Hii >< with the new fallout KN fic, could I maybe ask what it was like in niktos vault??
hi! great question!
in Nikto's vault, they were raised to fight. and everyone was forced to fight each other to the death. no one was allowed to make friends. if you weren't taking to the training fast enough, you would be tortured. if you refused to kill your opponent, you would be tortured. food was a reward for fighting. Nikto never lost and never hesitated to kill his opponent. Victor Zakhaev was the overseer and he in particular liked to torture Nikto because Nikto never broke, never begged, never cried. Zakhaev found him amusing. in the end, Nikto snapped and killed Zakhaev and the rest of the vault rioted and killed each other. Nikto is the only one that survived because he killed his way to freedom. no major loss to him because he hated everyone in the vault with him anyway. they were basically animals at that point. and he had no one who he cared about or who cared about him.
More KN in the Fallout universe. Krueger and Nikto's first time meeting each other...
Emerging from his Vault is like nothing Nikto can describe. Beyond the vault doors is a paradise. The air is fresh under the radiation, dust, and frost. The sky is enormous. Nikto breathes and breathes and breathes, even as the geiger counter in his pip boy squawks. Nikto has only known agony before this moment. The experiments left a sole survivor, a mutilated man, darkened to his core.
Nikto has never known a kind soul or a simple comfort in his life.
In the wastes, the people are hardened but not like him. He does not blink an eye at violence. He always flinches from a kind touch. Like that, his world is twisted. He meets the wasteland the same way every Vault dweller does. Only Nikto is backwards. He stands out like a sore thumb but not because his skin-tight blue Vault suit is too clean and pristine.
No, Nikto stands out because his face is mutilated beyond recognition, his mannerisms are ice cold and paranoid, his blue Vault suit is stained with red blood and stitched-back-together bullet holes. He's tall and well-fed and somehow still a shell of a man.
He learns to hide his face and his Vault suit. If he's just another brute in a wasteland of brutes then no one pays him any mind.
Nikto finds work as a mercenary, eventually getting hired as a caravan guard. Him and two others, a hardened woman with short hair and a younger man who talks too much. They don't have to get along to do their job. And Nikto needs the caps.
As the caravan moves through a valley, following train tracks between two cliffs, the hair on the back of Nikto's neck stands on end.
“Good place for an ambush.”
The younger man scoffs at him, “You're paranoid.”
True but that doesn't mean Nikto is wrong. When he looks up, he sees a glint on one of the cliffs. The scope of a high powered rifle.
“Down!” he shouts.
Too late as a bullet rips through the young man in front of him. He collapses in a burst of red. The woman immediately raises her gun to fire at the enemies on the cliffs. Their position is terrible, having to shoot up and over the cliffs. In no time, they are swarmed as enemies jump down and surround them.
Gunners. Not usual for this area but not that surprising. Lying in wait for an ambush is more a Gunner tactic than a Raider one.
Nikto closes in on the nearest Gunner. He punches him in the face, hard. Then throws him over his shoulder and stomps on his head, killing him in one swift blow. A low whistle to his right has him whirling around, brandishing his combat knife.
“Not bad,” the Gunner with netting over his face says, in heavily accented English.
Nikto charges at him. The Gunner dodges his knife, gets his arm under Nikto's, and manages to flip him onto his back. Nikto hits the ground hard, knocking the air from his lungs. He growls, furious, and kicks the Gunner in his knee. The man drops to a crouch and Nikto swiftly wraps an arm around his neck. The Gunner fucking laughs, like he's having fun.
Another Gunner shoves his pistol into the back of Nikto's neck, making him freeze.
“No, Hans,” the Gunner in his hold says, “Not this one.”
Hans snorts, “You clearly have him under control.”
A swift elbow to Nikto's diaphragm has him dropping the Gunner in his hold with a low groan. Not like he can fight with a gun to the back of his head anyway.
“I'm taking this one,” the Gunner says and Nikto's stomach drops.
“You're sick, Josef,” Hans laughs.
Josef, apparently, chuckles as well, not denying anything. Then he's shoving Nikto forward onto his front and handcuffing his hands behind his back. Nikto wants to fight, wants to thrash and snarl and bite, but Hans still has his gun pointed at him. And Nikto's survival instincts override everything else.
The Gunners rob the caravan Nikto was supposed to protect, killing everyone but him. A shame that he won't be getting those caps. At least he'll be keeping his life. For now that is.
