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ShittyBF!König x F!Reader

ShittyBF!König who, whilst not necessarily having any malicious intent, gets his first ever girlfriend and doesn't know what to do with her

((CW: F!Reader, NS//FW Content, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Invasion of Privacy, Yandere Behavior))

Complaining about ShittyBF!König to your friends, telling them all about how despite being your perfect man in terms of appearance, physique and performance in bed, he consistently manages to drop the ball when it comes to taking care of his sweet little girlfriend's emotional well-being

ShittyBF!König who is always too focused on his pretty maus's soft thighs and even softer tits to pay any attention when she tries to tell him about her day or talk about whats on her mind

ShittyBF!König who distracts his baby when she starts prattling on about work drama and her annoying boss by sliding one large, calloused hand up her shirt, his fingertips running over her ribs and grazing the underside of her breast, moving up to cup the malleable flesh in his palm and squeezing it gently, whilst his other hand grips your thigh just beneath your ass, pulling you into his broad lap

ShittyBF!König who stopped taking you out to restaurants and outdoor activities on dates because you always shove him off of you and get pissy when he tries to initiate intimacy in public

ShittyBF!König who just can't help himself when you're around, Maus, you're just so pretty and soft and he's never had a woman outside his family be so sweet to him before, let alone a woman as gorgeous and charming as you

ShittyBF!König who had never felt the touch of a woman before meeting you, always too focused on his job to try go out and pick someone up, his poor social skills and imposing demeanor not helping the situation at all

They say not to give a dog food if you don't want it pawing at you and begging you for more, and ShittyBF!König is no exception, always eager and willing to dive face first between your legs for another taste of his favourite treat (besides, that's just how dogs like him say hello)

ShittyBF!König who doesn't know how he got lucky enough to not only cross paths, but secure a committed relationship with someone so far out of his league, but regardless decides to thank you multiple times a day, every single day, by pleasuring you so good that your legs go numb and your brain turns to mush

ShittyBF!König who knows he's not the most romantic guy, but thinks he can make up for it by handing you his black card and telling you to get whatever you want

(He's made so much money in his many years of being the best at what he does, but he's not really a materialistic guy by any means and has never really had anything to spend it on, until you that is. Now he suddenly wants to drain his accounts dry adorning you in pretty clothes and shiny jewelry, torn between wanting to parade you around town and show you off and wanting to keep you locked away somewhere safe for his eyes only)

ShittyBF!König who doesn't notice you stopped bothering to maintain an emotional connection with a man who doesn't listen when you speak and only seems to value you for your body, leading you to give up trying to initiate conversation anymore

Receiving horrified looks from your friends when you tell them about how you and ShittyBF!König haven't spoken a word to one another outside of dirty talk, sexting and coordinating times to meet up (and fuck, obviously)

Its not ShittyBF!König's fault that he doesn't always remember what you have and haven't said out-loud to him when he goes through your messages late at night after he's fucked you unconscious, reading about the events of your day through conversations with your besties

ShittyBF!König who initially only began going through your phone to ensure no men were encroaching in on his girl and jeopardizing the perfect life he had going on, but always ends up with his hand pressed over his mouth to stop his laughter from waking you from your well deserved rest when he reads the banter between you and your friends and all of the hilarious memes you send them, his cheeks warm and pink when he thinks about how fortunate he is to have found a woman who has an amazing sense of humour and wonderful personality on top of having the most attractive face and body he's ever had the blessing of seeing

God knows he's never done anything to deserve this good karma-

ShittyBF!König who's good mood comes crashing down, having to put your phone down momentarily to prevent himself from crushing the device in his powerful grip, hands shaking in anger when he see's the messages you sent the group chat about how underwhelming and disappointing you find your relationship, refering to him as "less of a boyfriend and more of a glorified friends-with-benefits, but without the friend part" and "a dildo with a bank account-"

(Okay, that last one would have stroked his ego a bit and made him giggle if he weren't already so livid)

ShittyBF!König knew those friends of yours were no good, putting silly ideas into your naive little head, telling you that you're too good for him, not to settle for less then you deserve, stop wasting your time on a man that doesn't appreciate you-

(Don't they know how obsessed with you he is? How much he adores every thing about you? That he would die for you? That he would kill for you? That he already has of course not! They don't know anything about your relationship! They don't know that the two of you are endgame-)

ShittyBF!König who's blood runs cold when he see's your message telling them that you're only keeping him around as long as he makes himself convenient, that the moment you start having to put in more effort then the sex is worth, you'll leave him without hesitation

ShittyBF!König who knows damn well that you are not going to leave him. That's simply not an option, Liebling. He is the man you will spend the rest of your life with, the man you will die with-

ShittyBF!König who knows that his precious little girlfriend has just gotten a bit confused, but that's okay, luckily she has a big, strong husband boyfriend to unjumble all those stupid, nonsensical thoughts and remind her of who she belongs to

(Got a bit longer then I expected, thinking of making a Part 2 about Reader trying to break up with König.)

Nikto x Reader Angst Drabble

You love Nikto. But Nikto does not love anybody.

Word count: 829

Allusions to smut! Readers are warned for mentions of NSFW.

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"I do not love you."

You're bent over, hands clutching the bedsheets, fingers bunching up the fabric in a shaky, white-knuckle grip.

Nikto, who had been thrusting into you, was still, as still as a statue, and, although you cannot see his eyes, you imagine them to be stony, the expression under the metal mesh plate of a mask stoic, unresponsive. Disgusted.

Five words. Just five single syllables, whispered in a voice that is hoarse from groaning, gravelly and rough like always. A voice which belongs to Nikto, the voice that you had hopelessly fallen in love with, despite how reckless of you it was for you to grow accustomed to it, to be comforted by it. To find solace in it.

You hadn't meant to let it slip. You really hadn't. It was in the heat of the moment, even though those feelings were anything but. Those feelings were a fire, and Nikto the fuel, a finite source that you should have known better than to extract from.

He would be gone for weeks, for nights, months at a time, deployed on missions with intel classified to you. You never knew what would happen, what was the goal, where, and why. What you would know is that Nikto survived each time.

And what you do know is that you're a toy for him to be used, abused, and reused, dumping weeks' worth of semen into you.

You enjoyed it. Nikto enjoyed it. Really, it was meant to be no strings attached — just a case of arriving at your apartment when least expected, the intensity of his gaze enough for you to realise his intentions, and you'd be bent over the nearest surface before you could do so much as blink, clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor and half-naked.

Nikto did not exert warmth. Not comfort, nor love. Stoic and stone-cold, his heart a hard rock incapable of oozing love for anything, his mind irreversibly damaged and traumatised, he was incapable of emotion, of feelings. Incapable of reciprocating your feelings.

Aftercare was nonexistent. Every careful caress of his scarred skin, every tentative touch on an area that is sensitive, even the merest of kisses that appeared too intimate, too affectionate, too full of care, were swatted, spat on, and chastised. Nikto's nose scrunched in utter disgust at the prospect of intimacy, and he positively felt sick to his stomach whenever you mistakenly kissed him, too lost in the moment for the consequences of such a mindless action to register.

You were meant to be a toy. And that's all you are. That's all you are, you repeated, was reiterated, was reinforced.

Yet, you longed for more. How fucking pathetic of you to think that Nikto could offer you more.

"I..."

Licking your dry lips, you swallow the build-up of saliva in your mouth, throat bobbing up and down as you do so. Although drool had collected at the corner of your mouth in pleasure, saliva built up from guilt, from shame, from humiliation.

You lie through the skin of your teeth, thankful that your facial expression isn't visible to Nikto from this position: "I— I-I didn't mean it in... in that way. You— you know that, Nikto."

Tears collect in your eyes. Why couldn't you have contented yourself with the sex? His presence? His existence? Why did you have to fall in love with a man who would never, ever love you?

"I meant— I meant I love what you're doing. W-what you're doing to me. J-just— it feels so, so good."

He grunts in acknowledgement, and you gulp a little too audibly for your liking, blinking profusely in the hope that you convinced him enough.

His callous fingers tangle themselves in your hair, fingertips scratching your scalp — not fingernails, because some are missing. It never warranted an explanation because you didn't deserve one.

The silence is deafening. For those seconds, you don't dare breathe. Your eyes are wide, panic-stricken, and you're mentally praying for any salvation, for any mercy — anything.

Finally, Nikto's grip on your scalp loosens, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and he resumes his thrusts, grunting into your ear again.

A quiet moan escapes your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears to go away.

"Good," he laughs, laughing a cruel, callous laugh, apathetic. "And I love it when you keep that mouth shut. So keep it shut, or I'll cut that tongue out if you keep letting such shit leave that goddamn mouth."

You feel so pathetic. So ashamed. So humiliated.

And you are. You really are.

But you can savour his touch for a few moments more, lose yourself in the pleasure for a some more thrusts, orgasm some more, until Nikto decides that he is satisfied, and abandons your apartment to return to the barracks.

