

“Who?”

“We were unable to push for a name. Sergi got far too nervous and shut down on us; there was little left to do. But there’s another thing.”

Heart pattering, you call to Nikto stiffly, seeing him only hold a hand out to tell you to not come any closer. You frown, disregarding the concern, and are now about five feet away from the car and eager to figure out what’s wrong with it so you can leave—you feel eyes on you, and in a paranoid moment, your vision darts to the approaching group of six. Closer now.

“Seraph,” Nikto grinds out. “Stay there. There is something that we do not like about—”

Galina’s continued explanation interrupts your Russian just as the driver gets the hood finally open with a loud call of victory. You blink, your fingers over the phone gripping the device like a woman strangling a knife while facing a home intruder. 

“Sergi was spotted disposing of multiple cameras by way of selling them off to anyone who would take them all over the city. We’re trying to track down the buyers, but we don’t believe the cameras were his to begin with. He’s hiding evidence for someone.”

There’s a bright spark that makes your eyes flinch shut like you’d been staring into the sun. Head snapping to the side, you cover your face with a heavy hiss as you halt in your tracks, stepping back as Nikto’s loud voice carries. 

“Seraph!” You startle, legs dragging across the ground. “Get down! Немедленно!”

“—There is reason to believe that Sergi has a close connection and a willingness to protect whoever is behind these events. Perhaps even the evidence from the explosion at the bakery was tampered with—”

The car bursts into an inferno just as Nikto’s body connects with yours.

Meeting the ground hard, the man rolls along with you as the air is snatched from your lungs and skin whipped by fire—the sound of screeching metal so loud that the resounding ringing in your ears is immediate as debris whizzes past your head.

In the exit of all air from your lungs, your phone is lost as you gasp sharply.

There’s a sting of pain across your face—in your arm as well as Nikto drapes himself over you with a firm bark of a gut-twisting curse, gripping and dragging you until you’re stapled to his chest.

Far above, the screaming and the sizzle of flesh all melt together into the image of a gray sun. Smoke wafts away on a slow breeze, and the body of a panting man above you is voided until null even as hands pull you from him to stare down at you—at the crimson blood that he can see in such vivid detail.

There’s only the sensation of him calling your name frantically before it all gets sucked into oblivion around pale, horribly panicked eyes.

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[sporadicthingcollection]

99 Problems: Entry #6 (Cad Bane x F!Reader)

Summary: Tracking down the man who wronged you both leads Cad Bane to the one person in the galaxy he tries to avoid at all costs.

Pairing: Cad Bane/F!Reader, Hondo Ohnaka/F!Reader (offscreen)

Rating: 🌶 Semi-explicit 🌶

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: Slut-shaming, topless in public, NTR/cucking (...sorta?), biting, blood

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DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list1.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE A PAIN IN THE ASS AND I SHOULD TURN YOU IN

#6: YOURE A SLUT

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Finding someone who at least recognized the name Cynga Paol was a feat in and of itself. Bane needed to use his connections’ connections to track down even a single person who’d heard the name. And that single person was a Weequay who, while not exceptionally hard to track down, Cad Bane preferred to give a wide berth.

Not because he's afraid of him, but because every time Hondo Ohnaka opens his mouth, a few of Bane’s brain cells commit suicide.

The pirate is three sheets to the wind already when he staggers out to meet the Rashoon Breeze as it touches down to the dusty ground. The goons that flank him, however, are deadly sober.

Bane dodges the pirate’s hug, but Ohnaka manages to wrap an arm around his shoulder. “Cad, my dear friend! It has been too long, far too long! Come in, have a drink, and we can talk--”

“Wait for me!”

You come trotting out the door and down the ramp, clutching the hem of your skirt so as to not step on it. You’re wearing a blouse he hasn’t seen before, a form-fitting piece with frills and a bow.

His lip curls a bit. It looks good on you -- most things do -- but you’re meeting a pirate to bargain for information, not brokering a business deal.

You flash a dazzling smile as you run up. “Had a bit of trouble with the parking brake,” you say, stopping just behind him.

Ohnaka stares at you for far, far too long for Bane’s liking.“You didn’t say you were bringing your lady friend,” he says. It’s oddly stiff. “She’s a lovely catch. Congratulations.”

Bane huffs as you snicker. “She’s a client,” he says.

His expression changes from restrained politeness to glee. Planting a hand on Bane’s chest, he shoves him aside. “It’s not every day such a lovely creature pays us a visit,” he says. He removes his hat and sweeps into a low bow. “Captain Hondo Ohnaka, at your service.”