They drag him to an old military elevator that takes him up to an overpass, the Gunner's base. There are a few wooden shacks hastily thrown together to make ramshackle places to sleep. A couple couches are sitting around a bonfire. Nikto has no idea how the Gunners got that furniture up here. A rough shove directs him to a shack a bit of distance away from the others.
“Willkommen,” Josef says pleasantly like Nikto isn't his prisoner, “My home.”
The shack has a military cot shoved into the corner. A camp stove on a table. Two mismatched wooden chairs. A metal footlocker and a trunk. On the wall, an array of weapons are hanging. Including a fat man, two shells of which are sitting on the table. Nikto is almost jealous. He seethes when Josef adds Nikto's 10mm pistol and combat knife to his collection.
“Why am I here?”
Josef flips the netting covering his face up and over his helmet. His features are average. Dark brown eyes, roman nose, gaunt cheeks, square jaw. Nikto can see sandy blonde hair peeking out from under his helmet.
“You're tough, ja? Not like those other guards,” Josef eyes him critically, “Maybe you join us instead.”
Nikto scoffs, “Not fucking likely.”
“We'll see,” Josef smiles like Nikto didn't just turn him down.
Nikto isn't going to join the Gunners. Not because of some moral complication. He won't join simply because he refuses to give in to anything his captors want. Especially anything this Josef wants.
“Sit,” Josef gestures to his bed.
Nikto bristles. He doesn't intend on following any orders either. When he makes no move to obey, Josef cocks his head, looking him over. Then Josef unhooks his helmet and pulls it off, setting it on the table between them. He has helmet hair, matted to his head. It almost looks comical before he runs a hand through it, messing it up.
“Please, sit,” Josef tries again, voice light, “You must be tired. I am. All of that adrenaline, yes?”
Nikto stubbornly refuses. Josef's eyes go cold. In the blink of an eye, he flips out a curved knife, a karambit, and presses it against Nikto's throat.
“Sit,” he growls.
Nikto edges toward the bed and sits, the knife never leaving his neck the whole time. Once he's seated, Josef flips his karambit away.
“Danke,” Josef says, voice carefree again, “That was not so hard, now was it?”
Nikto just grunts dismissively. He tests the cuffs around his wrists. No space for him to pull free even if he dislocated his thumb. He hates doing that anyway. When a hand reaches for his mask, Nikto reels back suddenly.
“Don't-!” he starts but stops himself. He doesn't want to show any weakness.
Josef's hand is poised mid-reach but hanging in the air. He looks into Nikto's eyes for a moment, curious maybe. Then he rips Nikto's mask off in one quick fluid move.
Nikto grimaces at the feeling of cool air against the sensitive skin of his scars. Half of his face is mutilated. He can't even grow hair on that side of his head anymore. He knows what he looks like.
Josef hums, “Are you a ghoul?” He doesn't sound judgemental or afraid, only curious.
“No,” Nikto glares at the other man vehemently.
A gloved hand cups the mangled side of his face and Nikto jerks under the touch. The fabric of the glove is grating against his skin. A thumb strokes over the cleft of Nikto's mouth, where the skin has peeled back to reveal the edge of his teeth. Nikto snaps at him and almost bites his hand before Josef pulls back quickly.
Then Josef puts Nikto's mask back on, a bit too roughly.
“Our secret,” he says playfully.
Nikto just glowers at him. Josef doesn't seem bothered as he begins digging through his belongings. He pulls out two MREs, chilli from what Nikto can read, and starts warming them over his small cooking stove.
“What do I call you?” Josef asks.
Nikto hesitates to answer for so long the other man looks at him over his shoulder, raising an impatient brow.
“Nikto.”
“Nobody,” Josef translates, returning his attention to the food, “Don't you have a name?”
“No,” Nikto growls. Not one that means anything to him anyway, “You speak Russian?”
“Da,” Josef chuckles, “Good with my tongue, you see.”
Nikto doesn't ask the other man his name. He already knows. And Josef makes no move to introduce himself anyway.
When Josef sets the warm MREs on the table, one in front of himself and one across from him, he gives Nikto a thoughtful look.
“If I let you go, are you going to kill me?” his voice is teasing.