And who knows? Maybe this is the last time he will ever come back to you — abandon your apartment forever without a word of goodbye.

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Haven't written in a while, but this came to me as I was on c.ai, and the inspiration was so strong that I wrote this all in one sitting lolol 😝

Still obsessed w Nikto behind the scenes. I am on my KNEES 🛐, PLEASE GIVE ME MORE NIKTO CONTENT I AM IN NEED 😭🙏😭🙏😭🙏 IDC IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW ME OR KNOW ME TAG ME IN ANYTHING I NEED IT SO BAD 😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏

Anyways although this isn't my headcanon, it suits Nikto's character, and as tragic it is for me to imagine this, it's pretty accurate (I would say)... 🥲💔

I'm undecided as to whether or not Nikto would ever show his lover (you) his face willingly — and if so, how he would go about it... 😟❤️‍🩹

I'm torn between him putting it off as long as he can put it off for, so paranoid by the prospect that the sight of his mangled face will repulse you, that it becomes a phobia that his traumatised mind justifies.

Nikto valued you over anything, and should the sight of his face — irreversibly disfigured and ugly — look utterly repulsive and nauseating to you, it would devastate him.

So, with that said, perhaps Nikto would wear the mask always, parting with it never, ever, and refuse to be seen without the reinforced plastic mask strapped tight to his thick skill — with a black balaclava beneath just for safe measure. Only when you'd be soundly asleep would he brush his teeth and wash his face, cursing silently in Russian at the hideous face that stared back at him in the mirror. A stranger who he couldn't recognise.

I doubt he'd be able to raise this with you, and I headcanon that you would feel sheepish to ask. At this rate, he would never, ever take off the mask, for as long as he could help it. And any glimpse of his profile would have been on accident, and a secret that you'd keep to yourself. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never sneak a peek behind the rare door left ajar, closing it quietly for Nikto before he realised his mishap.

Or, Nikto, considered the nobody, no one worthy of your love, thinks that if his stoic personality and traumatised self haven't done enough to drive you away from him, surely the fact that he is an ugly brute ought to do so? Surely you'd come to terms with how he doesn't deserve you, and that you deserve better? Deserve better than a shell of the man that he once was?

Because you were too good to be true. There was no reality in which a sweet little one like you would love this repugnant, disfigured face, even if his dick — miraculously in one piece — satisfied you and the scarred tissue after chemical burns and scars on his body alone weren't a sore sight to begin with. He didn't deserve someone so lovely, so loving, the epitome of beauty. The complete contrast of him.

So, thinking, “Fuck it”, having convinced himself that you'll inevitably leave when you see the face he keeps hidden from view anyways, he rationalises his impulsive action as not prolonging the inevitable. As not getting his hopes up and letting himself be disappointed later when he won't be able to imagine his life without you.

Maybe Nikto would impulsively discard the mask on the ceramic sink after a shower, and exit the bathroom nonchalantly, his expression emotionless and unreadable to conceal the inner turmoil and hurricane of emotions like a whirlwind in his mind, silently awaiting your approval. Maybe Nikto would surprise you by having you in his arms after a long deployment, and catch you off-guard by his face, laid bare for you to see and criticise. Maybe Nikto would ask you to help him paint his eyes with black warpaint, pretending to need help, when in reality it was simply an excuse and a test. To see if his face would shock you.

In any case, whatever the case, Nikto would feign indifference, appearing uncaring, when he was internally in turmoil, a violent storm of emotions like a whirlwind in his mind.

Were you repulsed? Did the scar tissue from chemical burns on one side of his face disgust you? Did that lifted lip — cut when he was tortured — resembling an animal’s snarl make you visibly cringe? Was the hooked nose that had been broken so many times that it was permanently off-center and deformed, the root of his snoring and inability to breathe, make you grimace? What about his crooked teeth? His thin, cracked lips? Those stained, out-of-shape teeth really that bad to look at? The bald patches of closely-cropped, prematurely grey hair on his scalp that would never regrow a full head of hair? The sunken cheeks? The hollow eyes? The slight concave to his jawline?

He noticed the initial wince, the reaction that came instinctively, which hurt regardless, even after having had braced himself for that grimace.

Bozhe. Stop looking at him with sympathy with those earnest eyes. Don't pity him. Don't pity him. Don't pity him.

Yet, when your eyes wouldn't linger on any specific aspect of his face, and you would offer him a smile that reached your eyes, the stormclouds would calm, and the intrusive thoughts slowly dissipate.

TL:DR, either Nikto will never show his face to his lover, or will do so impulsively.

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A/N

Couldn't sleep, so I decided to brainstorm Nikto drabbles 😍😍❣️❣️❣️

My neighbour wouldn't stfu. GOD I hate my street!!!!! 😡😡😡👊👊✊👊👊✊💥💥💥💥💥🥊🥊🥊🥊 (and Linda!!!!!! )

The description of Nikto's face is a compilation of my own headcanons. 🥹 (I want to kiss him SO BAD 😣💔💔💔)

This was going to go in another direction, but I have another Nikto work coming after I realised that I could write a separate ficlet 🤭✨✨

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

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I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

God... I absolutely adore this fanfiction. My words won't do it justice. Please, please, PLEASE read it!!!!!!!!!!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 💞💓💞💓💞💜💜💝💜💞💕🛐🛐🛐

OP this BEGINNING??? HELLO??? I knew as soon as I finished the first paragraph that this work would be a masterpiece. 🥹💖

Calling Nikto's alters "demons" which are "neatly packaged inside of a human body" as if it's convenient for something so supposedly monstrous to take human form is AN AMAZING METAPHOR OMG because it suggests that Nikto became possessed — he is a Nobody because his soul was stolen by Zakhaev, and is No-one as the alters wage war amongst themselves. But it's clear that despite the voices which terrorise and haunt him, he has retained some self-awareness and humanity, since he is able to recognise that although his voices are uncontrollable, he's still the one in control, and can resist them. For Reader's sake.

And MAAAN LET ME TELL YOU AAAHEUHDSAAAAAHDJDSAAAASBDHSBSAASAAAADHHDSJAJSJSJDHDHDHDJSJAISNEISNSHSHDHDHDHDIDJDIDJSKAOSKDKD

That's it. That's what I'm telling you. 😊💞

NAH BUT HOLY FUCKING SHIT NOT EVEN ¼ IN AND THIS IS MAGNIFICENT!!! A MASTERPIECE!!! A WORK OF ART!!! A BLESSING TO THE EYES!!! AND IT ONLY KEEPS GETTING BETTER??? 1?1?@??#???😭😭😭💞💞💞💞💞

LIKE, THE PARAGRAPH WHERE READER IS "CHATTING" TO NIKTO AND IT EVENTUALLY CONCLUDES WITH A RUSHED, EMBARRASSED GOODBYE? THE EXTENDED METAPHOR FOR DEMONS AND CERBERUS?? READER'S INITIAL OBLIVIOUSNESS???

And then the abrupt POV change. I was eating Nikto's perspective UP!!!!!

"Wants you for himself, to himself. None of this we."

"None of this sharing. They didn't want to share, so why should he."

"But which Nikto? Which we?"

+ This entire paragraph had me like:

NIKTO GENUINELY UNDERSTANDS THAT HE IS NO GOOD TO READER AND HE DISTANCES HIMSELF FOR THEIR SAKE. IT'S SUCH A CLASSIC TROPE OF "I'M STAYING AWAY TO KEEP YOU SAFE" BUT IT WORKS SO SO SO WELL HERE!!!

AND THE IMPLIED CONTRAST BETWEEN READER AS THIS BEAUTIFUL ANGELIC BEING VS. NIKTO AND HIS DEMONS OMFGFHDHSJDHDDFSJS IM GONMA GO FWRAL 😭😭😭

"Because he wants you. And he's going to have you. And they all agree, and for the first time, everything feels like it's in unison."

I ASCENDED AND WENT TO HEAVEN

Everything about this is just so poetic: Nikto's violence and how both cathartic and euphoric it is; "Ghost becoming a ghost", and becoming the no-one that Nikto had become — with the exception of having no body, which has become mutilated in Nikto's hot white rage; Nikto taking Ghost's mask to wound the TF141 for daring to capture Reader and abuse them in such a way, which is a heinous crime in Nikto's eyes.

"[Nikto] stuffs the cracked skull mask into his pocket, an insult to the rest of the other man's comrades more than keeping a war trophy..." AND IT IS!!! AND THIS ENTIRE SCENE IS HORRIFIC. HORRIFIC. SIMON RILEY HAS SUFFERED, AND GHOST HAS SUFFERED TWICE AS MUCH, UNTIL HE WAS BRUTALLY MURDERED BY NIKTO HERE. I CAN EMPHASISE WITH TF141 BECAUSE THEY WOULD BE DEVASTATED. COMPLETELY DEVASTATED. 😭😭😭💔💔💔

...Yet from Nikto's POV, Ghost's brutal murder is justifiable??? It's horrific, but to Nikto, it's so euphoric, so satisfying, that as the reader, you almost feel that same sick sense of satisfaction to rip and tear Ghost to pieces.