You introduce yourself with a smile. You cross one leg over the other and gently curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, Captain.” You offer your hand, and Ohnaka places a lingering kiss on it, making you giggle.

Bane grits his teeth. “Quit yer flirting,” he growls. “We’re here fer business.”

“Oh, you always were a stick in the mud. Glad to see you haven’t changed.” Ohnaka drapes his arm over your shoulder and ushers you towards the complex. “Come in, come in. We’ll discuss this over drinks like civilized people.”

So few words. So many brain cells lost.

---

The building is loud and crowded. They must have just pulled in a big haul, because a party is in full swing. Bodies everywhere -- sitting, standing, dancing, falling over each other. It made Bane’s skin crawl.

Ohnaka brings you to the quietest corner of the room -- just you. Bane gets separated from you by a line of dancing Weequays, and he gets there just in time to stop Ohnaka from seating you beside him. Bane grabs your shoulder and pulls you to sit next to him. You give him a questioning look, but don’t say anything.

A Nikto hurries over with three cups: two of wine for you and Ohnaka, and a whiskey neat for Bane. He’s surprised they remembered his drink order, but he’s not complaining. Too bad it’s shit whiskey.

After a few drinks, you cross your arms and lean forward to rest them on the table. You slowly bat your lashes at him, lips curling into a smile. “So, Captain Hondo,” you say, “tell us about Cynga Paol.”

Ohnaka breaks into a grin. “Payment first, my dear girl,” he replies. “And please, just Hondo is fine. I was thinking... one million credits.”

Bane bristles. You’re writing the checks, but the less you have, the less he gets. “Dat’s ridiculous.”

“That’s business.” Ohnaka crosses one leg over his knee as he takes a long pull from his cup. “So what do you say?”

You drum your fingers on the table. “I say there’s room for negotiation. What do you think, Bane--”

As you turn to look at him, your cup slips from your hands. You try to jump back, but it’s too late. The wine spills all over your blouse, dying it as pink as your skin.

A clipped whine of frustration escapes you as you regard yourself. “This is brand new!”

Bane feels a twinge of schadenfreude, but it’s quickly eclipsed by the sudden realization that you aren’t wearing anything underneath the blouse. Every dip and curve of those perfect little breasts of yours are now on full display, from the swell of the sides to your stiffening nipples.

And he’s not the only one to notice. Ohnaka’s eyes go wide behind his goggles and he not-so-subtly leans forward.

You curl your lips into an annoyed sneer. “Don’t suppose I could get out of this?” you ask.

Ohnaka stares for a few more moments before finding himself. “Yes! Yes yes yes.” He waves over a female lieutenant. “Shongdei, take our guest to get a change of clothes.”

You laugh your chirpy little laugh. “Oh, there’s no need for that.”

Before anyone can realize what’s happening, you pull the blouse up and over your head, leaving you sitting there with your wine-soaked tits on full display. Bane can’t stop his brows from shooting upwards. Ohnaka’s jaw goes slack, and his own empty wine cup slips from his hand and hits the floor with a clatter.

“Just wring it out and soak it in cold water,” you say, handing the shirt to the woman. “Should get the stain out enough for me to work with it later.”

The woman nods and leaves. Bane’s not sure whether to be turned on or deeply annoyed. He knows exactly what you’re doing. It’s very clearly going to work, based on how Ohnaka is crossing his legs, but did you need to be so shameless about it?

You lean forward, resting your crossed arms on the table in such a way that your breasts are perfectly framed. “So, negotiations. How does two-fifty grand sound?”

Ohnaka’s gaze flashes between your lips and your chest. “Mmm... no. Seven hundred fifty thousand.”

Stray drops of wine roll into your cleavage and you gently flick them away. “Four hundred.”

Bane grits his teeth as you go back and forth with the pirate. Ohnaka’s not the only one getting hot and bothered. The sooner he’s out of here, the better.

Unfortunately for him, he stews a little longer than intended. He only comes back to himself after you nudge him.

“How’s that sound?” you ask.

“How’s what sound?”

“I give him five hundred thousand credits and my company for the evening.”

A shock goes right to Bane’s stomach. He hates that idea. A lot. “Fuck that,” he spits before he can stop himself.

Fortunately, the music hits a swell just as he speaks, drowning it out. You lean towards him. “Say that again?”

He swallows hard and waves his hand. He’ll sort out this... feeling... later. “Whatever.”

You grin and turn to Ohnaka. “So, Captain?” you purr. “Five hundred thousand credits and my undivided attention for the rest of the evening.”