Yes, Nikto thinks. Josef must see it on his face because he shakes his head. Then he gets up, grabs Nikto's portion, and comes to stand in front of him. His dark eyes are bright with amusement. He drags up Nikto's mask so it sits just above his nose. Digging a spoon into the chilli, Josef gets out a decent sized bite. Then he holds it out in front of Nikto's face.
“Open up,” he hums, clearly enjoying himself.
Nikto grits his teeth. Again his survival instinct rallies against his pride. He won't let himself starve, he's not that big of a fool. The thought of another man feeding him like this doesn't sit right with him either though. After boring his gaze into the other man's eyes for a solid minute, Nikto reluctantly opens his mouth.
Josef doesn't shove the spoon into his mouth like Nikto is expecting. Instead he glides the spoon past Nikto's lips smoothly. Feeding him almost gently. Nikto never looks away from Josef's eyes and they never look away from him as Josef gives him the rest of his portion. Not so fast that Nikto feels sick but not slow enough to get on his nerves. The chilli is bland, probably expired, but it fills his belly all the same.
When Nikto is finished eating, he watches Josef lift his spoon to his own mouth and suck it clean. Arousal curls in Nikto's gut against his will. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. Josef licks his lips after and Nikto watches the pink of his tongue with fire roiling through his veins.
“You have pretty eyes,” Josef tells him with a smirk.
Nikto is so surprised that he blinks at the other man in confusion. Then Nikto scoffs.
“Fuck off.”
Josef leans against the table behind him, folding his arms and watching Nikto for a reaction.
“You don't like when I talk sweet to you?”
Nikto scowls behind his mask, “What the fuck do you want from me?”
Josef shrugs, “You're interesting.”
“No, I'm not,” Nikto growls, offended for reasons he can't explain to himself.
Josef chuckles at his insistence, “Well I think you are. Why not join us? We could be good together.”
“I have no interest in becoming a military wannabe with no training who acts like they're any better than a common Raider.”
“Hm,” Josef cocks his head to the side thoughtfully, “Point.”
Nikto is surprised that the other man agrees with him. Considering he's a Gunner and all.
“Come with me then.”
Nikto furrows his brow, “Are you going somewhere?”
“I would,” Josef's stare is intense, “If you went with me.”
“Gunners don't leave,” Nikto scoffs. Everyone knows that no one walks away from the Gunners and lives.
“I have no loyalty here. No one can stop me if I want to go.”
“You sound awfully confident about that,” Nikto can't help but be curious. This man is starting to pique his interest.
“I'd like them to try and stop me,” Josef grins. One of his front teeth is chipped. Nikto wants to lick at it.
This could be the only way for Nikto to escape. Josef is practically handing him his freedom on a platter. The cost being the other man's freedom as well. Nikto has no problem killing Gunners.
“Fine,” Nikto agrees, “You let me go. We kill them all. Then we get out of here.”
“Not all,” Josef insists, “Only the ones that get in our way.”
“Why?”
“I owe a few favors,” Josef says cryptically.
“They will come for you if you leave them alive.”
Josef just shrugs, “Let them.”
Nikto huffs in irritation. The man's aloof nature pisses Nikto off. But it also kind of intrigues him too. He's not what Nikto was expecting when they took him captive. His pessimistic nature means Nikto was anticipating violence, torture, maybe even death. Gunners aren't known for being merciful. Yet the man in front of him has no interest in hurting him. At least not so far.
Nikto tugs on his handcuffs, “Get these off.”
“As long as you don't attack me,” Josef says, “I don't want to have to kill you.”
Nikto snorts, amused at the idea, “You couldn't if you tried.”
“Cute,” Josef teases.
Then he pushes away from the table and approaches Nikto. Instead of moving around Nikto, he stands in front of him. Leaning over so Nikto can feel his body pressed against him. It makes Nikto tense up, makes his breath stutter. He's not used to anyone being close enough to touch him. Undeniably, the heat of the other man feels good. Nikto almost wishes he could enjoy it.
Then the lock of the cuffs click open and Nikto is free.
He rubs at his raw wrists as he watches the other man closely. He doesn't make a move to attack, trusting the tentative allegiance between them.
“Sebastian Krueger,” Josef tells him, eyes dark and glinting with satisfaction.
Nikto frowns, “What?”
“That is my name.”
“The other Gunner, he called you Josef.”
“Ja,” Sebastian leans in like he's whispering a secret, “They don't know my real name. Only you do, now.”