Again, this is horrific. But I LOVE IT. I LOVE YOUR DEPICTION OF IT.

"And when he finally slides home, they slide into you, too. They slam their hips into you greedily, and you welcome it all."

"One and the same. Nikto. A saint, his halo casting crowns around him when the sunlight filters through the crooked blinds, highlighting the crooked nose and smile and the beauty of him all, inside and out. You wish he could go on forever."

"And when he finally slides home" I CAN'T MAN OP THIS IS TOO MUCH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

PLEASW THE CYCLICAL STRUCTURE ONLY INSTEAD OF REFERRING TO NIKTO AS POSSESSED BY RELENTLESS DEMONS AND MONSTER HE IS READER'S SAVIOUR AND AN ANGEL AND I JUST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL THIS IS ABSOLUTELY THE PINNACLE OF BEAUTY THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTION BECAUSE IT IS LIKE A BLESSING FROM THE HEAVENS 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐💜💜💜💜💜💓💓💓💓💓💝💝💝💝💝💞💓💞💓💓💓💓💓💓💕💕💞💞💞💞💞💓💞💓💞💓💕💓💕💕💕💓💓💓💓💓💜💕💜💕💝💓💝💕💕💞💕💜💓💜💓💜💕💜💕💞💞💕💝💕💝💕💕💞💕💝💕💝💕💞💞🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

все: Nikto x Female Reader

They want you. Would you want them as much as him?

TW// minors dni, sexual content, violence/combat gore, crass language, Nikto's acute dissociative disorder, female reader being delulu, "female reader gets injured and Nikto snaps" trope, RIP Ghost my dude got killed here

oOo

They say KorTac keeps a live demon in its cage.

Well, multiple demons. Live ones. But they're all packaged neatly inside a physical body that apparently belongs to a human male. Its name, his name, is Nikto.

Nobody. Must just be his callsign, albeit an interesting one, because how can someone be called a nobody, to be okay with being considered a nobody. Your mama's not really keen on you being in some private militia, but you grew up with her putting stickers on your chore chart and telling you that she loved you, that you mattered, to make sure you ate three meals a day and went to bed on time. Daddy helped you move into your dorm, fixed your car, did dad-daughter hangout sessions. You had your friends, your pets. With how fucked up everyone was in KorTac, you're still sure that through all of the psychological messes and broken bones, they still had people, things, that they cared about, and were cared for in turn. Even the unbearable Konig is called Kilgore by Horangi, Zeus is ever the gentleman with everyone, and grumpy Mr. Oz is rubbing off on you.

But the demon seems to be okay with it. A nobody. But also a host to an open maw to hell, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake, with each of its faces chittering in hunger and fascination at their carnage. Many stay away as the default option. Dokkaebi says not to bother him. But your worst and best trait is your unending curiosity, and that childlike need to understand the good in everyone, so maybe that's why you ended up as a medic, and a damned good one at that. Even carried colorful animal bandages and candy to cheer someone up. Cerberus was a three-headed demon, but it was still three cute dogs, at the end of the day, right?

And that's why you do the exact opposite. You jog up to him the times he's spotted on base. Ask him how was dinner? Introduce yourself, blab about why you joined and your favorite ice cream flavors, the weather, and if he had a good day today. Did you know that Phillip Graves can't even microwave leftover pizza and got the hot explosion all over Darnell, and how boring it was sometimes when you weren't aligned to a squad? That you liked his flight suit and his helmet and heywhereareyougoingohuhhaveaniceday!

Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, because you were a sucker for love. A real sucker, a loser, falling for a man who looked at you through the slits of his mask as if you were a bug at the bottom of his shoe. Real smart of you. Couldn't heed any of the warnings about how the horde of demons in the fleshsuit wanted to be left alone, that they conversed with themselves only, and would rip and tear if anyone got too close. Eat away at your soft flesh and your bright eyes and your unnerving habit to smile and wave each time. That you became the hound, as if you wanted to be Cerberus' fourth head. Couldn't go anywhere without making sure you saw him at least once, begging for a glance back. Out here picking at petals like doeshelovemehedoesn'tlovemedoeshelovemehedoesn'tlovemeohhelovesmehelovesmetooforsure!!!; mad delusional just because you keep a notepad decorated with motivational sayings, and Nikto never swatted you away when you trailed behind on his heels.

You're weird; a freak. But you're happy. You hope maybe he he likes you, too, somewhat. Time passes, and he spares you five more minutes to swing your feet around at the latest gossip. Tucks one of your lollipops in his pocket, even. Strides past you into the helo, still, when he's signed to a new deal, but it's a work in progress.

Maybe?

You hope he never finds the framed picture of you smiling and Mr. Friendly photoshopped in next to you.

Hey, a girl can dream.

oOo

They like you.

We want her. We wantherwewanther.

And that was the issue.

Bring her to us. Yes, bring her. Bring her and don't let her out.

They don't want to let you out. And the bigger issue is, he doesn't want to let you out. They want you to themselves, but the Nikto that he considers to be his true self, wants you first. Wants you more. Wants you all to himself, with no crumbs left to spare, like a greedy child hiding his gift in the dirt. All for himself, because since the incident, when the fuck did he have his own mind for himself, haunted by all of him or the fractured bits of him that took on their own compartments in his head. They hunger, just like him, feel pain, fester, kill like him, speak like him, tell him he's diseased but not; some laugh, some cower, some want blood and flesh and bone, and some want to help. They laugh, and he laughs; they don't laugh, he laughs, and when he can't muster a bark, they laugh and scamper around his skull like echoes offering sinister judgement. But all the same, they remain trapped with him in this body, and sometimes, he realizes that it's just him, but when dawn comes, it's back to thousands of souls tearing at him to go hunt.

Killkillkillkillkillwehunger.

She looked lovely today, and you didn't tell her hello, you coward. Don't mess this up.

We need to sleep. We are tired.

Wants you for himself, to himself. None of this we. None of this sharing. They didn't want to share, so why should he. But which Nikto? Which we? Garbled, confused, hungry, fevered; don't ever let you catch him slip a candid picture of you out of his wallet before he goes to kill, to look upon it and let his eyes droop and his body soften. They dance in his mind; they croon at your face and form enclosed in laminate, because he didn't want the photo to ever be marred, as if a single fleck of dirt would render you dirty. The softness of your neatly tucked hair; the uniform did your body no justice, each curve and dip he soldered into his, no, their, memories; the face that invariably was ready to sport a cheeky smile. Different than them. A misfit. Beautiful.

Not like him. Not like them. We. Greedy, selfish, scarred, ugly inside and out. His mind was fractured, but the electricity and the taunting actions of man marring his flesh both didn't detract from his sins before and after.

He wanted you, and that was why he couldn't have you. Couldn't let them have you. Because once he gave in, once he let the floodgates open, to unleash ever single facet upon your form, you'd hate him. Really hate him, so he had to hate you first. Pushed you away starting from that day; no more animal bandages and your sweet candies. No more listening to your voice that he'd spill blood for to hear for a second. No more cheery hellos. The curve of your lips that beckoned him to give it all up, to grab your hand and run off together like some delusional fairy tale his babushka used to read him. Hurt eyes, downtrodden, kicking him in the gut. He ground hard at his teeth, enough to draw blood, at your muted stare that'd cast away from him. It was better this way. Better. But for who? No, it had to be better for you. You had to get away from him.

You had to get away from them.

But things don't work out the way they do. They don't, because he's the stupid one. An utter idiot, because he couldn't see how bleak the sky was with him ignoring you. How your ice cream didn't taste the same, and no amount of faking it was going to diminish how you didn't care anymore and started taking on riskier missions. Just like him, but he deemed that he could handle it, and you weren't the type to intentionally draw blood. But you took the risk, an absolute suicide of a mission, where the 141 was definitely on the prowl to lock down a rogue operation. Where they operated behind a two-faced mask of Western propriety, and there was no true capture-or-kill. Only kill once they captured, after they tortured the mind and body beyond repair to get broken bits of information. And they got their hands on you. Trapped you like a rabbit in a snare, and once he, once they, heard the last of your sharp warning to get the others out of there, selfless as usual, he lost it.

THEYHAVEHERTHEYGOTHERWEMUSTGOWEMUSTGOFASTERWEMUSTGETHER!!!!!

Blood pumping, eyes red, he swiftly dispatches his current missive and hightails it to you. Fool. He promised to ignore you, to treat you as if you never existed, but he just couldn't help but tap into the comm lines for every one of your missions. Couldn't stay away physically, so he soothes himself with your voice. Soothes them. Voice like honey, music to his ears. But they took you. And the music barked out sharp orders to stay away from those coordinates, to run and not come back for you, that you wouldn't talk. He doesn't listen, and he guns it with a stolen helo, to give in to the voices.