The pirate hisses something under his breath, then breaks into a wide grin. “That is... acceptable! Very acceptable!” He clambers to his feet. “Nuska!” he hollers at an Ithorian with an instrument, “play something... refined for the little lady!”

Bane’s stomach drops. “Wait--”

Ohnaka gives you a sweeping bow, very nearly losing his balance. “If I may have this dance?”

Bane grabs your arm, but you don’t even look at him as you throw it off. Grinning, you take the pirate’s hand and stand, your breasts bouncing.

The last he sees of you is you laughing as the pirate pulls you flush against him as he totters away.

---

“You seem troubled, Mister Bane,” Todo says.

Bane just barely resists the urge to blast the droid. He’d rather not scorch up your galley floor. “What gave ya dat idea?”

“Well, it’s almost dawn,” the droid says. “And you’ve been cleaning your blasters since you returned to the ship. You don’t usually spend so much time polishing them.”

Bane glances at a window. The Florrum sun is just starting to peek above the horizon. “I want ‘em clean,” he says. For when he finally puts a bolt between Ohnaka’s eyes.

“Are you worried about Miss--?”

“Do I look worried?” he snaps, glowering at the droid. “Do I get worried? Have ya ever seen me worried?”

“...Admittedly, no, but--”

“Den I’m not worried. Now buzz off. Didn’t she have some tech she wanted ya to service?”

Todo makes a noise akin to a huff and putters off, leaving Bane by his lonesome.

He’s telling the truth. He’s not worried. Ohnaka is ruthless when he needs to be, but he’s not dangerous. Not in the way that one normally suspects a pirate of being. Especially not towards you. He seems to like you just fine.

Which has to be the source of the feeling, whatever it is. It can’t be jealousy. You can’t be jealous over something that isn’t yours in the first place. That’d be envy.

Is it envy? Is he worried that after tonight, you’ll run off with Ohnaka? Decide that his services are more suited to your style than his? A burglar has more in common with a pirate than with a bounty hunter.

Or that you’ll like the way he fucks you? That you like the taste of his tongue, the taste of his cock, the taste of his blood more than Bane’s? That he’s better? That he’s not good enough for you--

He slams the blaster down on the table. He needs sleep. Your bed is comfy enough. You won’t mind if he catches a few winks. Or you better not mind.

Setting his blasters down, he tramps up the stairs and into the cabin. He’s about to head into the sleeping area when the muffled sounds of your chirpy laugh reach him.

“You’re too much, Hondo,” you’re saying.

Ohnaka laughs in return. “Too much, but not enough! Never enough.” His voice grows softer, gentler. “If you ever need anything, my dear, my door is always open to you. And my bed, when you get sick of that old bounty hunter.”

“I appreciate it, but we’ll see how it all shakes out.” Another pause, and the pirate lets out a giggle of his own. “Sweet dreams, Captain.”

“They’ll be even sweeter now that you’re in them, my little burglar. Good luck with your hunt.”

The door opens and you enter the cabin. You probably got laid -- messy hair, a stiff gait to your walk, the stink of flowers. There’s a smile on your face as you head up to your sleeping quarters.

You barely even look at him.

Bane doesn’t realize he’s gripping the doorframe until he releases it to follow you. “How was yer date?” he spits.

You still don’t look at him. “It was a bit... unrefined. Not bad, but I’ve got champagne tastes, as you well know.”

He follows you. “And the fuckin’? I hear Ohnaka’s a kinky one.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you say coolly.

“He make ya cum?”

You whirl on him, finally. You definitely fucked. Your lipstick is smeared and a smattering of teeth-shaped bruises peek out from beneath a shirt the same style as Ohnaka wears under his ridiculous coat.

Standing a step above him, you’re right at eye level. “He did,” you say, “and he made me squirt, which is more than can be said about you.”

A low, primitive sound escapes Bane before he can stop it. A warning rattle, a leftover piece of evolution from when Duros didn’t have the language to say ‘fuck with me and I’ll bite you.’ And the urge to bite you was very, very strong.

You pull back a little in surprise, but you let out a scoff. “That supposed to scare me?” You lean in close to him, and your eyes widen slightly. “You’re jealous.”

“I ain’t,” he grinds out. His fangs ache for warmth, and your throat looks perfect.

Your lips curl into that infuriating grin, and you let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t realize you cared,” you say.

Soft. Sweet. Tender. “I don’t.”

“Good, because I got news.” You poke him hard in the chest. “I don’t belong to you.”