Nikto likes Sebastian better than Josef. It suits the man more anyway.
“Give me my weapons,” Nikto demands.
Sebastian hands them over easily.
“No shooting. Tonight we use our knives. Keep it quiet.”
Nikto nods. He waits while Sebastian finishes his dinner. Then again as Sebastian packs up his belongings into a green duffle bag: clothes, food, ammo, miscellaneous weapons he probably doesn't really need. He leaves the fat man behind even though Nikto wishes he could have fired it at least once.
“Let's go,” Sebastian tells him, slinging his bag across his chest, “While it's dark.”
Nikto nods and follows the other man. They paint their knives with Gunner blood. And escape back into the wasteland.
put Nikto through it now it's Krueger's turn! Read with CAUTION as this story is DARK
https://archiveofourown.org/works/88627636
When Krueger stops responding on comms, Nikto isn't worried. Their comms have been notoriously unreliable lately. Plus Krueger isn't in combat with the rest of them. He's at a sniper post, calling shots and helping the team navigate the maze of buildings they are searching for drugs.
His silence is an inconvenience if anything.
“Krueger's comms must be down,” Syd says exactly what Nikto is thinking.
“It's too risky to keep going without his callouts,” Rodion adds, adjusting his rifle.
Nikto ponders their next move. Rodion is right that they need Krueger to guide them and to watch their six. So with a heavy, put upon sigh, Nikto turns to his teammates.
“We rendezvous at Krueger's position,” he commands, “When we re-establish communication, we finish the mission.”
No one questions him, accepting his orders with a series of tight nods. It takes them a while to backtrack the way they came. And even more time to climb the building Krueger is on the roof of. Nikto expects to find a pissed off Krueger when he opens the door and steps onto the roof. Instead, he finds no one.
The roof is empty save for Krueger's rifle still in position at the ledge. He thinks Krueger perhaps had to take a piss. Only when he approaches the rifle, he notices two things immediately. One, Krueger's comm device is laying on the ground. Two, the helmet and netting Krueger never takes off on a mission is also on the ground, upturned and empty.
“Where is he?” Syd asks, a note of something disturbed in her voice.
Rodion shifts next to her, “I don't like this. Something is wrong.”
That's when Nikto spots Krueger's bloody karambit. He knows the other man would never drop his knife unless he was forced to. That and the blood have Nikto's sharp mind putting the pieces together quickly.
“He's been captured,” Nikto growls.
“Гавно,” Rodion curses under his breath, “What do we do now?”
“Now-” Nikto grunts, adjusting the scope of his rifle and flicking the safety off, “We find him.”
Part 2. Nikto suffers through his vacation. Sebastian is not having a good time either. They both stay horny though.
Part 1:
💬 1 🔁 2 ❤️ 48 · a little snippet of a Krueger/Nikto story I've been working on. I know it's ooc just bear with me ·
“A fucking what?”
To say Nikto is in a bad mood is a vast and borderline ridiculous understatement. His nerves feel visceral, like his skin is peeling away from his very muscles, crawling and curling back off his own meat. He feels like one big, exposed wound. Nikto prides himself on being unbothered by the gruesomeness of the world that most men would have to look away from. Yet this is what sets his teeth on edge and makes his knees weak.
The airport.
His clothes fit wrong. He's wearing jeans. The flimsy cloth mask covering the bottom of his face does little to hide his disfigurement. People stare. He has no weapons on his person save for the blade he's hidden against his ankle.
This was a mistake.
Next to him, Krueger strikes his lighter three times before the flame can withstand the wind and light his cigarette.
Sebastian gives Nikto a curious once over, “You want me to flag down a cab?”
Nikto grits his teeth. Rolls his shoulders. Flexes the stiffness from his hands. Nods.
“Just hurry up. Don't like being their freakshow.”
Sebastian hums out a non-committal noise. “Some were staring at your ass too. You look good in civilian garb.”
Nikto is so surprised by the thought that a tight bark of laughter jumps from his throat.
“Shut the fuck up, Seva.”
Sebastian just shrugs and hails them a cab. The driver greets them with a customer service smile and offers to put their bags in his trunk. They both decline. The man is chatty but Nikto doesn't catch much of what he's saying, leaving that to Sebastian. He does hear the man mention hunting. Judging by their appearance, the man has assumed they're hunters. This cover story suits Nikto just fine.