Because he wants you. And he's going to have you. And they all agree, and for the first time, everything feels like it's in unison. Tearing through each of the operatives like butter. The harsh bite of bullets shoot his nerves afire, and he grins, an utter madman, as he spills blood everywhere in his wake. Rushing closer and closer. Death, euphoria. And when he bursts in the final door, when he sees you broken and bloody, an arm bent at an odd angle, and your face kissing the concrete floor, he gives in again.

NO ONE MESSES WITH OUR FRIENDS AND OUR LIVES.

The crunch and bite of bone. Eyes just lovely to be gouged out. He bites out chunks of flesh off of the man rendering you near death. and it feels amazing; he feels as if he's rising to sainthood tearing the skull balaclava off of the head, doing the man a favor. Ghost becoming a ghost, taking on his name, a nobody. Ripping and tearing, flesh torn and bloody until he tramples the beating heart until he hears the sick crack of the ribs shooting into flesh. Glorious.

The voices jeer. Moremoremore. But he sees you, eyes wide, unmoving, mouth open, an unfortunate witness to the lengths of his depravity, and he moves. Stuffs the cracked skull mask into his pocket, an insult to the rest of the other man's comrades more than keeping a war trophy, and he lifts you up as if you weighed nothing and left a second wake of carnage behind to get you into the helo.

And once he had you. And once you were safe and tucked into one of his safehouses. And once he had you, not doing the right thing in taking you back to base, but keeping you. Away from others. Away, away, away from the rest of the world. Just you and him. Him and you, and the voices. Bits of him that were him. And once he had you, cleaned and bandaged, muttering softly as he set your arm back into place, you had him. You had him, hook, line, and sinker with one look, one call of his name, a hand reaching for him, to not ever leave you. A thank you hushed out from those lips, to come back.

You had better had no regrets. Because he gives in, not to the voices, but to you, his greed, to expose his ugliness. Tears off his mask without a word and slants his lips over yours. And you relish it. Kick off the covers and open the junction of your legs to welcome him in between them. Scars and all, ridges dancing along his face and body, criss-crossing down into the apex of his thighs. He's beautiful, and you preen yourself, as if two hands roughly shoving down your hair will do much, to better whatever presentation you had. He deserves better than this. What a beautiful man, and the scars only highlight the areas that you want to touch the most. Lips worshipping down the expanse of his throat, and you praise him. Hands wander. Up and down, round and around, mimicking the way you grind against him with wild abandon.

NiktoNikto. Oh, Nikto. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouloveyou-

Please let him know. Let them know. And you know about them, accept them in the way they are him, live in him, gnaw at his bones, because they make up the man that lingers after the remnants of your smile. Reveres you in silence, when he thinks that you're not looking. Couldn't throw or use any of the cat bandages or bear to taste the sweetness of the candies. So he hungrily devours the taste of your mouth endlessly, massaging the softness of your breasts, groaning when you paw at the zipper of his suit. Begging. Whispering the things you think of him, would do to him, if you would let him, everywhere in and out of his ears, playing with the broad expanse of his back as he flexes off his clothing. And off with yours quickly. Bodies meshing, touching, tasting, wanting. Devouring your breasts, pressed into the junction of your neck. Kissing down your stomach, and you keen when he latches onto your clit. Opening up your pussy. Your injuries feel like nothing when he decides to feast and feast and feast. Drinking from you as if he was afraid that this would be the last.

And when he finally slides home, they slide into you, too. They slam their hips into you greedily, and you welcome it all. Equally as hungry, as ravenous, embracing him and them in entirety. One and the same. Nikto. A saint, his halo casting crowns around him when the sunlight filters through the crooked blinds, highlighting the crooked nose and smile and the beauty of him all, inside and out. You wish he could go on forever. You wish you could kiss him forever, love him forever, love them over and over until one last stutter of his hips, and you both lose yourselves in each other.

oOo

They say a person in KorTac keeps a demon in her cage.

wait a minute. pookie. how do we think nikto would react to reader asking him to clasp her bra...

Omg!!! Never in my life did I type out ideas so FAST!!! 🏃🏼‍♀️💨

Fem! Reader Asking Nikto To Clasp Her Bra

Word Count: 1719

Implies friends to lovers with Nikto. Atrociously down bad Nikto for Reader <3. Themes not dissimilar to this fanfiction (only less intense lol 💀).

Reader is addressed as "You". No Y/N used.

*Russian Speakers, please forgive me for any linguistic inaccuracies. This is the first time I tried to write in Russian without relying on Google Translate 🥲... If there's any errors, please let me know! 🙏

❗SUGGESTIVE CONTENT BELOW THE CUT! ❗ (No sex, but allusions to it). Readers are warned for suggestive content. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

…Did you say what he thinks you've said, or was that the voices?

Did he imagine it? Was it a hallucination, maybe? Perhaps he's just a maladaptive daydreamer, and he hasn't realised…

His thoughts — or the words spoken by the voices, he's not sure — whisper in an uncharacteristically gentle tone:

Ммм... красотка. А... така красивая... рядом со мной...

They whisper to him about you. To him, for you. And to you. But those words don't leave his scarred lips, his throat hoarse and vocal cords damaged

Treasure. So beautiful. And with me, with me...

No. Not with you. He could never be with you. All he can do is content himself

“—Nikto?" You asked gently, eyebrows furrowed over your eyes, instantly dragging him from his trance. "Are you... okay? Did you hear me?"

Ah. There's that angelic little voice. How divine...

Wait. So it wasn't a hallucination? He didn't imagine you asking him to clasp your bra? Unless he heard incorrectly? Surely he heard incorrectly.

Staring at you with a blank expression under the mask, his response was less like a question, and more like a statement, if anything:

"You... want me to clasp your bra. Yes?"

"...Yes, please," you said, a sheepish, lopsided smile on your face, as you bashfully looked off to the side. "It, er... it came undone as we were cuddling. And uh... well. You know. I tried to be subtle and do it myself, but... it didn't really go that well, did it? So... put me out of my misery, please."

You were so very… casual. True, you were embarrassed, but you didn't display disgust at the prospect of being touched; rather, you were... expectant, as if it's what you wanted, and it made Nikto's heart soar at the possibility that his feelings could be reciprocated.

But he wasn't going to delude himself more than he was already.

You brought this up so offhandedly, as if this was some passing topic of conversation or an ordinary occurrence, and a normal favour to ask of someone. Someone normal. Who was be to be a fucking pervert?

When that fact registered, Nikto probably: a.) clenched his fists so tight that the remaining nails on his fingers pierce his skin and draw blood — all in a desperate attempt to see if this was indeed reality, and not a hallucination; b.), short-circuited and got into an intense unintentional staring competition with you, eyes vaguely red and unblinking for minutes, disbelieving, still and not moving as much as an inch; and/or c.), popped the hardest boner in his life that he almost lost consciousness, fainted, and fell from the bed to floor.

"I... why?"

A laugh almost escaped your throat — almost — but you swallowed it in time, realising that to laugh could have been making a mockery of Nikto.

"Ah... these clasps are so fiddly, you know? And... well..."

Awkwardly laughing, you explained: "...I couldn't reach. Not without drawing attention to myself, anyways. But it's really uncomfortable having to hold your bra while you try to be discreet when you clasp it, you know? And..."

Obviously, Nikto was not someone normal. Isn't.

This was extraordinary. A gift. Oh, what a blessing this was!

To look at you and bask in your presence is salvation in it of itself.

To be close to you, within arms' reach, his strength and size ensuring that in his wildest fantasies you'd be beneath him, with no chance of escaping, and in a position where all you can do is accept what he forces upon you.

Of course, he would never do that. The voices seduce him, urge him, order him to, but he doesn't listen. He won't touch you without permission, or without explicit consent.

Simply living has become worthwhile, as he can breathe the same air that left your precious lips. The pain, the agony, the aching, and the inexplicable grief, the, sorrow, the woe, the burden, and the mortal suffering — all meaningless and trivial if it means that you are with him.

So to touch you? And so intimately? Oh… боже…

Not only does it demonstrate that, despite the grotesque monster that he's been transformed into, the prospect of his hands on your body doesn't repulse you, but it proves how you trust him. You trust Nikto enough to touch you. To be vulnerable with him.

You consider him trustworthy enough to feel your bare back, and to trace his rough, callous, quivering fingertips over the delicate lace of your bra. You have decided that he's worthy of such a privilege.

Still, he wavered in his uncertainty. He'd rather be certain, than ruin things with you. His everything.

"...You are sure?"

Eyes crinkling in a small yet kind smile, you assured him, that: "Yes. I am sure. Please, just do it for me. I'd rather you do it."

He did not want to fuck this up. No fucking way. Ни хуя сибет.

You're friends. Good friends. As a matter of fact, you were his only friend.

But he was so fucking hard that he was almost nauseous — and that was before he has even touched you.

From his hazy recollection of his past and his continuing life which he occasionally unintentionally dissociated from, he can't ever recall being so turned on — half the time, his dick doesn't even function the way it should do.