That does it.

Bane grabs you around the waist and hauls you upwards, tossing you over his shoulder and knocking his hat to the floor. You shriek and struggle, but he doesn’t care.

He slams you onto your bed with enough force that something cracks. Throwing his whole weight on you, he tears the front of your shirt away and sinks his teeth into the soft, flower-scented flesh of your neck, just under your jaw.

Your shrieks turn to moans as he follows your pulse down your neck, down your collarbone, down to your breasts. You cry out as he takes it into his mouth, grazing the peak with his teeth and lapping at it with his tongue.

You scrabble at his head, desperately looking for purchase. “Bane,” you say breathlessly, “Bane, please--!”

He doesn’t respond. He pulls your skirt and panties down in one swoop, letting them pool on the floor. Grabbing your knees, he pulls you forward, nipping his way down your smooth belly to your silky thighs.

They’re such a pretty color. An expanse of uninterrupted pink. Like teaberry sorbet. Or a cymbaline macaron. Or a field of Nubian hibiscus.

A howl escapes you as he sinks his teeth into your thigh. “Caaaad...!”

He comes up for air, licking his lips. “What?”

Your hips buck upwards, unbidden. You bat your lashes at him, smiling sweetly. “Fuck me?”

He pretends to consider it. “...No.”

Your response turns into a whine as he bites your other thigh. “But why?!”

He laps at the little beads of ruby-colored blood. You taste sweeter when you’re upset. “Cuz yer a slut ‘n’ ya don’t deserve it.”

“But-- ooh!” He bites lower, and your hips buck. “But you said you were fffine with it!”

“You shoulda known better.”

“Well, excuse me for not reading your mind-- oh!”

Grabbing your hip, he flips you over. Maker, you’ve got a fine ass. He grips a bit of the flesh between his fingers. Nice and round and soft. And pink. So, so pink...

He bites it. And you damn near lose your mind, writhing and kicking and howling. Curses, prayers, babbling in languages he can’t even begin to guess at.

And so he keeps at it. Marking up that pretty little ass, painting it with splotches of black and blue and red.

Eventually, you stop moving except for little twitches, stop making noise except for pitiful little whimpers.

Bane gives you a gentle poke. “Had enough?”

“I...I think so.” You roll over onto your back, looking thoroughly dazed. “I thought for sure you were gonna eat me.”

“Didn’t want a taste of Ohnaka’s sloppy seconds.”

You give him a half-hearted kick that he easily dodges. His foot bumps something heavy in your skirt pocket, and he picks it up. It's a little cloth purse. He dumps it out onto the bed, and a mix of credits and jewelry tumbles out.

He peers at it. “Where’d ya get all dis?”

Groaning, you haul yourself upright. “Nicked it from Hondo. He fell asleep between rounds,” you say with a smile. You examine a crystal ring, your brows raised. “Weapons-grade karope. This stuff’s worth fifty thousand, easy.”

He can’t help but grin a bit. You’re a clever li’l thing, he’ll give you that. “So what’d ya learn about Cynga?” he asks.

You chuckle. “Go put the caf on. I’ll get the ship into orbit and tell you over breakfast.”

---

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list2.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE KIND OF USEFUL AND I SHOULD KEEP YOU AROUND

#6: YOU KNOW AN OPPORTUNITY WHEN YOU SEE ONE

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⬅⬅⬅ | "Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

#cad bane x reader #star wars smut #catch us if you can #reader insert #x reader

[nrdmssgs]

Pieces of him

Masterlist Part 2

Pairing: Nikto x f reader Angst Reader goes KIA

Thank you @amongthe141 for encouraging me for writing more for this guy. I am sorry if angst is not what you expected.

If it wasn't for König - the squad would never decide, who should deliver the news. They tried to avoid Nikto outside their missions even on good days - so obviously nobody wanted to risk now. While others argued in the main meeting room - their Colonel raised from his chair and quietly left.

He skipped training rooms, a few common areas and a cafeteria, heading straight to her room. After all, what a Colonel would König be, if didn't know his men.

A corridor was almost empty if not for one man, leaning against the wall next to her door. When König up to him - he was greeted by an ice cold stare right through him.

"She's not coming back, isn't she?" Niktos voice was unusually hollow and detached.

Colonel held back an urge to just silently nod – his soldier deserved to know the truth. The full version of it. Three letters hung up in the air and the corridor drowned in a death silence.

Everybody awaited some kind of explosion: Niktos raged shouts, punches being thrown, maybe something being torn apart. But as the minutes stretched into hours – the base remained at peace and silence.

