The kind where devotion borders on obsession, where love isn't just tender—it's consuming.
"I'd do anything for you, love," he murmurs, voice smooth, unwavering. "Anything you desire, and it's yours."
And the other doesn't hesitate, voice laced with something raw, something desperate.
"I want her to split me open—dig her fingers into my ribs and pry them apart. To hold my heart in her hands, feel the pulse of it against her palms, my blood staining her skin. I want her to pick my bones clean, crack them open, suck the marrow dry. I want to be ruined by her, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of her name on what's left of my tongue."
Because love, when it’s deep enough, is a hunger—one that begs to be fed.
You didn't know what to expect from the transfer to KorTac, from what Laswell said there were mostly betas with the exception of two alphas: Konig and Nikto. Except for the fact that after being captured and tortured Nikto's scent glands ended up so severely damaged due to acid burns that he doesn't have a smell anymore. Losing one's scent was equal to losing a part of your identity, you still had your scent at least, not that you were able to feel anything, but the knowledge of its existence was a small comfort. After being discharged you remember frantically looking through your closet in the hopes of finding anything that might make you smell something familiar, but it was no use. That night you laid in bed rubbing your scent glands raw in the hopes that maybe just for a moment you might feel something. You had to stop when the medic threatened to patch them off completely.
There was some talk around the base about Price and the other contesting your transfer, you don't know if it was true and at that point didn't really care anymore. Johnny tried making one last attempt to try and talk to you, but you screamed at him to get away from you. It's hard to say if your outburst or the sight of the destroyed nest was what made him go away. You spend the next few weeks in a state of hypervigilance, not trusting your instincts anymore, instead obsessively checking for microexpressions, nervous tics or tone changes everytime you have to talk with someone. It is stressful and exhausting, but it's the only way to put your mind at ease.
The first thing you feel when meeting KorTac is panic, they're all wearing some kind of masks, the one called Horangi even has sunglasses on. The introduction goes really awkward and you debate if it's too soon to contact Laswell again or if you should just hand in your resignation and save her the paperwork. But then things start going in another direction when they invite you for a movie night as a bonding activity. Which goes surprisingly well, watching Konig cook while scolding Horangi everytime he catches him snacking on ingredients and when he sneaks you a couple of pieces of carrots while winking conspirationally you can't help but smile a little.
There's a silent understanding between you and Nikto, he's the first to sense any small change in your behaviour, always somewhere close. This time there's always one of them watching your back and nobody is left behind. You see the 141 a few more times when the two tasks need to collaborate and anytime one of them tried talking to you one of your teamates, usually Horangi, would just wisk you away to try another of Konig's recipes. You lost count to how many staring contest Ghost and Nikto had, none of them saying anything, not blinking, you're not sure if half the time they were even breathing.
When Gaz's foot gets stucked under a piece of concrete when the wall collapses you're the first person to arrive there and by the time Price and Soap get there you're half carrying Gaz out of the building. Right before the medic takes him away he asks why did you do that to which you answer simply:
"I'm not gonna let people get hurt because of personal grudges."
There's a shadow of shame falling over their faces, but you're already going back with Nikto to the base, Price's raised hand remains still for a moment, the words on the tip of his tongue, but you're already gone.
You start a treatment to slowly regain your sense of smell, but the process is tedious and frustrating, the medication tastes terrible and sometimes it makes you nauseous. You're not sure when the guys start carrying candy around with them so you always have a sweet treat right after the last pill. Konig even brings some fancy chocolate that Horangi tries to steal from only half of the time, none of them ever gets the last piece, instead presenting it to you like some kind of prize.
After a mission that almost goes wrong, you wake up in the infirmary, your teamates sitting around on uncomfortable chairs, rising up at the first sign you're conscious. Despite his severe social anxiety Konig takes off his mask, his hands holding your face and encouraging you to look him in the eyes so you know he's not lying. Nikto brings your hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating eratically:
now some oc writers are using the “x reader” tag and giving the excuse that “it’s just a different perspective.” it doesn’t matter if you use that tag IF YOU’RE NOT INCLUDING THE READER! YOU have your own tag, leave us alone.
the “x reader” tag exists so that readers of any background, appearance, or identity can immerse themselves in a story and feel included as the main character.
when you write a story centered around your own original character, with a defined name, personality, and often a specific appearance, you’re no longer inviting the reader to step into that role, you’re writing about your character, not the reader. that’s completely fine! writing oc content is valid and has its own space.
but misusing the “x reader” tag to gain visibility or clicks is misleading. it sets the wrong expectations and excludes readers who were looking for stories where they could truly see themselves in the narrative. if your story focuses on your oc, label it honestly.
use the “oc x canon” tag or “original character” there’s no shame in that. but please stop co-opting a space that’s meant to be inclusive and flexible for all readers, especially those who are often underrepresented in fiction. the “x reader” tag is not a blank slate for oc projection.
it’s meant to include everyone, not just your creative vision.
respect your audience. tag responsibly.
NOTE: writing in another point of view like “SHE/HE went to the market” instead of “YOU went to the market” does not count as “x reader.”
(not 100% but most of the time) don’t try to be clever or sneaky about it.
NOTE 2: by the way, regarding the second image, it’s great to see more asian, black, and mixed oc’s! but even so, that still doesn’t make it a reader insert, let alone fit the tag. the reader needs to be the main character.
yall ever think about fucking niktos arms, just grinding over his scars and feeling every groove. the dry skin uncomfortable yet stimulating, gasping when your senses dip into every harshly cut and stitched together piece of skin.
something about hearing nikto coo when you cum all over his meaty arm, the other one coming up to pat you like you're nothing but a silly pet. eyes digging through you and like nowhere at all, just happy to be of use to you. like you're each others pet. if that makes sense
I don’t think Nikto is necessarily the one night stand guy - but let’s say you manage to snag the silent and stoney man at the corner of your local dive. Narrowed blue eyes watched you all night, barely blinking, so you finally build up the courage to say hi.
One heavy hand pressing on the nape of your neck, driving his hips home at a pace that leaves you drooling on his starched white sheets. Wrings more than one orgasm out of you before he finishes, probably the best pussy feasting (he doesn’t just eat) you’ve ever experienced.
Dark chest hair damp with sweat, a gold crucifix nestled between his pecs. He doesn’t talk much, but you’d bet he made a deal with the devil because that tongue used in other contexts is nothing short of sinful.
Before you leave, he insists on breakfast. The teapot gets topped up several times as you try and sidle out - but it feels impolite to leave him with a brew on the go.
Then you’re shown the shelving unit he built, the neatly repaired trellis in the garden that props up bloody, crimson roses. It’s almost as if he’s flexing on you, like the performance of a lifetime he gave you last night was just the warm up.
Next you’re given a tour of the broad beans in fat, green pods, right beside the berry bushes he tells you will be sweet enough for jam.
When, finally, you’re almost at the door, he checks his Rolex and tells you it’s almost dinner time. You may as well stay, he has homegrown potatoes for supper.
Shocked when the deadbolt is put on the door? Don’t be. He’s a man with many enemies. Besides, you can’t make the journey home on an empty stomach.
Let him fill your cunt one more time heh?! You may as well. Don’t mind Krueger either, he just likes to watch.
Request some delicious Nikto based links. Know that man fucks likea madman. Full on mating press, mouth to neck leaving bites drool, going at till he is the one overstimulated. Feel like he is in second place after konig for the most mess. Also see em as a munch with a preference from behind or with em upside down face shoved to is lap/choking on his cock.
nasty nikto 🔪 (🌽 link)
alternative link (bsky)
there are some words that become too small to encapsulate the essence of a person. especially if that person is built-like-a-tank nikto, war criminal nikto, rough-around-the-edges nikto. everything is too small for him.
that's why saying that he fucks nasty doesn't do him justice. it's better to say he fucks filthy. his built frame pinning you against the soft bed. hands bunching up the bedsheets under you as you brace for his madman-like fucking.
only the loud plaping of skin, your moans, and his groans can be heard in that room. hands roughly grabbing your hips, making yo change from prone bone to doggy. his hand finding your hair an pulling on it slightly, making you arch your back.
slumping forwards from how good he's fucking you when he lets go of your hair. hand sitting on your ass to guide you back, making you meet his deep harsh thrusts. walls pulsing around him as he beging to lick every crevice of skin he can and marking you until he makes a mess out of your body.
you look so pretty when your head is empty and you pussy is full