The hotel they approach is more of a lodge than the sketchy motels they two of them have occasionally visited in the past. The building is massive and made from cut logs. Probably handcrafted. With an air of rustic luxury that doesn't suit Nikto or Krueger at all. The cab pulls up beside the valet. A Bently passes them.
Nikto catches a look of disgust on Sebastian's face and once again asks himself what the fuck he's doing. As they exit the vehicle, Nikto tries to focus on anything other than how utterly wrong all of this feels.
They're only staying two nights. Nikto has endured worse.
As usual, eyes track him across the lobby. He bristles, skin prickling, but forces himself to stay present by breathing intently. No one here is after him; no one knows who they are; no one is trying to kill them. An unusual feeling that is taking some getting used to, admittedly.
At the front desk, the receptionist asks for the name of their reservation without looking up. When Sebastian tells him, the man types into his machine with an apologetic look.
“Oh yes, Doss. I'm afraid there was a problem with your-” and the man finally looks up. Up and up until he meets Nikto's blue eyes, “-reservation.”
“What problem?” Nikto growls.
The man startles a little then lets out a nervous sounding laugh.
“Did I say problem? I meant to say promotion! Your previous reservation was filled so we've promoted you to a suite to make up for any inconvenience.”
Sebastian takes the keys with a lazy smirk.
“How gracious.”
Nikto is fuming. Usually seeing pissants pissing pants brings a sense of joy but right now he just finds it to be annoying. He can tell, though, that Sebastian thinks it's hot. He does love seeing lesser men squirm.
The needling feeling that this promotion is a trap doesn't fade when they enter the suite and nothing happens. Nikto sends Sebastian to search the room while he looks over every nook and cranny as well.
The suite is clean.
Sebastian clicks his tongue when he finally shrugs his jacket off.
“Not bad,” he assesses.
Nikto doesn't respond. There's a living room area with a couch in front of a fireplace. A kitchen with an island. A separate bedroom with a king-sized bed.
Sebastian nudges Nikto with his boot to get his attention.
“There's a jacuzzi.”
Not bad at all.
The night air is brisk. Nikto lounges on the couch in front of the doors open to the outside, watching as Sebastian strips on the suite's porch. Next to him, the jacuzzi bubbles up warm clouds of steamy air that surround Sebastian like a shroud. His skin prickles with goosebumps in the cold and Nikto imagines counting them as his eyes track every bump. He takes a deep drink of the beer in his hand.
“You're a creepy fucker,” Sebastian says like one might say a compliment.
Nikto doesn't deny the accusation.
They've been drinking and the alcohol always hits Nikto harder when he's taking his meds. It has warmed Nikto's senses, made him as relaxed and gooey as he is capable of being. And always quick to take his clothes off when he's been drinking, Sebastian only had two beers before he started stripping. Nikto isn't complaining. He watches as Sebastian steps out of his pants and underwear without blinking, raking his gaze across the other man's skin.
“Want to do body shots?”
“Don't make offers you won't keep.”
Sebastian flashes him a bottle of vodka and a crooked smirk.
“Get in the jacuzzi with me and I will.”
Standing, Nikto lifts his shirt off. He flexes his muscles in a rare show of hubris and watches as Sebastian's gaze darkens. When Nikto wrenches his belt open, he steps outside. His skin prickles in the cool air. The familiar sensation is grounding. His breath leaves his chest in plumes like smoke. Sebastian reaches out his free hand to tuck his fingers into the edge of Nikto's pants and tug Nikto closer. Nikto lets himself be moved into Sebastian's space.
“Me first.”
Then Sebastian is pouring ice cold vodka down Nikto's chest, chasing the cool with the warmth of his mouth. Nikto sucks in a startled breath, muscles jumping, and grabs Sebastian by a handful of blonde hair.
“Bastard,” he grunts but makes no move to stop the other man.
When Sebastian brings his smirking mouth up to meet Nikto's he tastes like hot skin and expensive vodka. Nikto licks into the taste, seeking more. The alcohol burns between their lips. When they part for a breath, Sebastian takes a deep pull straight from the bottle. The next kiss burns even brighter.
Nikto wastes no time getting naked, not bothering with a show like Sebastian. Instead he's shoving his pants down and off with little fanfare. The night may be cold but the air around the jacuzzi is humid making them tacky with sweat. He stays pressed to Sebastian, keeping their sticky skin together. Once fully nude, Nikto crowds Sebastian back against the edge of the jacuzzi. His hand searches out the bottle of vodka so he can steal it from Sebastian's grip.
Finally, Nikto pulls away. He puts just enough space between them to bring the bottle to his own lips. He licks the rim where Sebastian's mouth had been before taking a long drink for himself. It goes down dangerously smooth.
Sebastian hauls himself up and into the jacuzzi then reaches for the bottle. Nikto passes it over so he can climb into the hot tub beside the other man.
The water is warm, the jets tumble the water around the confined space. Nikto's muscles relax in the heat and he leans back against the edge of the jacuzzi with a sigh. He only has three seconds of peace before Sebastian is climbing into his lap.
Sebastian winds his arms around the back of Nikto's neck. He sits on the broad expanse of Nikto's thighs. His eyes pan across Nikto's face. He's not quite drunk but he's drunk enough to be pensive, thoughtful. His searching eyes used to make Nikto nervous, now Nikto only grips Sebastian by his hips and waits.
“Why are we here?” Sebastian eventually asks. A question Nikto knows has been burning in the back of Sebastian's mind.
Nikto is not a man who travels for leisure. He doesn't sit in hot tubs and drink like he doesn't have a care in the world. Nikto has been unpredictable lately. It's unsettling to both men, surely.
At least Nikto knows the reason why.
“I told you,” Nikto lies, “I'm tired of that life.”
“Bullshit. You like this better?” Sebastian's voice is cutting and accusatory, “You hate this shit.”
“I'm enjoying myself,” Nikto lies again, “This is what I want. You didn't have to come.”
Sebastian only glares. Of course he did. They both know that.
Leaning back, Sebastian takes another long drink. Then he spits his mouthful of vodka right into Nikto's face.
Nikto recoils as the alcohol hits his eyes. He's still blinking vodka from his eyelashes when he grabs Sebastian by his throat, shaking him furiously.
“What is your problem?!”
“You!” Sebastian chokes out, “Fucking liar!”
Nikto throws Sebastian off his lap as he wipes the burning liquid from his eyes. Sebastian curses, scrambling to right himself in the warm, bubbling water.
“Asshole! I almost spilled the drink!”
“You're the asshole! Haven't you ever wanted something else? Do you want to die like a dog fighting some other man's war?”
“Is this about my close call in Vondel? I didn't know you cared so much,” Sebastian is mocking him now, “I'm fine. I wasn't dying. You're being a dramatic bitch.”
Nikto is so angry he can't speak. But he also does not want to spend his final days fighting with Sebastian.
“Not everything is about you,” Nikto snaps, “I don't want to die like that. Me. I'm tired of that shit!”
“So this is what you want? We can't do this forever.”
“I won't. For now, can we just enjoy ourselves?”
“So this is, what, a vacation?” Sebastian scoffs.
Nikto knows he has never wanted to take a vacation for the entire time they've known each other. He still doesn't. This entire trip feels wrong. Every second without a rifle in his hand makes him feel twitchy and wrong-footed. He's playing pretend at being a human being. Still, he wants to die on his own terms, even if they don't fit him right.
“Yes,” Nikto decides, “Think of it as a vacation. There will always be work. But I don't want that right now. Can you understand that?”
Sebastian is unsatisfied, Nikto can tell, but he stands down regardless.
They settle on opposite sides of the jacuzzi, passing the bottle of vodka back and forth until they are both good and drunk. Nikto gets there faster than Sebastian but he can see the telltale flush creeping up Sebastian's neck and cheeks, giving away Sebastian's lack of sobriety. Nikto watches Sebastian's eyes as he takes another drink. Sebastian stares at Nikto's mouth, the way it curves lopsided around the opening of the bottle the same way it curves around Sebastian's cock. Nikto knows this is what Sebastian is thinking because he is wracked with the same images when Sebastian follows him and takes a deep drink himself.
This time it is Nikto who climbs over Sebastian's lap. He sits across his slender thighs, crushing him were it not for the water supporting his weight. Sebastian lifts his head, exposing his throat in a gesture that would seem submissive were anyone else doing it. Instead, Sebastian only comes across as confident and smug. Hands cup Nikto's ass, squeezing the muscles greedily.
“Don't fight me,” Nikto commands, “We're on the same side, Seva.”