The squad decided to take turns watching him, but Nikto seemed calm, even relaxed. On the next morning he was sitting in the cafeteria at his usual place, rolling his meds between ungloved fingers, and even whistling something to himself. He looked uncannily peaceful, ignoring attempts of others to be soft and friendly to him.

“Hey buddy, how are you? Want to talk?”

At first, he didn’t respond, didn’t even look up. Only his knee, that started rhythmically bouncing, gave away the fact, that he heard the questions.

“About what? Her being offed on a battlefield? Well, shit happens, I guess. Don’t see anything to discuss here.” Nikto was never a sentimental one, but such a reaction was too ignorant even for him. Yet nobody dared to push him.

As days passed, the situation didn’t seem to change: despite fears of others, Nikto remained visibly unbothered. He worked and trained as usual, only rarely losing concentration in favor of some never-ending inner monologue, he conducted almost inaudibly.

There were no cracks in this man’s demeanor, and that scared his colleagues, who knew, that Nikto didn’t just lose a squadmate – he lost the only person, he has let closer than others. Usually, it was her who approached him when others didn’t want to risk it. She could calm him down, make him laugh, reason him, and keep him in line. In return he followed her everywhere, his shadow always somewhere around her feet. Nobody knew what exactly was going on between her and Nikto, but everyone felt that the real storm is yet to come.

Still, when it finally happened – it felt unexpected. The company made sure to keep others in a relative safety and König revised Niktos weapon stashes after every mission and training. They all waited, till Nikto snapped at them, when he started a fight with someone completely other.

One evening he disappeared from the base. There were no traces, as if the man just vanished. They searched his room for any evidence and found nothing. The Colonel watched leaning against the wall, as others looked for any clue in every corner of the room for a fifth time in a row.

“It’s useless. If Andre doesn’t want to be found – it would take much more than just a room check,” muttered someone and König turned his head to the voice.

After a few minutes the Colonel dismissed others and left Niktos room. He didn’t go back to his office – instead König turned in the opposite direction, to her room, that was still locked after her death.

Hesitating on the threshold, König turned the key and the door opened. Her room looked as if she could come back any moment now, if not for one disturbing detail: the floor behind the door was covered with a pile of pieces of paper. They came in every size: from almost a full A4, to tiniest pieces, not larger than a candy wrapper. There were so many of them, that some got stuck under the door even.

König leaned down and started collecting paper. It took him some time because he was trying to be as careful as possible. He already noticed that every single piece was covered with writing: frantic uneven handwriting alternated with legible, just as if different people were writing all the notes, that were pushed under her door.

When every last piece was in his hands – König sat at her desk and started reading. The messages didn’t vary so much, so by the seventh piece of paper the Colonel already had more or less a whole mental image of what really was going on behind Niktos mask these days.

“You’re a failure, you know? You had one job – to stay alive. You failed.”

“Been on a firing range – still shoot better than you, loser. You owe me a beer.”

“They served you favorite apples today. Those yellow ones, that have like no taste whatsoever. I took the last one, so that you don’t get it.”

“I hate you. Fucking failure. Loser.”

“How about you grow a pair and answer me one fucking time?”

“Stop hiding behind that silent treatment. It’s not ‘friendly’ – its useless and you will never make a point like that.”

“Get mad already! Shout at me!”

“Or fine – stay silent, but at least have some decency and slap my face for this shitshow!”

“I’m still better than you at everything. Get fucking mad!”

“One job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job one job and you failed it.”

“Get mad at me. At us.”

“We didn’t take the meds. Not today, not yesterday, not a week ago. Go out and show us. Me. Us.”

“Please. We can’t do it without you. Please. Shout at us, break our faces.”

“Go out of that damned room. Please. Please.”

“Come back to us.”

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod #cod x reader #mw2 #mw2 x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod headcanons #cod nikto #nikto #nikto x reader #mwii nikto #nikto x you #nikto cod #nikto angst

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

⥇ rags / 30 / MDNI 18+ / ao3 / ask box (anon on)

[ 01/03/2024 ]: Went ahead and posted a Gone Fishin' sign on the door because I've been non-stop wringing my hands over not writing the last few months. Just got burned out between working retail hell season and some home-life stress, and decided, eh, fuck it, might as well take the pressure off myself to start off the year. Love y'all! <33

Follows and somtimes replies from @vide0-nasties!

