Krueger is such a good friend to Nikto that he even holds your legs around Niktoâs waist as heâs trying to fuck you despite your screaming and crying. Just forcing you to take his friendâs cock, helping Nikto pretend that youâre just being coy, that you secretly want him as much as he wants you.
After a while of this, Nikto lets Krueger have his turn with you when he thinks youâve settled down a bit and Krueger is so mean about it. Pulling open your pussy lips just to spit on your hole and rub it in, calling you a nasty unfaithful whore when your cunt twitches at his touch. Asks Nikto if heâs sure he doesnât want a better more well behaved pet, but they both know itâs just poking fun.
warnings: briefly mentioned stalking/kidnapping, sprinkle of dark humor
Post-torture Nikto who has wayyyy too many complexes about his mutilated body to undress or be touched, but who still desires you. So he just watches you masturbate instead. He doesn't touch himself, he barely even movesâevery inch of him is perfectly still, totally covered in black cloth, except for his piercing blue eyes.
The first time he watched you, it was through your bedroom window, and you were entirely unaware. Now, he gets to be in the same room as you, gets to hear your moans and the wet sound of your cunt being fucked by your own fingers. Sometimes, heâll reach out and touch your thigh with his gloved finger, just for a second, but that's the most he ever does.
You definitely expected worse when he kidnapped you and brought you to this remote cabin, but really, once you got over your initial performance anxiety, you realized this new life of yours isn't all that bad.
Nikto, always distant, always cold, always shrugging off the idea of an Omega -especially having one of his own.
Never one to acknowledge questions from other Alpha's, let alone even entertain the idea that someone as damaged as him even stood a chance.
The aftermath of Victor Zakhaev leaving him less than. Broken, scarred and disfigured - a beast hidden by cloth and Kevlar - leaving both his appearance and his scent hidden.
His scent gland had been mutilated anyways, what good would it serve to parade around when he was mistaken for a Beta on several occasions, and worse - an aggressive Omega - on another.
And then you came along, all wide-eyed wonder and saccharin scent that tugged on the loneliness that'd grown roots in between his ribs. He'd told himself you hadn't picked up on him, hadn't given him more than a glance, but you certainly had.
Taking your chances and nuzzling up to the beast and attempting to share your chow with him. Even went as far to ask for sparring matches just to smell more of him.
And eventually he obliged.
Sparring matches went to shared meals, shared meals to shared leave.
And leave found this same beast nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, tongue hesitantly lapping at where your scent gland would be in a profoundly intimate gesture.
"You make it... quieter, solnyshka," He rumbles against the heated skin of your neck, hot air puffing until you get goosebumps.
Nikto fucking you in the hallways of the base, just to prove to you that no one gives a shit about you or the fact that heâs kidnapped you and keeps you on his cock even when you cry ânoâ and âplease stopâ. König comments on how pretty you look when you cry and Roze and Stiletto both take the time to suck and pinch at your nipples. But Krueger? He just unzips his pants and tries to nudge his cock up right against Niktoâs, laughing at the way you cry harder and cling to your kidnapper, begging him not to let Krueger do this to you.
cw: somnophilia, non-con/dub-con, dark content. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+
nikto has a gross form of enjoyment and fulfilment. his pleasure and gratification is shameful and taboo to most, who don't understand his need and strong crave to feel the warmth of your sleeping, tight pussy pulsating around his thick, veiny shaft.
his balls are pressed firmly against your tight rear, grinding himself against you gently. nikto rolls his broad and muscular hips against you, letting out a hearty grunt beside your ear, muttering russian curse words at the throbbing, pounding sensation of your gummy walls clamping down around his weeping dick.
he finds joy in remaining still whilst balls deep inside your cunt. it helps him fall asleep, whilst nikto's roughened fingers rub your hips in soothing circles. perhaps he's a control freak â desperate to be in charge â or maybe, he just yearns for that trust between you two, for you to allow him to have his way with you whilst unconscious and completely defenceless against his corrupted and sadistic needs.
as long as you're completely unaware, nitko sees no issue...
when he's pressing his face against your clothed pussy, you scoot back, gently swatting your hand at him, and tell him that you know what he wants but now isn't the time.
"just wait a few more days!"
"blood does not bother us."
his large hands wrap around your thighs and pull you right back to him, your underwear stripped away before you can dissuade him. there's no chance to protest when his tongue is already lapping at your folds, the pink muscle stained crimson with every pass.
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
Being in Spetsnaz for a couple decades took a lot out of someone, the change of pace to a new unit was supposed to be nice. Calming even. But that went south when Nikto started hearing things, causing him to start taking out presumed innocent military personnel.
Landing him in a high-class prison in Moscow to constantly be watched, and shamed for his decisions.
He was always a trouble maker, getting into fights, stealing from the officers, and sneaking contraband from his old teammates.
Thatâs how he wound up in your office. The nurse who always got stuck taking care of the brut.
Carefully taking his vitals and checking for injury after he got beat down badly by an officer for attacking him.
He had a few broken ribs, bruises, and several deep lacerations. No problem, you could fix him up just fine.
That was what you thought until he started flirting.
âYou know, ĐŒĐžĐ»ŃĐč, you have really soft hands. I like feeling them on my own.â
This was normal, just the classic over flirty patient who thought they would get away with anything with a little smooth talking.
âI miss seeing your beautiful face every day, you know that?â
You chose to ignore how he called you beautiful, you knew you were beautiful. At least thatâs what you told yourself in front of the mirror at 3am.
âMy heart aches every time I part from ĐŒĐŸŃ ĐŽŃĐ°ĐłĐŸŃĐ”ĐœĐœĐ°Ń ĐŽĐ”ĐČĐŸŃĐșĐ°.â
You had absolutely no idea what he was even saying to you, you might be able to read and speak a little Russian but most of the criminals here were skilled in several languages from all across the globe. It was like he knew and was teasing you for not being able to understand him.
âYeah.â You just blindly said the first thing that came to mind. Next thing you knew he was slamming his lips into yours, gripping your scrubs with cuffed hands.