But for you? You needn't ask; the effect which you have on him is evident. Simply through existing, you're his personal aphrodisiac.

A snort escaped Nikto’s broken, deformed nose at the sight of you shyly holding up your shirt tightly over your chest with one hand, and steadying your bra in the other — if it was up to him, he'd have hurled the offensive piece of clothing into some obscure corner of the room, and stripped you both naked, uncaring of his scars or of how his body looked, just to have you once, once.

But it was not up to him. And he wouldn't do something that rash. He wasn't about to scare you off when you were good... friends. Friends. Yes.

His fingertips touched the junction of your spine, tracing the subtle bumps of the vertebrae. His touch was so delicate, so tentative, that you could have almost mistaken it for a gust of wind.

You shivered involuntarily, goosebumps forming on your arms, and Nikto's breath hitches when you flinch slightly, your back arching a little.

“Блать… душа моя…”

He's trying to be good, trying not to cross any boundaries. You've already been so charitable, so selfless, to offer him this. If he wastes this, or ruins things between you two by making you uncomfortable to the point you won't be on speaking terms, he would rather kill himself.

Gently, with shaky, shaking fingers, he reaches for the clasp of your bra, which is lose, and attempts to clasp it for you.

His big, callous hands weren't made for handling such small, delicate things.

He's breathing heavily, his mask doing nothing to muffle the desperate puffs of air, his throat constricting and going dry. Your hair stands on the nape of your neck, and you shiver again — only, it's not from the cold.

He's gritting his teeth, pissed off by how fiddly this is, but he wouldn't ever voice this out loud — any intimacy and touch is better than none at all.

By some miracle, he does it. And he thought that was that.

To quell his temptations, he gently pulled the hem of your shirt down, fixing the material and making sure the midriff was exposed, and respectfully averted his gaze so you could fix your bra, denying himself the sight he'd cherish until he was blind and engrave the image in his brain.

That was that, he thought. It wasn't really what he thought, of course, since he silently hoped, yearned for more, but he would be thankful for any scraps of affection that he was allowed to give you.

Except...

"...You can touch me, you know," you murmured, averting your gaze as your cheeks heated up. “That… was the whole point.”

Suddenly, he couldn't speak English.

Or Russian.

Or articulate himself in any way, shape or form.

He's struck dumb. Dumbstruck. Dumbfounded. Bewildered.

Really? Really? You had wanted him to do it?

Before he had the time to process your declaration, your smaller hands took his and guided them onto your chest — not over your shirt, but under — letting him cop a feel of the skin he so desired to.

No... not letting him. Encouraging him. With a smile so impossibly sweet and effortlessly sexy at the same time that he had to bite his bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

He needed you so bad. So, so bad.

Both large bear-like paws clutching at your chest, he held your covered breasts as if they were the most precious objects in the world.

His. Eго.

Нет... не его...

Not his. Not ever. You were only taking pity on him, aware of how deprived he's been of physical intimacy, the boner always prominent when you're close. He's pathetic.

A silence enveloped you both, but it surprisingly wasn't an awkward one; rather, a pleasant, calming, and comfortable one.

Nikto's hands wandered absentmindedly across your torso, stroking your skin, gently groping the soft parts of you.

You moaned in content, closing your eyes as he massaged your flesh as if he's never seen women's boobs or a woman's cleavage before.

He had, in another life, but never yours. So this is different. Special.

His pupils were blown black with love, eyelids hooded with adoration and complete focus. Only you. And only you. Только ты.

He wouldn't... he told himself he wouldn't... he shouldn't go further... he couldn't do this to you. To himself.

What if he ruined your friendship? If he was without you and alone again, he would really kill himself after all.

He shouldn't...

He mustn't...

Really. Really. He ought to stop now before he loses himself.

Your eyes open, and you bless him with the privilege of watching you undress, the shirt slipping over your head and revealing your body to his starved, starving gaze.

It's too much...

…

…

…

...The bra came off not long after, along with all of your and Nikto's clothes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Late Night Cravings"

Characters: Simon Riley x Black!Reader.

Summary: Missing your deployed husband, you get a late-night surprise that satisfies both your cravings and loneliness.

Warnings: Steaminess, a bit of angst, loneliness, fluff, mentions of phone sex with suggestive language and descriptions, mild swearing, and lighthearted humor. Oh, and if I hadn’t already made it clear at the top of my blog: minors DNI. My content is for the grown folks👏🏾.

Authors Note: Hello my lovelies🫶🏾! I've been toying with the idea of writing for the Simon Riley/Ghost fandom for a while now. Thanks to some awesome encouragement, I finally took the plunge! This story idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to say, "What the hell," and give it a shot. I hope I captured Simon to the best of my ability. Please remember that this is my first attempt at a Ghost fic…and, well, “I’M JUST A GIRL!🥺🥹😩😆” Okay, a grown woman, but a girl nonetheless. I had a wonderful time writing this, and I hope you all enjoy reading it. Word Count: 1,700+.

Inspired By♥️🖤:

The clock ticked past midnight, the silence of the empty house amplifying the sound. In the dimly lit kitchen, the soft glow of the refrigerator illuminated your very pregnant features as you rested a hand on your swollen belly. You sighed, heart heavy with longing for the man you loved, miles away on some unknown continent, carrying out numerous dangerous missions.

You stood there, staring at the array of food in the fridge, a wave of emotions washing over you. Pregnancy hormones wreaked havoc on your mood, and tonight, you found yourself overwhelmed with sadness and longing for your husband, Simon.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached for the phone on the counter. Your fingers trembled with emotion. You needed him. His comforting presence, the sweet sound of his soothing voice to chase away the loneliness that threatened to consume you.

"Hey, love," Simon’s voice came through the phone, warm and comforting. His tone was deep and smooth like whiskey on a cold winter's night.

Your breath caught in your throat. Simon’s voice was a mixture of relief and longing washing over you. "Hi," you replied sheepishly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everythin' alright, angel?" your husband asked, concern lacing his words.

You sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. "I... I just miss you, Si. And I'm so hungry, but nothing in the fridge sounds good."

Simon’s heart ached at the sound of your voice, at the thought of you being alone, in need of comfort. "I wish I could be there with you, angel. You know I miss you more than anythin’."

A sob escaped your lips, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "I’m sorry, Si. This is probably the last thing you need to deal with right now. I just wish you were home... I need you here. I need you to hold me. To eat junk food with me in the middle of the night. It’s weird not having you with me throughout this pregnancy. I got so used to you being around the first time. It never mattered how late it was. Whatever I craved, you either got up to fetch or prepare it. I miss eating with you. For goodness' sake, I probably sound like a blubbering cow. God I know I sound selfish. I’m sorry, Si."

“That’ll be enough nonsense. No more name-callin’. Eat all you want, beautiful. Vent all you want. ‘S no bother, love. Truly it isn’t.”

A flicker of determination sparked in Simon’s eyes as he listened to your words. "I may not be able to be there in person, but I can still make sure you're taken care of. Give me about ten to twenty minutes, love. I need to sort something out."

You pouted and whispered your agreement as Simon rushed you off the phone, still unsure of how to satisfy your cravings. You plucked a bottled water from the fridge.  You waddled toward the living room. Your smile lit up the room as you noticed a pregnancy pillow on the couch. Simon had scattered them throughout the house before leaving. He wanted you to find comfort in any room while he was away.

Your fingers hovered over the remote, drawn instead to the flashing screen announcing Simon’s incoming call.“Babe, that was quick. I’m excited it’s a video call. I miss your f—” Your words came to a pause. He was no longer among his comrades. Your husband had whisked away to his sleeping quarters, all gear removed aside from his balaclava. Some would find it terrifying, but Simon knew that in the depths of your deviant little mind, you found it sexy, arousing even. The shirt and pants he wore underneath were deliciously form-fitting. He watched as your eyes roamed over his biceps. Though you couldn’t see, you were certain there was a sexy smirk underneath his balaclava.

“Eyes up here, angel,” he commanded, voice smoky and sensual.

“Damn it, Si. Now I’m craving both food and you. You cheeky bastard. Did I mention I miss your sexy ass,” you questioned in a teasing manner.

Simon leaned in closer to the screen, giving you a devilish wink. “Miss you more, angel. If you can stay up late for me tonight, I may have time to call you and render some special sleep aid,” he offered, voice smoldering with desire.

“Can’t we do that now?” you whined, mouth forming a slight pout.

“Not now, love. There are more important matters to handle first. I’m afraid my work isn’t done for the night. Can you be patient for me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Atta girl,” he husked, aware of what those two words would do to you. 

You tried making a convincing argument, but a knock at the front door interrupted the conversation.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you heard the sound of the doorbell ringing in the background. Stunned, you made your way to the front door, heart racing with anticipation.

Who on earth could be at my door at this hour?

“Um, Si. Baby, there’s—”

“I know. ‘S alright, love. Answer it.”

As you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of a delivery bag from McDonald's sitting on the doorstep. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you realized what your husband had done.

"Si, you didn't have to..." you began, your voice filled with gratitude.

"Just open it, love," he interrupted, his voice warm and reassuring.

With watery eyes, you opened the bag to reveal an array of your favorite foods: chicken nuggets, a fish filet, fries, and a vanilla milkshake. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the lengths he had gone to make you feel loved and cared for, even from miles away. Simon understood that as a grown-ass woman. You could’ve ordered the food, but he knew it was more about the gesture and putting your mind at ease that mattered most.

"Thank you, baby," you whispered, love overflowing for the man who had stolen your heart many moons ago.

On the other end of the line, Simon smiled, his heart swelling with love for his wife. "Anything for you, angel. Now, let's eat together."

You giggled as his hand waved over an assortment of goodies you had sent in a care package.

“Baby, don’t you have any real food? Anything other than snacks?” you questioned, worried he wasn’t eating enough.

“Johnny’s on kitchen duty tonight. Not takin’ any chances. Eat up, love. Tell me about your day. Is the lil’ lad holdin’ down the fort? Papa left him in charge. And the littlest lad you’re growing? Is he still kickin’ you all night? He’ll be a ball of energy once he’s on the outside. You jus’ wait and see.”

As the two of you sat on the video call, sharing a meal, bonding over the love for your children. You felt closer than ever before. Distance may have kept you apart, but with a little FaceTime, all was right in the world.

After thirty minutes of conversation, the time came and Simon had to go. 

“Duty calls, angel,” he gruffed, slightly annoyed.

“Go fuck some shit up, baby.”

Though your words were encouraging and playful, Simon saw the worry in your eyes. He did his best to put you at ease. Your husband playfully tapped the skull emblem on his mask. “Always a step ahead. Consider it done, love.” You offered a weak smile and chewed your lip nervously. Almost scared to end the call. Underneath the balaclava, his smirk disappeared. Your reservations could be felt even through the screen. Simon’s eyes darted around for a second before lifting his mask briefly. Your eyes connected as the usually stoic man offered you his most sincere attempt to ease your worried mind. Ashamed of him picking up on your innermost thoughts of panic, you broke eye contact. “Look at me, angel.”  The beautiful shade of your orbs landed on his once more. “It’ll be alright, love. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful. Get some rest, and do your best to answer later tonight.”

“Jesus. You always know just what to say, and do you have to be so damn sexy when saying it? I just want to eat you.”

Simon dropped his mask back into place, voice lowered. With a hint of a growl, he responded, “Be sure to get that rest while I’m working, love. You’ll need the energy. I don’t care what time it is. When I get back. I want you pickin’ up on the first ring. Have that camera angle ready. ‘M going to watch you ride my pillow until you’re a shakin’, soppin’ wet, messy puddle. You’ll beg me to come. The filth that falls from my lips will be like music to your ears. I’m going to take you apart piece by piece with my words. Just to put you back together and do it all over again. You’ll be chanting the words ‘I can’t. No more, Si.’ How’s that sound, love?”

“Can you leave already? The quicker you depart, the faster you return,” you panted. “Fuck, Si. I’m so achy for you.”

“There will be no playing while I’m gone. Understood,” he asked, voice gravelly.

“Yes,” you purred.

“Yes, what,” he demanded.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned softly.

“Good girl. I have to go now, angel.”

“LT, wheels up in ten,” Johnny shouted from the doorway.”

“ I heard you the first time, MacTavish. Give me a fuckin’ minute.”

“Simon! Be nice,” you bristled.

Your husband turned back to the screen. He rolled his eyes as Johnny leaned in to meddle.

“Hello, dove. When are you going to leave this grumpy bastard for me,” Johnny questioned.

You started to reply with a teasing answer, but Simon cut you off with an irritated grunt.

“Gotta go, angel.”

“Okay, baby. You take care of my man, MacTavish.”

You giggled at Simon threatening Johnny while ending the call.

“MacTavish, flirt with the missus again.” Instead of ending his statement using words, Simon stared Soap down with a cold, emotionless gaze. His head tilted to the now black screen, and his hand moved to rest on one of his now re-holstered weapons. Johnny smirked, slapping a hand on Simon’s back. “That little lady’s got you head over heels LT.” Simon made no argument, just offered a grunt of agreement.

What did you think, my lovelies? Let me know in the comments! And if you enjoyed it, don't forget to reblog and share the love!

Divider: @firefly-graphics

Wasn’t sure who to tag😩…

Tagging a few of my love bugs💓:

@darqchilddaydreamz @thirtysomethinganduncensored @percosim @astoldbychae @theeblackmedusa @johnnyshoe @thabiddie23 @starrynite7114

…

Inner workings of my mind:

*thirty minutes after posting it-> “they hate it!”*

*takes deep breath. must fight the urge to delete it.*

😆😂🤣.

(Office tv show interview)

simon: no yeah I am wildly in love with them, I will die for them

(cuts scene to parking lot, to where Simon playfully shoves Reader, but they fall face first anyway. And Simon just stares at the ground for a minute and then makes eye contact with the camera)

(cut scene)

Simon: do I think they know? Oh yeah, wear my heart on ma fucking sleeve. (Cuts to Johnny)

Johnny, after listening to the interviewer: …LT has emotions?

(um…yeah idk what this is. Jus a goofy lil idea)

Ghost: I cut my finger Y/N: I can kiss it so it'll get better Ghost: That works? Y/N: Yeah my mum used to do it when I was little *later* Ghost: I need you to punch me in the mouth Roach: Fucking finally

Y/n: You two okay?

Soap staring at the wall: I don’t know y/n..seeing life is hell. We just work, eat and sleep..

Ghost: ..Is this our life?

Y/n: your drunk aren’t you?

—

Price: Why did you eat a damn battery?!

Y/n throwing up in the bathroom: Because it’s the best way to power myself for your team bullshit.

Price:

—

Laswell: I still think it’s call soccer..

Price: it’s Football!

Gaz: Should we stop this argument?

Y/n: no no.. I wanna see who wins

Soap and Ghost watching everything display out:

—

Price: Now, ladies are fine, but guns..

Gaz: Definitely would pick a gun over lady.

Y/n drinking soda cross from them:

—

Y/n: where the fuck are the bandages?!

Price: I don’t know Ghost took them for something.

Soap running into the room: Guys! Look! Mummy!

Ghost walks in annoyed wrapped in the bandages: ah?

Y/n and Price:

—

Y/n: you two are childish.

Soap: *Dramatic gasp * We are not!

Y/n: Them get out the fucking tank!

Ghost: no.

Soap: *closes the hatch to the tank*

Y/n: Mother fuckers.. Price! They are in the tank again!

Price: I don’t get paid enough for this shit..

—

Gaz: Y/n what is your dream guy?

Ghost listens carefully

Y/n: Well.. I already have someone

Gaz: Really who?

Y/n: *pulls out a squish mellow plushie* His name is skelly, been with him since I joined the army.

Gaz and Ghost:

Y/n: What?

—

Y/n: *drinking coffee*

Ghost: You like something warm and nice in your throat don’t you?

Y/n: *Chokes on the coffee * Excu—

Soap sitting next to Y/n also drinking coffee: Hell ya I do papi

Ghost and Y/n:

—

Alejandro: can you drive?

Y/n: ..Yeah..

Moments later

Alejandro: *holding onto dear life onto the car door*

Soap: how long has he been like that?

Y/n: couple minutes, I told him I stopped driving but he hasn’t moved.

—

Ghost: That’s gay

Soap: getting no bitches is gayer.

Y/n: OH HE GOT YOU THERE!

Ghost:

—

Price: Y/n it has come time..for yo—

Y/n: to quit? Because this team is pure chaos.

Price: it is not

Y/n Points to Gaz and Soap eating a bandages as Ghost times them.

Price:

—

Y/n: what’s your worst fear?

Soap: A loving ghost.

Ghost over hearing the conversation

Next day

Soap: *running for his life*

Ghost walking after him with his arms open: come back here! I want hug you buddy!

Y/n: ..that is scary..

—

Pranking the 141 with your niece (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader)

Warnings: F!Reader (She/Her pronouns) (Sorry!!)

Word count: 1177

Thinking about reader and Simon pranking the 141 with your sister's baby. 

The 141 was aware that Simon had a lover but knew little further. Little comments under the Brits breath about the'missus’ when having to step out of the room from the buzz of his phone and when he slides a fresh container of home baked goods into the kitchen with delicate handwriting on a pink sticky saying "For you, and the boys <3" were all they knew of you. 

In all honesty, it was more than Simon wanted to share about you at first, but as time passed and he got more certain that you were not going to leave, he began to mention you more frequently. For the reserved soldier, it used to mean once in a blue moon, but now it meant more, and the boys ate up every crumb. Some more than others. 

“So… Have ye put a ring on her finger yet?” 