Tags: My Work / Fic Recommendations / Inspiration (Quotes & Art) / WIP Previews / Housekeeping / Answered Asks

⥇ masterlist under the cut

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After a successful assassination, König is in a foul mood after being forced into the role of spotter. He takes his pound of flesh in the form of frustrated sex. After an intoxicating string of kills behind your anti-material rifle, like hell are you going down without baring your teeth and snapping.

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#masterlist #housekeeping

[grizzersmamma]

Son of Zmei | Fae AU | Nikto x F!Reader | Part 3.

Overview: You try to take the dog somewhere he'll be safe and be returned to his owner. The dog, however, has other ideas, much to your chagrin.

A/N: I've had this sat in my drafts for a while needing to be finalized. Just a reminder that this isn't one of my main fics, just a silly side work for my own indulgence, so updates may be sporadic. Tagging the amazing @ghouljams as always.

Warnings: None

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Prev Part | Next Part

You wake to the unpleasant sensation of hot, damp breath in your face. As you slowly blink your eyes back open, you’re met with the face of the black dog, its amber eyes staring down at you intently without blinking. When it notices you’re awake, the dog huffs – relief or annoyance you can’t really tell – and takes a few steps back to give you some room to sit up.  

The dog sits itself down, patiently waiting and watching as you push yourself off the floor, rubbing at the back of your head. It pulses at you angrily, clearly not appreciating being smacked onto the floor when you passed out.  

“Did you just speak?” you anxiously ask the canine, body gearing up to flee should it actually respond.  

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for your sanity, the dog simply stares at you silently. Its head tilts to the side, blinking at you slowly, before standing up and wandering away, disinterested.  

“I’m losing it,” you mumble to yourself, head resting in your hands. Of course a dog can’t talk, why would your mind even come up with that? Is it just the stress of yesterday and this morning finally catching up with you? Perhaps you need to speak to someone if you’re having hallucinations of talking animals.  

Regardless, you need to get the dog out of your house, if only to ensure that its owner won’t come to you looking for it. The man doesn’t know where you live, but you really don’t need him thinking you’re trying to steal his pet.  

Getting back to your feet and brushing off your pants, you call for the dog in a bright, excitable tone. It returns with the soft tapping of claws on laminate, ears perked up and trained on you. He sits at your feet, posture dead straight as if waiting for commands. He’s rather intense for a dog, though that may just be his rather large size talking.  

You don’t own a leash and the dog is lacking a collar, but he seems well trained enough that you doubt he’ll run off. Besides, there’s a veterinary clinic just a short walk down the street from your house where you can probably drop the animal off. With any luck someone there will recognise the dog since, well, he’s a rather unique breed for the area, and will be able to contact his rightful owner.  

“Come on then, good boy,” you call a little overexcitedly, grabbing your house keys and opening the door.  

The dog follows you without issue, patiently waiting at your side while you lock up, then remaining in a perfect heel as you start down the concrete path toward the town centre. He’s remarkably well behaved, walking between you and the road, uninterested in anything else around you. Even when a dog starts barking at the two of you from the other side of the road, the dog beside you doesn’t so much as flinch, eyes still firmly focused on the path ahead.  

Fortunately, the walk to the vet is quick thanks to the dog’s good behaviour, and he follows you inside without problem. The women inside excitedly swarm the fluffy animal, cooing at him and stroking his fur. He seems less than impressed with the strangers smothering him with affection but tolerates it with only a handful of resigned huffs.  

You fill out the form that the kind receptionist hands you while one of the nurses gently leads the dog through the door and into the back of the clinic. He pauses at the door, staring at you as if asking what you want him to do. He waits patiently until you offer him a soft, “go on then,” in an encouraging voice, waving him on.  

The vets assure you that they’ll get the dog back to his rightful owner and you take your leave, happy knowing he’ll get home safe. You, perhaps foolishly, assume that will be the end of things.  

You get halfway home when you notice the sound of claws tapping against the concrete behind you. When you turn around, you near enough jump out of your skin. The dog is standing behind you again. “What the-” you blink at the dog while he stares up at you, ignoring your surprise and simply continuing on his way back toward your house.  

You look back and forth, down the road toward the vet clinic and back at the dog again, like the explanation for the dog’s sudden reappearance will abruptly make itself clear.  

Taking your phone out, you quickly search up the phone number of the vet, dialing it and waiting until the call connects. You exchange a brief greeting, before continuing, “I was just at the clinic to drop off a dog I found, but he’s just come up to me again...?”  

The woman on the other end of the phone breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God, he just vanished! We had him locked in one of the crates while dealing with another patient and when we came back, he was just gone!” The poor woman sounds slightly frantic as she adds, “we’ve been searching the whole building for him.”  