“I know,” Sebastian growls, petulant, but again he relents to Nikto, allowing him to tilt his head to the side and kiss his neck.
The heat combined with the steamy air is going to Nikto's head. So he uses Sebastian's shoulders to push himself up to his feet. Then he rolls his neck, loosening the tension that always resides there.
“Come on,” he says, offering a hand to Sebastian to help him to his feet as well.
Nikto spreads out on his stomach across the king-sized bed. And Sebastian crawls over his back with intent. Teeth sink into the back of Nikto's neck making Nikto hiss through a clenched jaw. Sebastian is always hornier when he drinks. He can't be too mad at Nikto; if he was they'd be going to bed unsatisfied and silent instead of this.
Nikto stays on his stomach and lets Krueger fuck him punishingly hard. Just the way Nikto likes.
I'm back on my kruegernikto shit. Thinking about how they are so ruthlessly devoted to each other. How they want to rip each other open and step inside each other. How they do that mentally anyway. How they can never be separated lest they lose their fucking minds. How they fuck each other like they're trying to become one another. They're both like yes we are in love and we belong to each other no we're not boyfriends we're literally the end all be all for each other. We will kill each other. We make each other worse. We make each other the best version of our current selves. We are extensions of each other. No longer two beings but one entity. There is no one without the other. Hnnnnnnnggggg
new Krueger/Nikto story just dropped. This one is MESSED UP so please read with caution!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The mission is simple. Clear the mansion of all hostiles and gather any intel they can find. Intel, rumor has it, on Victor Zakhaev.
Krueger watches Nikto carefully. He sees the tension in his shoulders, the restlessness of his fingers, the wide, unblinking stare of his cold, blue eyes. He knows anything that has to do with Zakhaev makes Nikto antsy but also imbued with a fury shocking to anyone who doesn't know the usually controlled man well enough.
They clear the manor with brutal, excessive force. Krueger feels his blood rushing every time Nikto uses his fists to pummel an enemy to death, unrestrained and animalistic. Down a long corridor, they split to search the rooms for intel.
Krueger enters a somewhat boring looking office. There are scattered papers on the desk, written in Russian. He decides to scoop them up. He tucks them into his vest for now. Then turns his attention to the tv across from the desk. There's a cupboard next to it. He pries the door open slowly with the edge of his knife.
Inside is a stack of video tapes, all labeled in Russian. Except one. Just a series of numbers. It takes Krueger a moment to recognize them.
The numbers from Nikto's dog tags.
Krueger slides a curious finger over the edge of the tape. Then he plucks it out from the others, holding it in his hands and contemplating his next move. He hears movement outside the office and makes the split decision to pocket the tape.
“Found intel,” Krueger tells Nikto as he enters, “All in Russian.”
Nikto knows Krueger can't read Russian as well as he speaks it so he doesn't ask. Instead he holds a hand out and Krueger pulls the papers from his vest, passing them over. Nikto looks at them for a moment before tucking them into his own vest.
“Videotapes too,” Krueger continues, nodding toward the cabinet.
Nikto makes an interested noise before approaching. He runs his fingers down the tapes, reading them. A grim look settles into his eyes.
“We'll take them all.”
Krueger doesn't argue. Doesn't mention the secret in his pocket either. Just follows Nikto as they finish the mission.
Because the intel is all in Russian, Krueger is not reviewing it. Sure he speaks Russian well enough but there's much to be decoded and read over. Not that he's complaining. While the others are busy, Krueger tucks himself away in a secluded office on base.
He plugs the small tv and eagerly pushes the tape inside. He's burning with curiosity. Why would the tape have Nikto's dog tag numbers on it? Surely not a coincidence.
Krueger intends to find out.
The screen flickers to life and Krueger immediately knows what he's looking at.
On screen is a young man, black hair, tied to a chair. Arms pulled behind his back and legs tied to each separate leg of the chair, spreading them. His blue eyes practically glow with fury. His face is smooth save for a bruise on his forehead but Krueger would recognize those ice blue eyes anywhere.
Nikto.
This video must be of his torture at Zakhaev's hands.
Hii!! I really like some of your writing, and I was wondering if you'd ever expand on ur fallout KN universe?? I love the idea, and if you don't end up expanding on it, can I steal it from u, respectfully??
feel free. I love the universe but have no intention to add more as of now. I would love to indulge in what you come up with too.
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