Pulling away and yelling for the guards, they came running in essentially saving you from the enemy like some grand old princess movie.
He was later transferred to another nurse, and put in a higher security area of the facility. Even more than what was his regular.
Eventually weeks passed, nothing short of good behavior for once. He was actually behaving. Maybe the other nurse put him in his place finally!
But that wasnât the case when later at lunch he threw a tray across the room, forcefully landing it on some poor janitors head. As he said âHe wasnât hungry and he didnât want this slop.â
Deep down, he wanted you.
â
Making his way through the cells again after his tantrum he slumped down on his bed. Head in his hands as he thought about you. You were absolutely tearing him apart from the inside, every voice raged to have you. To be yours.
He would do anything you told him, whether that be to actually stop punching people or get down on the floor and lick shit. He would do both just for a chance at your love.
He had a grand idea. The more fights he got in, even if it was gonna make his life hell for longer, was a chance to see you. Act like a weakling and take every hit, get as fucked up as possible without dying.
So he did, the next lunch he slammed a tray over a guy at the table, a little smaller than him but still deadly in looks. Like he could throw a hell of a punch.
Fists swinging, left and right, over and over again until he was left a bloody mess on the floor.
Fuck his tough guy reputation, he needed to see you again.
Wheeled into the nurses station, eyes full of hope and desperation. He was almost in your arms again. As he finally caught a glimpse at you through the doorâs window, your office, his home.
âI missed you so much.â Every word was punctuated with the closing of his throat, tears threatening to fall. He was so madly in love with you that it hurt. Hurt to think about. Hurt to think of you hating him for what he is. Hurt to think of you with someone other than him. Hurt to think of you leaving him here to suffer. Nobody was ever like you, nobody could ever replace you.
â
Surprise was written on your face as those words escaped, had he really truly liked you? Or was this another show?
âMhm, I can see that.â
âDonât you give a damn about me?â The words were spit with venom, agony pouring from his heart. Anger, frustration, hopelessness, and desperation mixed into one depressing cocktail of emotions.
âI care about you.â âThatâs your job.â
âWhat about me.â
You tried to hid the dropping of your gut, the way the room felt three times as small. Sweat dripping down your palms and onto your scrubs clenched in your grasp.
âIâŠIâ itâsâŠIâŠâ A deep sigh escaped your lips. âLookâŠI know this is odd for both of us, but I canât just throw away my job and everything Iâve ever worked for, for your crush.â
â
Crush?
Is that all you thought this was? No. He wasnât crushing, he was demanding. Demanding your love, your support, and your care. He was demanding you.
He finally got had enough. The tight grip of the cuffs, the tears threatening to fall, sweat pouring down his eyebrows, and not to mention the sting of his injuries that couldnât even compare to the sting he felt when you were about to reject him.
He snapped the cuffs in half with a jerk and bust over his knee, he didnât care if he was on jelly legs. He marched over with the grace of a mad bull, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you.
âCanât you see that I love you damn it?! That I wouldnât lay my heart down on a silver platter for you to devour if you so pleased! It feels like youâre actively trying to eat it out of my chest!â
â
Disbelief warped on your face, he was serious.
FuckâŠyou knew he was gonna be trouble when you signed up. And you constantly deflected his advances even if they made your heart flutter. You might have had this tough girl act up, but that doesnât mean thereâs not a weak spot in the armor youâve built so tightly around yourself.
You were gonna regret every minute after this, but you gave him a big kiss. It was heated, all the times heâs pissed you off, made your heart race, and feel as if you could quit the very same day.
After the slow separation, he looked down at you, absolutely stunned and trying to hold back the flood of emotions. Gently holding his face as he sobbed into your hands. Wrapping his arms around you, falling to his knees.
âPleaseâŠI canât be without youâŠdonât leave meâŠlove meâŠwith every last drop of your love. I need it all, everything about you, I need it to live.â
You sighed, just rubbing his hair and whispering sweet words as he cried.
Who knew a big stupid brut could cry like a baby over the woman he loved?
saw you were willing to write nikto, so could you please write him?? Heâs ridiculously underrated :(( </3
â Yandere Headcanons of Nikto
Warnings: Yandere behavior, GN! Reader, unhealthy relationships, coercion, details of stalking & obsession, talks about ADD, paranoia, detailed violence (not towards the reader). Lmk if I missed anything!!
A/N: I may have also gone overboard, but I hope you enjoy âșïž!
Nikto is a highly private guy, you wonât know his feelings till he is straight with you. No sugarcoating words, expressing with full regard that he wants you to be his. Not after following your every trail, ensuring youâre safe. For him. Territorial in every primal desire; wary of the few things he possessesâmainly youâhis paranoia is off the charts for that very reason, often overlooking subtle things. His embrace is possessive, secure but also frankly intimate, his calloused hands tightly shoving you against his chest. Mumbling that youâre his and that he can keep you more than just safe.
Peaceful, are the first few words he comes to when his mind bobbles around you. Before you caught his eye, he was desensitized. Like a crated and battered dog, stuck in one place with no stimulation. But you? Oh, youâre like the rodent he begins to fixate on.
Watching you move outside his cage, almost entertaining him. Teasing him. Beginning to drool at the single thought of smelling youâ perhaps tasting you, if youâd allow it.
The moment you accept to be his, his mind is already pursued. It wasnât a subtle, welcoming, or slow startâitâs fast, and sudden. Surely acting on pure instinct and addiction.
From the start, Nikto is uncomfortably admiring you. You can feel his harrowing gaze against the back of your head. Everything in your body responds to, signaling that danger is nearby. Yet, you never end up finding him, or the said danger the second you turn around. Itâs as if he is one within the shadows and playing tricks. Teasing you.
But, in reality, heâs waiting for the perfect time. The best situation playing possible. A place where he wants to be seen and noticed by you.
He hates how you make him feel. How much he learns to love you. It makes him weakâuncontrollable, irate, while losing any type of control he strives to have. The voices in his head eat away at him, screaming that heâs losing his grip. Yet, youâre something he canât grasp. It makes him fixate. Care. And caring, in his world, gets you killed. Slaughtered. But he canât help it. He keeps coming back, every time.