By now, the dog has noticed you aren’t following and quickly returns to your side, sitting patiently at your feet.  

“Would it be too much trouble for you to return him to the clinic?” the woman asks, hanging up when you offer a weak agreement. She sounded almost as frazzled as you feel, looking into the pale blue eyes of the massive dog. They’re certainly a unique colour, far from the dark browns and golds of most canines, but they also seem to hold a depth to them you’re unfamiliar with.  

It makes you uncomfortable just to meet the animal’s gaze, reminded so much of his strange owner.  

“Okay, buddy, let’s get you back to the vet, yeah?” you try to keep you voice as steady and friendly as possible, constantly repeating to yourself that’s it’s only a dog, nothing more. So what if he seems to understand whatever you’re saying and occasionally have eerily human responses. You just need to get rid of it, then everything will go back to normal.  

The dog once again follows you to the clinic, following a different nurse this time through the doors. The receptionist offers you a brief word of thanks, and you make your hasty retreat.  

This time, there are no following paws, and you’re able to make the short trip back to your house without issue. Taking a quick visual sweep of both sides of the street and ensuring you are well and truly alone, you unlock the front door and quickly slide inside, very nearly slamming it closed and flicking the lock back into place. 

You take a deep breath to steady your thundering heart, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation. It’s a dog. You’re acting like a frightened child over some fluffy dog just because it gives you weird vibes. 

Ridiculous.  

Mourning your poor sanity, you let out a relieved sigh and turn around.  

The dog is sitting behind you.  

You’re not sure how many curse words you shriek out, falling backwards against the door with a hand clutching your chest. It’s back. The damn dog is back, and it’s in your house. How did it even get into the house? How did it get away from the vets again? Why does it keep coming back? 

It stares at you in complete silence, head tilting slightly to the side as it watches you struggle for breath.  

“Why are you here?!” You must look like a mad person, screaming at a dog, but there’s very little else you can think to do. You feel as though you’re losing your mind.  

Standing back up properly again, you quickly unlock the door and pull it open again. “Out!” you practically shout, waving at the animal, “get out!” You’ve finally reached your limit; you need this weird dog to leave you alone before you completely lose it. The dog just blinks at you slowly, but thankfully, blessedly, it complies with your screamed demand.  

The moment it’s outside you slam the door closed and slide the lock back into place, taking a few steps back and breathing. A quick glance through the window and you can see the dog is sitting right on the front step of your house, back to your door and his gaze focused on the other side of your fence.  

It isn’t gone, but at the very lease you have the inside of your house to yourself again.  

#call of duty modern warfare #writing #cod nikto #nikto call of duty #nikto x reader #tf 1fae1 #fae au

[raiseyourcups]

A Girl with No Name

Chapter One

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Warnings: panic attack, canon-typical violence Word Count: 1.3k Also on AO3 Masterlist

Summary: It had been a normal day for you and the Child and then you were taken from the mercenary compound by a Mandalorian. Little did any of you know what you would go through together. 

Note: A new series! Yay! But it probably won’t update as fast as Cabur which will keep it’s schedule until I finish Season 1. I’ll try to keep this updated at least once a week but I cannot commit to a specific day. I’m sorry about that.

You never knew where you came from or who your parents were. You didn’t remember what had happened or what planet you had been taken from. Someone had taken you to Takodana where you stayed for a while, Maz Kanata somehow not able to find your chain code at all according to her. Even as a child, you knew she was lying. The people that took you there told you your name was Y/N now and who were you to disagree? You didn’t know any different so you became Y/N.

After that you bounced from place to place, taking as many small jobs as you could. It was mostly you offering to help load ship cargo in exchange for passage to the next planet. The whole time wondering who you were, only the quickest of flashes coming to you before fading away. The only thing your hidden memories gave you was a crippling fear of the sound of blasters and nightmares that you never remembered. And a lullaby that you didn’t know the words to anymore. 

Now you were on a tiny desert planet, stuck in a single room with a tiny green child that you had been charged with caring for. Not that you had much of a choice. The mercenaries wouldn’t let you leave the room except for a solar hour every day for some sun and they watched you with hands on their blasters. You had learned to hide your trembles at the sight of them but it had taken a long time. 

At the moment you were cradling the Child in your arms, swaying and humming a song you had no memory of learning as you tried to ease him to sleep. You had worked out a schedule for him in order to keep your sanity and track of time. Breakfast as the sun rose, a short nap before lunch, an hour outside after lunch, another short nap before dinner, then finally sleep after dinner. The hour outside had been taken away recently, more and more bounty hunters trying to get into the compound for some reason.