“Johnny, what’re ya on about?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

So, when Simon's phone rings again on an otherwise quiet evening, the men's gaze shifts to the Brit as he stands.

“The missus?”

“Aye, she’s here. You all can meet the two of ‘em.”

Soap and Gaz exchange confused and intrigued glances when the phrase'meeting the two' is said, but they remain silent as the Brit exits to go get you.

“The two of ‘em? What’s he saying, He got two lasses now?” Soap muses nearly as soon as the heavy metal door closes and moves to sit next to Gaz on one of the couches.

"I don't know; surely he wouldn't bring both birds if he had 'em," the two men say quietly before the door to the common area swings open and in walks a gorgeous-looking woman with a chubby little babe on her hip, followed closely by Simon. 

“... and that’s what I told her,” you finish, finding the two men’s gaze with a polite smile as you motion for your husband to set the baby bag down. "Oh, and do get the binky with the... Yes, thank you, my love.”

The looks of disbelief, confusion, and pride for their lieutenant exchanged by each of the men are nearly enough to break you, but you manage to stay in character, pressing a gentle kiss on Simon's cheek when he hands you the binky from the bag. Your niece babbles happily as she reaches for the binky, which settles her on the spot on your hip.

“Well, I didn’t realise just how far you two ‘ad gone with what little our lieutenant ‘ere has told us, but it’s wonderful to ‘ave you ‘ere all the same,” a new voice comes from the doorway of the next hall over. “You’re welcome anytime, love.”

Your husband's massive hand rests on your hip, a comforting touch that keeps you close and lets you know you're safe without being rough. "Thanks, Capitan, but she doesn't need to pop 'round too often." You roll your eyes, chuckling at the comment, but don't say anything, instead thanking Price with a small smile and nod.

As Price walks away, you return your focus to the two men on the couch; one of them, you suppose, is called Soap, is waving at the baby in your arms, much to the child's enjoyment. With a small elbow from the other man, Gaz, he takes his turn and waves to your niece, who giggles happily, earning a triumphant smile from the man. 

“Here, why don’t you two take the babe for a moment? I’ve been dying to see what pictures Simon has put in his room.” You say, taking the baby from your hip and placing her on the lap of Gaz, who takes the child, gaining another happy babble. 

“You two better look after my wife’s niece right proper, you ‘ear me?” The stern words make both Gaz and Soap look at the child, but before they can look up and ask for clarification, Simon has already whisked you away down the hall toward his room.

"Did you see their faces?" I've never seen a military man so shocked," you add with a grin as Simon guides you into his room, resting a hand on your lower back. "I did. "The both of 'em deserved a little shock, nosin' around my personal life and all," irritation sat heavy in the words.

"Oh, you know their questions come from a good place." You tilt your head up and step closer to him, the delicate touch of your fingertips smoothing down his shirt collar and relieving the strain in his shoulders.

“I know, but I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine,” he sighs softly as his hands rest on your hips, thumbs tracing circles on the exposed skin that is seen as the hem of your shirt lifts slightly when you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“Possessive, are we?” You tease, eliciting a little smirk from scarred lips and a little pinch to your hip. 

“‘Course I am; I thought you liked it too.”

With a playful swat to his arm and a roll of your eyes, you settle in to look up at him, a grateful smile on your lips. "I do, but you don't need to go off and ruin your relationship with the guys." "Though if you ever want to play harmless pranks on them again..."

This causes Simon's eyes to roll, and he shakes his head, brown eyes falling on you as if you were heaven on earth.

"What?" You giggle as his gaze sweeps over your face, causing a little blush on your cheeks.

“Nothin’,” a calloused hand comes up to your face to trace over your jawline before settling in to cup your cheek. “Just thinkin’ about what a grand mam you’d make. “You’re so soft wi’ your niece; reckon you’d be a proper mam with our own little’ ones runnin’ about.”

“Are you saying you want to start a family?” Your words are hesitant at first, but the truth in his gaze and his touch are absolute. “Have our own little family?”

"Yea," he says softly, slipping his hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Taking a step closer, he leans down to brush his lips against the skin of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You're gonna be a bloody gorgeous mam all full of our child."

"Simon," you whisper as his lips descend to your neck, leaving gentle, barely there kisses on your skin. "My niece.."

“Shh.. the lads’ve got ‘er, don’t you worry. She’s in good ‘ands; just relax.” Before you can retort, his hands slide down your waist, and you’re being lifted off the ground by strong arms that carry you towards his bed, eliciting a little yelp from you that in turn makes a smirk pull at his lips.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"How long d'ye think it takes to show a couple o'photos, eh?" Soap says as he bounces the babe on his knee and turns to Gaz.

"Oh, I don't think it's just photos they're shairin'."

"Bloody 'ell."

A/N: I think I’m starting to get the hang on writing in accents but it’s still very much in the works! Also so sorry that this one is f!reader, most of my works are gender neutral or as much so as I can do but this one just ended up being feminine. Also also, come talk to me!! my asks are always open and I’d love to chat with some of you!!

OKAY DARLING U ATE SO HARD.

cnc w/ghost 👻 (🌽 link)

oh... if you ask simon to try cnc, you are going to get the full experience. the man himself is already a bit intimidating but he's loving to you, but if you want him to treat you roughly he's not gonna hold back.

he would wait for a moment in which you think you are alone and sage at home, undressing so you can get into bed, and when you are in just your underwear that's the moment he's going to sneak on you and you are going to get jumped by this behemoth. he would harshly grab you and manhandle you so he has easy access to your pussy. he just rips off your panties -hope you weren't wearing your favourites- and use your bra to keep your hand secured to your back.

he's got you were he wants, so he's just going to barely push down his pants -because he get off on the fact that he's fully dressed without an inch of skin showing and you are naked- and roughly push that thick dick into you. and oh is he going to be cruel, fucking you raw, hitting the right spots and making you cum again and again. and the cherry on top: a creampie to finish it off.

you messed up when you asked for cnc because he enjoyed that a lot more than he thought he would, so he's just going to 'attacking' you at the most random moments.

need.

pregnant!assistant reader who suddenly finds her boss and his team moving into her home, Price immediately upping the security system and locks around the house

Simon starts on the nursery, letting you sit in the nice big rocking chair you picked out, bossing him around on how you want the walls painted

Kyle and Johnny start working on baby proofing until your house is the safest place a baby could be, and you still had 7 months till they were here

Kyle would be the most willing to go out to the shops when late night cravings hit, it also makes him your favorite for the next 24 hours because “he was sweet enough to go get my pickles!”

“pretty you have two other jars-“

“i wanted SPICY pickles John!”

however these men are total messes when it comes to the hormones, the first time you burst into tears, crying about “simon raising his voice at you”, all he had done was scold you for trying to use the stepladder

i came. bestie you fucking ate.

breast massaging with nerd!könig because you know his intentions are pure, and when he sees you wincing in pain at how sore your period is making your boobs after your hug, he’ll do just about anything you tell him to help. you, on the other hand, have just been dying to get his excessively large, warm hands on your tits since you first met.

laying back on his couch with your thighs spread and locked around his broad hips, a position that leaves little room between the heat of your clothed sexes. he’s agonizingly gentle, a sweet and hesitant touch of large palm to your supple, swollen breasts over your shirt at first. it has you sucking your bottom lip into your teeth anyway, warmth blossoming behind your navel and he remains clueless, face hesitant like he’s scared he’s hurting you.

his eyes widen behind his glasses when you tell him it would feel much better under your shirt, giggling at the way his hands still in shock. now, you’re forced to take matters into his own hands. grabbing his strong forearms to guide his hands where you want them, stuffing them inside your camisole and barely containing the moan that threatens to spill from your slightly slack jaw at the skin to skin contact. könig’s gulp is audible as he watches his inexperienced hands knead the soft dough of your breasts, how the fat gives under his fingertips.

you both lose yourself in it. your pussy involuntarily rutting against the large, growing bulge in his pants, a biological reaction to having your leaking warmth pressed against him, two handfuls of your cute tits. it’s a high pitched whine from your throat when he thumbs over your perky nipples that causes him to snap back into himself, the blood not filling up his cock rushing to his cheeks as he starts apologizing profusely.

“i’m sorry, schatz, i—i can’t help it, you see…”

so close to release, you trap him in with your thighs, your dainty hands gripping the straining muscles of his arms as you beg him not to stop. he can’t help but feel like it’s his fault when your back arches off the bed, lower half convulsing against him as he palms your breasts through your orgasm. chants out a series of apologies even as he’s soiling his pants with his finish, bucking into your cunt helplessly.

*smooch.*

big dicked ghost 👻 (🌽 link)

there is no denying, simon is BIG. in all senses of the world. he's tall and built like a fucking tank. and it reflects in what's between his thick and strong legs. because his dick isn't just big, it's girthy.

and his girth becomes a problem when fucking you, because a bit of foreplay isn't enough to get your poor pussy ready for what's about to come. quickies are not an option with ghost, because he has to spend a quite decent amount of time preparing you to take him.

he always starts eating you out, getting you nice and wet. and then his mouth starts getting accompanied by a chunky finger, while his lips latch around your clit, sucking incessantly. and one finger becomes two, and then three as he slowly works you open.

it may be a tedious job in some ways, but the reward is top notch. and it comes in the form of some of the best fucks in the world, with the extra stimulation coming from his with splitting you in two. and for him? the feeling of your tight walls hugging his cock.

and trust me, he's going to be balls deep inside of you.

LKHSFHDIFOIDFDSHFHDSKJHFJKDH i... yes.

riding loser!könig

by the time you managed to straddle him, he's probably already came twice in his pants. the way your fingers fumbled with his belt and the zipper of his unbearably tight jeans, his bulge rubbing against the rough denim and cotton boxers.

he already made a mess of the material, and feeling as your hands caress across his chest, your body sinking down on his angry, red cock, he couldn't help but shoot thick, pearly cum from his tip. it oozed down the side of his dick, drooling across his hips and down onto the sheets below.

you merely chuckled, a hand barely wrapped around the girth of his cock as you spread his release, feeling the veins under your palm and the way he twitched in your hand, curses in his mother tongue flying from his lips in a desperate gasp.

all you do is guide his cockhead to your drooling cunt, slick with arousal as you part your folds with his tip. sticky cum mixed with your sweet slick as you coated his flesh as if it were lube. you hoped it would make taking his heavy cock easier—it wouldn't.

even before you had guided his cock to your slit, his chest heaved, features flushed from his previous climaxes that came way too easily. it's not his fault he's never been touched by a woman! not all his previous attempts had been successful—the poor social recluse and his debauched thoughts left to his own right hand.

but you were different than his past endeavors—he didn't give up. he didn't quite understand rejection when it came to you. come on, schatz! he likes you, so shouldn't you feel the same way? silly, silly maus, he'll convince you!

and he did! which is how you ended up on top of him, his meaty, thick cock wrapped in your hands as you hover above him, fingers barely touching, waiting to impale yourself on his sensitive dick. his two burly hands pawing at your breasts, kneading the fat under his palms and turning the skin red.

a burn had split down your body as you slipped his tip past your puffy folds, feeling his cock head twitch against your spongy walls as you slowly sank down onto his cock.

you felt a thick, white substance ooze from between your thighs, the way your sopping cunt was suddenly full despite only pushing his tip past your folds. if it wasn't for the loud groan that fell from his lips, you'd have been clueless.

all you did was smirk, slowly sinking further down on his cock while you tried to adjust to his brutish size. small gasps falling from your lips with every added inch, and it didn't help when his massive hands creeped from your breasts down to your waist, slipping to your backside and gripping the flesh between his fingers with bruising force.

you yelped as he forced you all the way down onto his heavy cock—he's selfish! can you really blame him, schatz? you feel like heaven, how could be not!

you're so warm, and tight, and wet, schatz! he just wants to stay buried in your sopping cunt forever! your spongy walls clamping so tightly around him, he was worried you'd push him out! his girthy cock was stretching you so much, you could feel the prominent veins along his length, as though they could be imprinted into your pussy. like his cock was the only thing made to fit inside your tight cunt."

your hands fell against his chest, strings of incoherent words babbled from your lips as he used your tight cunt, his hips pounding you fervently as vocal groans and grunts escaped his throat, drowning out your soft cries at the feeling of his bulbous tip slamming against your cervix.

he didn't last long—reference the 4 other times he had came that night. a mere 30 seconds before he filled you again, thick ropes of pearly cum leaking from his cock that was buried deep in your spongy cunt.

his hands on your ass, grasping firmly as he held you down—despite your shuddering and squirming on top of him. his tip grazing your cervix as he hoped for his seed to take. he just wants to stay with you, and this is a sure way for that to happen.

by the end of the night, he had come at least 5 times—he's sensitive, schatz! if you want him to last longer, you should give yourself to him more often! then, he'd be able to be buried in your pussy for longer than 30 seconds!

COD P☆RN LINKS PT2 SINCE I FORGOT VAL AND ALE.

Alejandro: Sending you a video of him jerking in the park. Mirror jerking <3 Riding him after a long mission with the boys. Ale being so horny he sends you a video just so you come over to his barracks <3 When teasing Ale makes him throat fuck you. Hairy dick just for you ❤ Recording for the team. Sucking it after leaving him pent up for hours Valeria: Eating her out so good she squirms. Fucking her right on her desk, in her office. Impaling her on your big, fat dick <3 Fingering so good <3 Iceplay and blind folding. she wore the new panties u bought her <3 Sex so good she screams. Thigh fuck.

AHEM. *Follows* UHM... I DIDNT DO ANYTHING I PROMISE!

(18+) König x Reader - Jealous of Your Sex Toys

WARNING: Implied Toxic Relationship Dynamic

You’re a grown woman. You are allowed to have sex toys - it’s expected even. And yet, you feel guilty. Caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Body locked up and eyes wide as you stare down at the brightly-colored silicone sex toys resting in the flat of König’s massive palm.

“You don’t need these. I’m enough for you, ja?”

It’s a simple question - a yes or no question - but you both know there was enough strings attached you could spool it into a ball of abrasive twine.

You weigh your options.

‘Yes’ - No more sex toys for you. A life of relying purely on your fingers and him, clit never knowing the buzz of a vibrator again. Giving into his will and letting him control you to a degree that you know isn’t healthy.

‘No’ -

Well, you can’t say no.

Aside from how soul crushing you understand the weight of that word would be coming from you - it’s far from the truth. He is enough for you. More than enough - too big, even. Too insatiable. Too much of an ego to not leave you whimpering and covered in the evidence of finish after finish until you were begging him to stop.

Your hesitance is somehow worse than either of your impossible options. You should have just blurted the first answer that came to mind.

His brow quirks as his gaze continues to bore into you with sly, half-lidded eyes.

“No?” He asks, with a quirk of his brow and a thrilling glint of mischief in his eye.

You still can’t bring yourself to confirm or deny.

He nods in understanding, his giant hands wrapping around your sex toys, so little in his palms.

“That’s okay, mein Nervenkitzel Sucher,” He purrs, “I can share.”

Your shoulders brace instinctively, insides coiling as tight as that ball of abrasive twine, those attached strings getting more and more tangled with every silken word that rolls from his tongue. He says it’s okay - but it sure doesn’t feel like he means it. Choking you with those tricky strings.

The fistful of your sex toys - your misdeeds, your dirty, shameful little secrets - falls to his side. He approaches with precise steps until he’s between your knees, looming over you.

“I’ll show you,” He says with a dangerous crinkle in his eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile surely hidden underneath that mask.

You unintentionally shrink in on yourself in the shadow of his hulking, commanding figure. A calculated move. Not-so-subtly reminding you of just how small and defenseless you are in his presence. His voice drops, and those brows furrow, that smile surely faded behind the black fabric obscuring his face as he stares down at you intensely.

Your mouth has gone dry, your attempt at words - an apology, a flirt, a joke, anything - leaves you as nothing but a dried out squeak lodged deep in the back of your throat.

“I’ll show you how I share.”

-

“Kmph-Kmph!”

“Sh, sh. Isn’t this what you wanted, Blümchen? To keep both?”

You let out a truly pathetic whine, throwing your head back on the mattress. How many times have you cum?

You lost count, lost your very rationality, lost to him - the gift of bittersweet pleasure twisted into something unbearable.

“Greedy, greedy girl.”

Plugged, stuffed, and spread open. Your vibrator buzzes ruthlessly on your abused, swollen, throbbing clit at a torturous speed. Restrained by your own handcuffs, secured tightly to the headboard and keeping you from putting up the fight that would be useless anyway. There’s surely a metaphor hidden somewhere within this detail - but your thoughts are so clouded with arousal there’s no way you’d be find it.

Too much, too much, König, too much!

And while you know he knows exactly what you’re pleading, your mouth will never form the words - stifled by the drool-covered gag nestled between your lips.

His pumps in and out of you at a punishing pace, thick cock soaked with your arousal and disciplined hips snapping against the back of your thighs, ignoring the tears of pure overstimulation streaking down your temples.

He studies you with narrowed, unreadable eyes, watching you writhe. His stare lingers on your chest, arching and twisting beneath him as you fight the cruel pleasure between your legs. His stare is eerily cold for a man whose cock is being pleasured by a warm, tight cunt. You’re not even sure if he’s enjoying it, or if this is purely a lesson he must teach you in his eyes.

You know he’s trying to prove a point - to show you that you only need one or the other. Can’t you see? Both is just too much for a little girl like yourself to handle.

So choose wisely, little one.

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

🙈 alr quick question, do you all want another and lengthy konig fic? Or quicker ones(oneshots basically) about Graves and price??

Trouble In Paradise [Simon Riley]

dried paint and shrivelled hearts

acts of torture, unnoticed

a fool for a king

fluttering rumours

paper hearts

trap door

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