He wants to be gruff when he interacts with you. Mean and ignorant, surely rude when you nudge an elbow to his. Still, every time he inhales your aroma, he canât help but perk his head when he hears your voice. Holding a soft, moonless gaze that only he lets you experience.
Youâre the first person who makes him laughâreally laugh, low and rare. Have him simper under his mask, complacent that you feel content, even if blood stains his very wide palms.
In that, he doesnât just simply end up loving you, but he studies you; blue irises follow your every move if you two are close comrades. Watching how you dust off dirt, annoyed that your socks are soaked. Just how your brows furrow when sweat drips down, whipping them away with gentle force. Reloading your guns with such haste and eased fingers. The way your jaw cracks, pops in a certain pitch at the teasing remarks of other compatriots. Or gritting your teeth when gum smacks around the room. Everything.
If youâre a civilian, itâs increasingly specific. More intolerable. Eyeing the way of how deep you breathe in before exhaling. Following your vocabulary and how you stutter in certain instances, watching how you pronounce words with your tongue. Knowing which way your eyes move when you lie. And which direction you prefer to stir the utensil with, and how you eat your food first. Even your nail shapes, and the cubicles, knowing exactly how you trim them; everything is fully memorized.
Occasionally, some of the things are confessed in tiny bits. He already knows you like that specific genre of books, even if you hadnât mentioned it before. Yes, he knows how difficult it is to order that type of fabric onlineâ anyway, here it is on the table. Using the excuse that the item was accidentally sent to his address. In passing, you mentioned a specific craving, and now itâs on your bed nicely wrapped.
You become Niktoâs center. His harbor. The very person who calms his raging voices, compulsive violent acts, and full dependence on solitary. You stall any impulsive plans of killing. Revenging. Because no, that wouldnât please you. Even if he dreams of decorating your initials into something.
And in response, he approaches you when the time is right. Diligent enough to know how youâll react in full confidence. Items collected in his pockets to share. Still, at the end of the day, he is a straightforward man, approaching you to ask you on a date. Of course, having you ignore the blaring red flags of him knowing just about everything about you; when in contrast, you donât even know his last name, or his very face.
Once you accept him, the true him, the chances of leaving, escaping, are unfeasible.
Nikto learns to be soft with you. Itâs unknown territory and it makes him anxious. Swamped by confusing emotions. Yet, heâs so touch-starved that he doesnât even know he is, till you touch him. It doesnât even have to be something big, a touch as little as interlocking your pinkies or squeezing his shoulder has him freezing. Like his entire nervous system short-circuited. Eventually, within days, Nikto melts into your embrace. Craving it like a beast to his prey.
His weight, stirring touches, and head nudges certainly suffocate you. If he could and chose to, heâd live inside your skin. Sharing the same beating muscle, so he can know even more about you.
And in every way, he has to be as close as possible, scooting adjacent to you on the couch. Knees grazing against each other, nudging occasionally. If you move even an inch, his fingers chase after you, roughly tangling them back together.
Though, flopping on top of you, trapping you to the bed, is a huge favorite of his. Heâs so warm and hefty, acting exactly like a weighted blanket. Itâs madly comfortable.
But after a long shower or a hot, itchy day out in the sun, youâll be begging for him to get off. Except, the excuses you yell out, rarely work. Barely registering in his ears to even consider moving. And even then, youâre only allowed one bathroom break for the whole night.
Kisses at the start are awkward, thatâs for sure. Nikto would use his head to kiss, nudging it like a cat. Smudging cheek to cheek, bonking heads when you were upset. But, the main issue was his mask. Sure, itâs a part of him, and quite personal. Yet, you are too.
There are many reasons why itâs on, and not very good ones to have it off. Having you touch his scarred neck, barely grazing against the fabric he wears, has him tensed. Nervous. His mind whispers to push you off. But, Nikto doesnât threaten to moveâeyes following your caressing, letting his shoulders relaxâjust allowing you to see his full vulnerability. His face is just as striking as youâd ever imagine. Once you touch his rough cheeks, flushed with a low color, his lips never plan on leaving you.
Nikto has a massive stading problem. At best, itâs a hobby.
Itâs never been subtle, always been admittedly challenging in a way. Eyes never leaving yours when you ramble on through the grocery aisles. Gawking at you while eating dinner, blinking every few minutes, humming in agreement. Itâs weird. Surely freaky the first few times you look over, finding his blue orbs already looking vacantly in your direction. Heâs shameless about it, eitherâ purely admiring you, just looking at you with a deep, drilling gaze. Itâs especially scary at night.
He always favors you on top of him, using him as a mattress. Preferably naked when itâs a rough week, tiring afternoon, or bothersome night. It isnât sexual. Simply feeling the difference in your skin, following the rhythm of your beating heart, and breathing into your weight is more than comforting. Grounding. His hands fidget with anything he can get his hands on, squeezing and pinching your limbs till he finally lures himself off to sleep.
But, if during the day everything feels too much, heâll ask for your nails. Staring at them with an awed, quiet gawk, and practically begging for you to scratch at his naked back. Just about anywhere that he can feel a sharp sensation. Doing it roughly has him groaning, exhaling soft grumbles, and raspy jokes passed by. Inside jokes are just as deemed.
Even if it leaves deep, long red, and raised lines, he still asks for more. Loving to look at it in the mirror later, refusing to cover them in any ointment. Your markings will always be his favorite.
â
Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!
Dressing up in your costume, you could barely contain your excitement. Your love for Halloween was over the blood moon! The fascination with all things creepy crawly, and not to mention that black skull bowl you were dying to get for your kitchen table.
Finishing up what was by far your best costume ever, you applied a ruby red lipstick. Puckering your lips in the mirror, looking frighteningly gorgeous.
Grabbing your white blood splattered trick-or-treating bag, cause who knows after the Scare-Zone you might just go score some free candy. So what if youâre an adult, fun has no age limit as they say.
As you walked through the streets seeing all kinds of costumes you couldnât help but wave to a couple really cool ones. Feeling the bright red lights burn into your skin as you made your way to the event.
You paid for your ticket, got some spider-sliders and made your way into the zone where you went through a few different stages and areas. Not admitting the fact you felt your heart stop with a guy in a pig butcher costume came up behind you.
Sitting down on the bench as you took a breather, you seen a man in a mask in the far corner. Just observing. You thought he was a scare-actor so the reasonable reaction would be to wave at him, trying to brighten up his night!
But to your surprise when he stalked over, with something that looked an awful lot like ropes. You felt your heart stop and a ring in your ears. You bolted out of the event and down the street, not getting very far after you ducked into the woods.
He was right on your heels right before you tripped over a root, grabbing you and tying your hands. âThe way you waved at us, it made us quiet. It was peaceful. We need you.â
You couldnât form a sentence as this Russian man had bound your wrists, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration and a hint of desperation.
âYou will be ours, da?â
You felt a burst of laughter rise in your throat but you suppressed it, fearing a little too much for your life to find any humor in this situation.
His hand grazed your cheek. âPlease.â
âUhâ what?â
He looked as if he was about to either snap or cry, you didnât know which. That wasâ until he threw you over his shoulder, taking you deeper into the woods. And he came out at a run down apartment, taking you up the stairs as if you were weightless.
He laid you on the floor, just admiring you. âYou are pretty.â
âThank youâŠ?â
A couple hours passed as nothing happened but him staring at you, the hour of trick-or-treating had arrived and you seen a couple kids from outside the fifth-story window. A frown on your face, you were so looking forward to trick-or-treating!
He immediately noticed, he had stuffed your bag into his pocket without you noticing since it didnât have anything in it and was mostly air.
âYou want to join the children on the door steps of strangers?â
You had to hold back an eye roll at the absurdity of his statement, âDoor steps of strangersâ as if he hadnât kidnapped you!
You couldnât help but nod, maybe you could escape if you got the chance. But right as you thought that, there was a rope around your neck. A leash for him to guide you from house to house like a blackbird.
Drug from house to house with bound hands holding a bag of candy and a rope tightly around your throat, as he explains every time how itâs part of the costume.
This was what your parents always warned you about, more than the drugged candy. The down-right unstable on the âDay of Evilâ.
They were right.
Now, youâre bound to be his, you wish you wouldâve listened.
But heâs sure youâll be a perfect little blackbird.
A/N: I thought it would be cute to do a Halloween theme instead of my usual blue theme also I had a lot of fun with this one ngl, I LOVE Halloween!!đâ°ïž
Finding a good price for a hitman nowadays was hard.
You contemplated hiring some random crackhead off the street for a couple hundred bucks, but you were a little worried it might track back to you. That's how you found yourself at some shady bar on the south side of town at 1 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday.
Some of your friends were telling you that you're acting dramatic, to just get over the fact that your boyfriend had cheated on you. Take some time and heal from the hurt. But this was your way of healing.
It was dingy and dirty inside the bar. The cheap paint was peeling off the walls already, the scent of booze that's probably moonshine, and cigarettes was like a haze assaulting your poor senses and stinging your eyes, and there were creeps everywhere crawling around like maggots. But one man in this establishment was different apparently.
You slid into the booth with a stranger, his face fully covered with a mask except for his overly intense blue eyes that had an almost empty gaze which came off quite threatening and a little chilly. And the fact that he was built like a brick house wasn't making you feel any better.
"you have the money for us?"
Nikto's voice sounded like he smoked a pack a day, like he needed a cold glass of water to soothe that rough, deep voice of his. You fumbled with the money, your hands a little bit clammy from the nerves getting to you.
"We will charge you half price, just because you are pretty." He grunts as he waves his large, scarred hand at you dismissively, only taking half of the cash. How could he ever say no to such a sweet little thing like you, even in a stupid circumstance like this.
That was all the conversation led to. He left moments later, disappearing like a ghost in the night as if he was never here in the first place. You felt a little silly, maybe he'd just scammed you pretty bad, adding insult to injury about the whole boyfriend situation.
That was the thought process until he showed up at your door a few weeks later. Nikto could never leave a sweet girl like you hanging, he needed to inform you personally that he'd completed the job. He couldn't help himself, the voices in his head all bickering with one another, anger and hatred, possessiveness and obsession splitting his skull in two before it all went hush when you opened the door.
Nikto was standing a little too close for your comfort, staring at you for far too long to be considered normal. He's much scarier in the daytime, big broad shoulders taking up far too much space in your doorframe while he used his burly body to push his way inside your cozy home, brushing off his touches as 'just passin by' when his huge scarred hand finds itself dangerously low on your back.
"We took pictures, just for you, ĐŃĐ±ĐžĐŒĐ°Ń" Nikto grunts, voice rough as ever and tinged with a thick russian accent. He pulls out his wallet to show you, which you politely decline, feeling a bit squeamish at seeing a dead body, even if it was your fault.
"Anyone else? We'll do it for free, two for one deal. It's exclusive, just for you." He murmurs, and instead of stepping back, he seems to lean into your space more. Nikto can't let you leave, the voices finally quieted when you were around.
This was the tradeoff of hiring a cheap hitman, you were stuck to him like a magnet, his heavy clothed cock now pressing against your hip, his hands squeezing at your plush hips. You couldn't deny that his low, growly voice coaxed out a certain warmth in your tummy that you know shouldn't be there.
Maybe your head isn't screwed on straight. You should be afraid of him and running for the hills, not flustered and getting a little bit horny because of the way his voices sounds. You weren't very good at being subtle when you thighs clenched together, trying to shuffle away from him, but nothing is safe from Nikto's vigilant eyes, he notices.
Nikto isn't the nice and helpful hitman you think he is. The reality of the situation sits in your chest like a stone when his heavy hand curls around your nape, holding you in place for him so he can rut against you, the heavy musky scent on his clothes impossible to ignore.
I guess the hitman service wasn't half priced after all. Maybe if you let Nikto bully his fat cock into you and fill you with his thick seed, he'll get rid you that annoying boss of your's next :)
.Ëâč. àŁȘđž àŁȘâčË.
a/n: for the one person that wanted Nikto, this is for u
Nikto who has a staring problem, constantly burning holes into you. Skull, eyes, throat, hips.
Nikto who can find you in the most crowded of rooms, never once losing sight of his wife.
Nikto who knew you didnât have a clue of who he was, but he knew everything about you.
Nikto who would be around just a little too much for it to be coincidental.
Nikto who would love seeing the look on your face when you couldnât find a lost item, knowing he had stashed it away in his barracks.
Nikto who had a whole shrine dedicated to you, pictures he snuck with what could only be described as special ops precision.
Nikto who kept your old pocket knife with the heart you dug into the handle of it, your favorite pig squishy keychain off your personal bag, and most importantly a pair of your black underwear he stole from you during showers. All placed neatly on the shrine.
â cw/tw: 18+ | Hybrid AU; dead dove:do not eat; established relationship; pet play; smut; mommy kink; dom/sub elements; power imbalance; dehumanization; (wc: 3.4k)
Please note that this is part of Kinktober. Some things are not tagged to avoid spoilers. Read at own risk .á
Nikto sits stiffly in the cheap metal chair in front of the commanderâs office; his spine rigid, hands resting on his knees, his right leg twitching occasionally while he supresses the urge to move his legs restlessly.Â
Weâve been a bad dog. Mama will be disappointed.Â
Broke a more promising rookieâs nose when the idiot tugged on his tail for a dare. Shouldnât have done it, they know. His knuckles are still throbbing from the impact of bone crushing underneath his hand; itâs merely a reminder of his disobedience. The pain deserved. Always deserved.Â
The thudding of boots on concrete floor echoes through the hallway, causing his ears to perk up under his masks, steel blue eyes flickering anxiously as he ducks his head in submission and shame. That rhythm, the confidence accompanying it well known.Â
âNikto,â you singâsong sweetly as you come to stand in front of him, black leather leash clutched in one hand, though he doesnât dare to lift his gaze yet. âCommand told me what youâve done.âÂ
His head sinks even lower at your calm tone, the shame of his actions filling his chest and constricting his heart. He knows that voice all too well; hates to feel the disappointment radiating from you. Â
Ears twitching under the mask, Nikto keeps his head bowed low. His bruised fingers curl slightly against his knees as he struggles to maintain stillness.Â
âWeâre... bad dog,â he mutters in that rough voice of his, the Russian accent thickening with shame. âWe take punishment. Deserve it.â And he risks a quick glance up at you through his lashes before dropping his gaze againâthose glossy, bright blue eyes full of anxious devotion.Â
âMama angry?â The question comes out smaller than intended, like a kicked puppy seeking reassurance even while bracing for discipline.Â
You hum softly, as if pondering the answer, as you crouch down in front of him, studying his rigid form. His muscles are tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap, and even though he keeps his gaze averted, you know heâs acutely aware of your every movement.Â
âAngry isnât quite the right word,â you finally reply, your tone firm but laced with the slightest hint of understanding. Youâre close enough to see the subtle shiver that runs through his broad shoulders. âDisappointed,â you continue coolly.Â
And with that, you attach the leash to the spikey collar around his clothed neck; giving it a little tug as you rise to your feet again.Â
âIâm taking you home early today. My poor pup is overstimulated.âÂ
Niktoâs breath hitches as the leash clicks into placeâthe sound triggering an immediate, instinctual reaction. His shoulders slump slightly in surrender, but his body remains tense, buzzing with restless energy beneath the surface. He swallows hard at your words, shame coiling tighter in his gut. Disappointed. Worse than anger; worse than punishment. Mama doesnât waste disappointment on things that donât matter.Â
We matter to her.Â
âDa,â he rasps quietly, obediently rising to his feet when you tug the leash, but not without a flicker of defiance in those sharp blue eyes. Always testing limits, even now; even when he knows better. His gloved fingers twitch at his sides before clenching into fists again.Â
He follows a step behind you like a shadow as you lead him out of HQ and toward your car, grey tail stiff and unmoving behind himâno happy wagging this time. Only silent shame and coiled frustration. The recruits they pass donât dare to look or utter any remark, keeping it to themselves for later.Â
âWill be good,â he mumbles after too long a silence between strides on pavement underfootâa rare unprompted attempt at reassurance from someone usually so tightâlipped unless spoken to first or given direct orders by superiorsâor his handler. Mama.Â
An unspoken plea hidden beneath gruff tonesâplease still love us anyway.Â
You hum in acknowledgment of his words, nothing more.Â
The silence thickens without response, and Nikto falls quiet again. No praise, no reassurance, only the rhythmic click of boots on floor and the gentle tugging of the leash. Â
Reach the parking lot, the black SUV with tinted windows comes into view. You unlock the passenger side, opening it quietly before guiding the leashed Nikto towards it. He doesnât resist, climbing in like the wellâtrained dog heâs been conditioned to be by youâfor you.Â
He fidgets in the seat, unable to keep still as you slip into the driverâs seat and the truck roars to life, his knuckles turning white as he grips his knees.Â
The mercenary base, from where KorTac operates, is small in relation to a proper military base, and it doesnât take long to reach the barracks where your private quarters are located; more secluded and comfortable, thanks to your rank and achievements.Â
The truck slows to a stop in front of the private quarters in the barracks, the area shielded by rows of trees and shrubsâadding a measure of quiet privacy. Â
After killing the engine, silence fills the cabin, broken only by the low hum of the cooling engine. Nikto remains silent, sitting stiffly, hands clenched tightly on his lap. No more fidgets or restless movements; simply tense stillness. Waiting for further instructions or a sign of what to expect. Â
In the enclosed space, even his breathing seems too heavy, too loud. Anxiety prickles under his marred skin, mixing with anticipation.Â
You speak without looking at him, âWhen we go inside, I want you to strip naked, change your tail and wait inside your kennel until I get you. If you want to act like a beast, you will be put in a cage. Understood?âÂ
The words settle between you like a physical weightâno room for argument or hesitation in your tone, just immediate obedience no matter what you demand of him. The obedient part of him thrums with perverse relief at being given direct instructions. No ambiguity. No room for failure.Â
âDa, mama,â he rasps, voice rougher than usual from disuse during the drive. His throat works around a swallow as he forces his tense muscles to unlock just enough to reach for the door handle.Â
His posture remains rigid even as you exit the vehicle, trailing obediently behind on the leash with measured steps (not too fast to seem eager; not too slow to appear reluctant). Â
Nikto waits just inside the threshold of your shared quarters while you remove your boots and jacketâtail always stiff and unmovingâuntil finally given silent permission to move further inside by your absent wave toward his designated corner inside your bedroom, where a dog bed is tucked inside a lockable crate, an empty water bowl resting next to it.Â
And then without another word exchanged between handler and hound: Nikto begins to strip off the tail harness around his hips along with his gear efficiently until left fully naked.Â
He puts his gear and masks away, secures the collar back around his scarred neck and slips a fresh and lubed up tailed plug up his unprepped ass, right where it belongs, all while keeping a straight face at the pinching stretch.Â
And once heâs done, he resignedly crawls into the crate meant for creatures much smaller than himself but built sturdy enough to hold him regardless.Â
Here he knows exactly what is expected of him without question or hesitation needed after all these years of ruthless conditioning, all of it now ingrained deep into the very marrow of his bones forever, even before he got handed over into your care. Â
And with a deep, rough sigh, Nikto allows himself to let his heavy eyelids fall shut.Â
Time stretches and distorts in the cramped, silent space, leaving him to the mercy of nothing more than his own anxious imagination. Â
Nikto keeps track of time through your bedroom window, watching the daylight fade as the sun begins to set, and no sound from the outside world to fill the silence. Just the steady beat of his own heart, the sound of his own breathing. Â
Just once, you enter the room to make him hydrate and tend to his bruised knuckles before vanishing again.Â
He keeps track of the secondsâminutesâby his pulseâs steady rhythm, each beat a reminder of his continued heartbeat and your expected return. Eventually, the sound of the bedroom door cracking open again breaks the silence, and his pointed ears prick up with an anticipation and yearning he canât quell.Â
The sudden scent of cooked meat wafting through the room makes his stomach grumble and his nose twitch.Â
âI cooked dinner,â you announce all chipperly. âYouâve been such a good boy, despite your little slipâup today.âÂ
Niktoâs breath hitches at the praiseâsuch simple words from anyone else will never have this much power over him, yet they send warmth curling low in his belly coming from you. His calloused fingers flex against his dog bed as he lifts his head just slightly, ears twitching with tentative hope as he grinds his teeth.   Â
His mouth waters with saliva, but he knows better than to react too eagerly. Instead, he keeps himself stillâexcept for the slightest involuntary wag of that damned tail plug betraying his anticipation as he shifts slightly.Â
When you approach with his metal dinner bowl, setting it down just outside the kennel door with deliberate slowness, Nikto canât help but lean forward ever so slightlyâonly to freeze when you make a small, disapproving tsk sound and pull it back an inch out of reach. A test. Always testing him.Â
His throat works around a swallow, his gaze lowered, before he manages to choke: âMay good boy... eat now?â  Â
The question comes out hesitant and painfully earnest beneath its gruffnessâlike some halfâferal creature begging for scraps while still bracing for rejection despite your prior praise.Â
Your stern facade drops a bit at his tentative question and when you reach out to brush your fingers along his scarred, cleanâshaven jawline, his whole skin pebbles with a wave of goosebumps, and you can clearly hear his breath stuttering in his chest.Â
âYes, you may, Nikto,â you coo with permission. âMy sweet pup.âÂ
That cruel dichotomy of adoration and humiliation twists in his gut like a sharpened combat knife as he shuffles forward on his knees towards the bowl. His movements are deliberate, controlled despite the hunger gnawing at him, refusing to let himself appear desperate even when every muscle in his body trembles with it.  Â
The first bite of steak is slowâmechanicalâchewed thoroughly before swallowing despite how ravenous he truly is; teeth tearing through mediumâare flesh, its juices dripping down his chin through a split in his bottom lip. His hands curl carefully around the edges of the bowl to keep it steady rather than lifting it to his mouth like a proper human would; too conditioned now for anything else but this. Â
A dogâs posture for its meal from its masterâs hand; too aware that itâs not a pretty sight to watch his disfigured face eat, and yet mama watches anyway.Â
When you reach down absentmindedly to stroke one of his cropped, mutilated ears, Nikto canât help but let out an embarrassing little noiseâsomething between a sigh and quiet whine vibrating low in his throat against better judgment. Â
And then, worse yet: when you murmur another soft praise in Russian to him, heat rushes up over what remains of his ravaged face so quickly he nearly chokes on another bite halfway through chewing. His back arches, his ass clenches around the pluck nestled snug between his cheeks, and his cut cock gives a valiant twitch, hanging flaccid between his thighs.Â
Shame curls tighter inside him alongside something far more dangerous: relief tangled up with sickening devotion coiling deep under his ribs where shame cannot quite reach him anymore, no matter how hard either one claws futilely towards surface light nowadays.Â
There might still be a few bruises later after dinner if mama decides they still need punishing for what they did todayâbut right now? Â
Right now, there is only this, where warmth fills the hollow spaces behind his breastbone while your elegant fingertips continue to card through his shorn, black hair until the bowl empties completely without any further incident or disobedience.Â
With the bowl finally empty, Nikto remains on his hands and knees, head bowed low and eyes closed as his breath comes in short, shuddering gasps. The faint tremors in his hands reveal the effort it takes to hold himself still despite the overwhelming mix of humiliation and warmth that floods his senses. Â
When you finally remove your hand from his hair, he almost whimpers at the lost contact, his head automatically tilting to follow your touch like some desperate puppy craving attention. He swallows heavily, throat working to push down a moan that threatens to leave him in a pathetic whine of âSpasibo, mamaâ.Â
âSuch good manners,â you remark as you take the now empty bowl away again. âYouâre welcome. Now follow me.âÂ
The command is spoken softly yet it leaves no room for questions. Heâs been staying in his crate for too long and needs to stretch his limbs, relax his musclesâan operator with lumbago is useless for duty, and youâre supposed to make sure heâs fully functioning.Â
âIâll give you a treat.âÂ
His spine straightens immediately with renewed attentiveness; throat bobbing around another hard swallowâunable to fully suppress the small, eager whine that slips past his lips at the promise of reward. Â
Slowly, Nikto crawls out from the kennel on all foursâmuscles stiff from hours spent in confinement but moving smoothly regardless; trained too well to complain or hesitate for even a second when you call for him.  Â
He pads after you obediently, the fluffy grey tail sways behind him; still naked and collared for you.Â
âA treat for... us?â Nikto asks cautiously, his voice rougher than intended around syllables tripping clumsily off his tongue like some halfâferal thing finally learning human speech. He keeps his head lowered just enough so that you cannot see those greyishâblue eyes alight with hope beneath heavy brows. Â
Sprawled out on his back on the couch, he gazes up at you with a dazed expression.Â
Some bad American horror movie is playing on the flat TV mounted on the opposite wall, one he isnât even paying attention toâand how can he when youâre currently stroking his oiledâup cock with one hand so sensually, almost leisurely, while sitting on his face. Â
His muscles are lax and pliantâthe tension from the long, drawnâout day finally seeping away, leaving him almost boneless in a way heâd never allow himself outside your quarters. He feels sluggish, drugged. In a good way.Â
Niktoâs hands rest lightly at your hips, his touch a reverent caress rather than a demanding grip as he pants against your thigh; eyes fluttering shut under your skilful ministrations. The scent of your supple skin and the sounds of panting breaths fill the air between you, broken only by the occasional soft moan low in your throat.Â
You are utterly intoxicating. Perfect.Â
Nikto can barely think straight, all thought centred solely on his need to please you. Heâll do anything. Anything at all, including this, regardless of what dignity he might have left.Â
âPlease.â His request comes out on the edge of a whimper, âPlease, mama. Let usâlet us make you feel good.âÂ
âWell, go ahead then and eat your treat like a good pup,â you purr, giving his weeping tip a gentle squeeze before rubbing the pad of your thumb along his sensitive, pinkish frenulum.Â
And his entire bulk tenses like a bowstring pulled tautâevery muscle locking up in shock before going liquid again under your hands. His hips twitch forward instinctively, seeking more of that mindânumbing friction as his breath comes in ragged pants through parted lips.Â
His brain shortâcircuits for a moment, blue eyes fogging with painful and raw level of devotion and hunger.Â
âDaâyes, mamaââ he chokes out, voice hoarse and broken as he immediately leans forward to press reverent, openâmouthed kisses along your inner thigh before nuzzling closer between them with desperate urgency.Â
And then, Nikto laps at your bare slit with single-minded focusâlike the wellâtrained hound he isâbroad shoulders trembling beneath your touch while his own neglected cock throbs and drools precum in your featherlight grasp.Â
Despite the lack of space and the proximity, Nikto manages to manoeuvre his tongue in ways that would be physically improbable if he werenât so incredibly eager and desperate to please you. His nose is pressed deep into the mound of your pubic bones, taking in your musk, your taste. Â
Nothing but a puppet, a tool, a mere extension of your will. Every part of him, mind, body, and soul have been twisted into what you want it to beâmoulded and reshaped until heâs no longer human. Just a dog. Just your dog.Â
Until you tell him to be something else.Â
It helps to keep the nightmares and demon at bay.Â
Your back arches as you writhe above him, thighs trembling as they bracket his head.Â
Thin, scarred lips suckle on your swollen clit with a low growl while his hips slowly thrust up into your grip. His body burnsâevery nerve, every scar and mutilated inch of flesh alight with the kind of primal, unthinking need that drowns out everything else. His cock aches in your grip, his tongue laps up every sinful sound you make like a starving man given a feast after years of famine. Â
But despite the intensity of his own pleasure threatening to consume him whole at any moment, he never forgets who is in control here. Â
His mouth continues to worship between your thighs even as tears prickle at the corners of his eyes; even as his vision blurs and white spots dance behind closed lids when those delicate fingers of yours finally tighten around him just right.Â
Nikto will always be desperate to prove himself worthy enough for mamaâs affection (or punishment) regardless of what form it takes today or tomorrow or next week if they survive long enough together.Â
And when you finally come undone with a string of shaky moans, breathless strings of curses and praises in Russian while your clit twitches underneath his flicking tongue, Nikto swallows down every slick drop offered to him like a rare ambrosia before he muffles his own guttural groans against your puffy cunt as his thick cock spills a milky load of cum all over your hand until it dribbles and stains his own pale stomach.Â
His ass clenches around the plug when you continue to stroke his softening length, and Nikto collapses back against the couch with a ragged gasp, spent and boneless. His cheeks flush deep red, streaked with tears that trail down his ravaged face. His broad chest heaves with exertion. He looks utterly debauched. Ruined. Like a dog thatâs gone wild on its favourite toy, and judging by the trembling muscles and heaving breaths, it was the best kind of ruin you allowed him.Â
When you reach out now to slowly stroke back some of his cropped hair, he nuzzles into your touch with all the desperate affection of an abandoned mutt, eyes fluttering shut with a rough sigh.Â
âDid... we please you, mama?âÂ
After a long moment of silence, you hum affirmingly and shift slightly above him and finally move off his lap. He watches you through halfâlidded eyes as you wipe your hand clean on his stomach before settling beside him on the couch. His tail twitches slightly when your fingers trace idle patterns over his collarboneâa silent request for closeness that he leans into without hesitation.Â
âAnd donât ever forget, mama is the only one who can ever love a dog like you, hm?âÂ
A shudder rips through Nikto at your wordsâthe cruel truth of them burrowing under his skin like barbed wire. His chest constricts painfully, breath hitching for the briefest moment before he forces himself to relax again, obediently tilting his head to expose more of his throat to your wandering fingers.Â
âDa,â he rasps, voice rough with submission and something darkerâsomething fractured and desperate. âOnly mama knows how to love broken things like us.âÂ
Nikto hasn't been able to smell almost after the torture. His nose as been completely fried since then. If he can smell something, it's either because it's extremely potent, or his nose is right into it.
So days like this were is favorites. Days when you had gone to bed too late, opting not to shower, and wake up to oppressive heat and high humidity. You hadn't even moved yet that your skin was cover in a thing sheen of sweat. Beads of it rolling between your shoulder blades and down your back as you stand up. And yet, the colonel still decided to run exhausting drills. Exercise after exercise, leaving you drenched in sweat and sore everywhere. And when you finally got dismissed, you didn't even got anywhere near close to the showers before Nikto tackled you to the ground.
What were you going to do about it? Fight him off when you were so tired you could only barely walk? Not a chance. So you just let him shove his masked face against your sticky skin and grind against you like the dog he is. You know it probably wont be long before the mask is taken off and pants get pushed down.
You just hope he will still let you shower today...
Based on @unsociableraccoon's story, Nobodyâs Home. It's a great story and I suggest you read it. It will be set after y/n runs away from the cabin.
Nikto x reader
trigger warning: kidnapping, dubcon/noncon, Nikto being an ass, poorly written DID character, bad Russian translation, domestic abuse, exhibitionism
How many days has it been? It's been getting hard to sleep out here. I'm worried that I'll fall asleep in the snow and never wake up. Would anyone even find my body? What am I thinking? Who would ever find the dacha in the middle of the fucking Russian wilderness? There's nothing I can do but keep moving.
I walk through the lowest part of the snow. I don't have boots and my feet are cold. The more I walk, the more doubt fills my head. Did I do the right thing? Surely I did. I mean, he did kidnap me and raped me...I think...I mean, I did ask him to do it. And the dacha was warm, at least compared to out here. And I didn't have to survive off of random forest berries.
I pause as I realize it's gotten quiet. Too quiet. My arms tighten around the cat instinctively. What if there's a bear? I walk faster, not bothering to quiet my steps in the snow. Maybe if I make sounds, it will go away. What's the saying again? Black fight back, brown play dead. Is that right? Or is it the other way around? I don't care. I need to leave. Quickly. My steps quicken, it feels like I'm running. My lungs start to burn from the cold air.
Crunch
What was that? I stop in my tracks and look around. I spun my head around, trying to see anything. All I could see was snow and trees for miles. I must be going crazy. I shake my head and continue walking. If I keep walking, I'm bound to get somewhere eventually.
I let out a gasp as I feel a sharp pain in my chest. My arms fall, and I drop the cat. It runs away as I unzip my coat and look at my shirt. Shit! That fucking creature scratched up my shirt. I look under my shirt and see the small lines on my chest turning bright red. Great. Just fucking great. I zip my coat up and look at the tiny pawprints in the snow. I sigh and start to follow them.
I follow the pawprints, hoping to find where the stupid cat went. I can't just let it die out here. How far did it even go?
Suddenly, something springs from the trees. My scream dies in my throat as it grabs me from behind. Its big arms wrap around my body, one keeping my arms down as the other grabs my neck. Not tight enough to choke me, but enough to send a warning. I can't fight back. All I can do is look forward as my breath quickens.
"ĐŃ ŃŃĐșĐ°". Growls a low, dangerous voice. My blood runs cold. No. I slowly turn my head to look up at the person and see the familiar mask. "N-nikto?"
"Quiet". It's not a request, it's a command. "You trader. You left us. Bad Đ¶Đ”ĐœĐ°". His hand on my throat gets tighter.
"Nikto please, I'm sorry."
"ĐœĐ”Ń! You're not sorry." I cry out as he shoves me onto the ground, the snow doing little to soften the fall. I try to get up, but he grabs the back of my throat and pushes me back down.
"Đ¶Đ”ĐœĐ° shouldn't hurt ĐŒŃжŃŃ. But you are a smart girl. If only you were smart enough."
I can hear him let out a small chuckle on top of me. He grabs the hem of my pants and I freeze. "ĐœĐ”Ń!" It doesn't matter. He pulls my pants down roughly and I hear a ripping sound. I shiver as the cold air and snow hits my bare legs.
"Don't worry, we'll teach you how to be a good Đ¶Đ”ĐœĐ° again". I can hear his clothes rustling behind me before he lets go of my neck. I try to crawl away, but he grabs my hip tightly, bringing me back. His other hand rests in the snow next to my head. I feel his cock start to rub on my folds before he slams all the way inside me with a grunt. I let out a choked scream before the hand in the snow reaches up and covers my mouth.
There's a man in the corner, and his name is Nobody. He tells you when you ask, his body hunched and still as you approach. The only part of him that moves are his eyes, crystalline blue and so pale they're almost translucent. The way he looks at you makes your stomach churn. You do not like this Nobody. You turn and run.
The man behind you in the hall is named Nobody, and he needs your help. He's trapped here, he tells you. Trapped here the same way you are. You step towards him, hand outstretched, but something is wrong - he's too still, his light eyes too eager, too hungry. It chills you to the bone, revulsion ice in your veins. You turn on your heel and run.
The man in the doorway tells you his name is Nobody. He tells you that he's yours, that you're fighting your way out of here together. His words are sweet, full of love, but the cadence is off, unnatural and stilted. His head tilts, and the angle is wrong. His eyes glow in the half light, a predator's eyeshine that tells the animal part of your brain to flee. So, you do.
The writing on wall looks like yours, and it says there's a man called Nobody hunting you. Not a man - a creature. He can't move while you're watching him, and you forget him when you look away. It tells you that you've been running for a long time, running from him. When you turn to look behind, the writing disappears.
There's a man standing next to you, holding your hand and telling you your name is Nobody. He's caressing your cheek like a lover, pulling you close to stare into his eyes. They're a lovely shade of blue.