You weren’t sure why bounty hunters were trying to get in, neither you nor the Child were of importance. The Nikto mercenaries had made quick work of the previous attempts although their numbers were dwindling with each one. 

But you didn’t know that today would finally throw everything off-kilter. You had just placed the Child back into his cradle when the first blasters went off. 

“No!” You brought your hands up to cover your head despite there being no immediate danger. You brought your hands back down, trying to still your now racing heart. The Child made a scared noise and looked at you with his wide eyes. 

“I’m sorry, everything’s gonna be okay. Those guys will take care of it again,” you whispered, tucking the Child’s blanket around him. Something told you that you were wrong though and as the blasters kept going off, you feared you were right. You heard the front doors shut, the sound echoing throughout the room and then there was a quiet that fell over the room. 

It was broken by the loud alarm going off, mercenaries shouting as they ran through the compound and you flinched at the noises but there were no more blaster shots. No one would come in to tell you what was happening anyway. All you could do was hope they could hold off the intruders. 

There was another rush of blaster fire and you couldn’t stop yourself from dropping to the floor and covering your ears again. You rocked yourself back and forth, the sound too much for you and flashes of memories you couldn’t decipher came forward. When you heard the laser cannon go off your breath started coming out quicker. 

Your chest felt tight and you were sure that you were going to pass out but you needed to protect the Child. You clenched your hands into fists and forced yourself to hold your breath for ten counts before releasing it, repeating until you could think again. By the time you had the laser cannon had stopped firing and you didn’t think the mercs had been on the winning side. 

You grabbed netting from nearby and went to the Child’s side. “You need to stay quiet, please,” you whispered before shutting the cradle and tossing the netting over it. Then you hid behind the far doorway and you held your breath. 

There were a few more timed blasts from the cannon followed by the front gate slamming to the ground was your answer. A merc that you hadn’t seen popped out from around the corner but was immediately shot down.  

“Anyone else?” A voice called out, it sounded like it was voice modulated. But you didn’t have time to think about that anymore when a droid spoke and you cursed. You couldn’t hide from a droid. 

“My sensors indicate that there are two life forms present.”

“Whoever’s there, come out and I promise to let you leave alive.”

Well you didn’t really have a choice,  did you? You brought your hands up and slowly walked out of the doorway. “Please don’t hurt me.”

You were taken aback to see it was a Mandalorian, you had only read about them. You hoped that this one was as honorable as the HoloNet said they were. The droid was an IG unit and that put you on edge. 

“Female human, age unknown, matches the tracking fob.” The IG unit said, turning it’s head to look at the Mandalorian. 

He looked at her, helmet tilted slightly before he spoke. “Where’s the other one?”

You shook your head a little before asking a very important question. “Do you promise not to hurt us?”

“Yes.” The Mandalorian answered immediately and even with the voice modulator you found yourself trusting him. You nodded your head towards the Child’s cradle and watched as they walked over to it. The Mandalorian pressed the button to open it and stared down at the Child. 

“They said it was 50 years old.”

“He is,” you said from where you were. “I don't know what species he is but they age differently.”

“She is correct, this one could live for centuries.” The droid said before starting to lift his blaster. “Sadly we’ll never know.”

“No!” You shouted at the same time the Mandalorian stopped the droid. 

“We’ll bring it in alive, both of them.”

“The commission was quite specific, the assets were both to be terminated.” The droid lifted a second blaster and aimed it at you as well as the Child. You squeezed your eyes shut as a blaster went off but when you didn’t feel a burning pain, you opened your eyes again. The droid was on the ground, a smoking hole through its head. 

You watched as the Mandalorian held a finger out towards the Child who took a hold of it. His big brown eyes stared up the helmet-clad man in wonder before he glanced over at you and cooed. 

“Can I move now?” You asked quietly.

“Yes but don’t run.” There was barely a threat in his voice and you wondered if he had meant to do it. 

You looked at him with a small smile, “You said you wouldn’t hurt us, I trust you.” You don’t know what made you say that, he was a bounty hunter, paid to find you and take you to whoever wanted you. But there was something familiar about him, about the armor, that made you trust him despite not knowing who he was. 

The Mandalorian stared at you as you walked over to the Child and looked him over. He was fine since the Mandalorian had stopped the droid from shooting even the cradle. A silence fell over the three of you as you wondered what happened now.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagine