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𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ✍️

➔ 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 “𝙏𝙖𝙜 𝙇𝙞𝙨𝙩„!

➔ 𝘔𝘺 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥: 𝙪𝙣𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥2_

➔ 𝘔𝘺 𝘟𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘎𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘨: 𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜105927113 (𝘐𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵 𝘸/ 𝘮𝘦 <3)

⭒𝘙𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯*, 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴/𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 “ɪɴʙᴏx„! ⭒

*𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 requests 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦; 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬/𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯/𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶! ♡

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𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 MAY 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥!‼️

𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 (𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳) 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵:

@simping4konig

(I apologise to ‼️ anon... Deadass dropped the INCORRECT user and I couldn't edit the post. 😱😱)

*𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦/𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦 @simping4konig^^^ (𝘍𝘦𝘮-𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 @simp4art.

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𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯.

𝘛𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 👑 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘹𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪-𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴/𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴.

⌦ 𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝘍𝘦𝘮! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘈𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘰 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘳𝘢 5/10/2024

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺." — 𝘖𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥! 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 23/8/2024

𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦 30/6/2024

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘉𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘺 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 (König) 1/4/2024

𝘡𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘦 𝘈𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘈𝘜 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 2/1/2024

👑 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 9/10/2023

👑 𝘙𝘘: "𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱?" 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘹 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 16/9/2023

👑 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 31/8/2023

👑 "𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?" 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘟 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 2) 27/8/2023

𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘟 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 25/8/2023

👑 "𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?" 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘟 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳-𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 20/8/2023

⌦ 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰'𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱* 9/10/2024

𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 2/8/2024

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 29/5/2024

𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘕𝘪𝘬𝘵𝘰 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴* 18/5/2024

𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🎃🍂 30/10/2023

𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴🥺🥺 + 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴🤭 2/10/2023

¹𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 ²𝘊𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 (𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴/𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴🥴) both 25/9/2023

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 24/9/2023

𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 5/9/2023

𝘙𝘘: 𝘒𝘰̈𝘯𝘪𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘚/𝘖 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘴 ✨𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯✨ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 1/9/2023

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𝘼𝙨 𝙤𝙛 19/9/2023:

Do not use, sample, or publish any of my fanfictions to any other sites. Plagiarism (the blatant copying of my writing) will NOT be tolerated.

Just because this has been officially disclosed as of 19/9/2023 does NOT give you the right to use, sample, or publish any of my works prior to this date.

© @aking10592_ (Kinga, myself) for all of the fanfictions listed above.

Other people's AUs — as well as any inspiration from other works — are linked respectively in each post, alongside their username and tag, always working with permission explicity given to make use of their ideas. If by chance any creator changes their mind about my take on their original idea, I will rightfully take the fanfiction in question down.

"Call of Duty" Franchise © Infinity Ward, Treyarch, Sledgehammer Games, and Raven Software.

"Call of Duty Modern Warfare (2019/2022)" © Infinity Ward.

None of the characters (König/Ghost/Nikto) belong to me, and are rightfully owned by the respective studio(s).

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Masterlist Updated 5/10/2024

In love with Nikto... And by that i mean im including ALL THREE of his voices 😳😳😳💓

I dont want to fix him ... I like my men fucked up 🤭💞

Love your analysis of him !! 🫶✨💖

★ Analysis of characters - Nikto

Notes: my new fic section.? here I will dispel fan facts and analyze the characters. Enjoy! @simp4konig @feelya

Character: Nikto

Word count: 1.120k

A/N: : ‼️I accept your requests and ideas, I will be happy to write this down. :) warn you that everything that follows may be true, very little is known about Nikto background and character!!

I TRANSLATED MY ALREADY READY TEX INTO ENGLISH, SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR THE IMPORTANCES!!

English is not my native language!!

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To begin with, at some unspecified period of time, Nikto was captured by Zakhaev, and then subjected to brutal torture, VERY cruel torture, which led to the appearance of a dissociative disorder, as well as leaving his face permanently disfigured.

In this case, Nikto specifically has dissociative identity disorder, which is confirmed by his own phrases where he refers to himself in the plural and mentions voices in his head =>

"Down to me, and me, and me!!" (interestingly, he pronounces each one in a different voice)

"Forgive us, he made us do this"

"I'm not mad, the other voices in my head are!"

"I hear enough voices, I don't need another."

"I'll drive… no, I will!"

(I saw a theory that his DID also influenced such a strange costume (a pilot’s costume, although he is an infantryman/a mask of Taiwanese special forces, etc.), supposedly each of his “personalities” is displayed here, I will mention this for the general development of the analysis)

Dissociative disorder

personality may also be characterized by a disregard for the feelings of others and a lack of empathy / disregard for social norms and responsibilities / inability to maintain stable relationships with others / ease of aggressive outbursts / perhaps! lack of guilt, but in one of his remarks he apologized.. Maybe this is one of his personalities lol.

this is to some extent confirmed by his sudden angry screams and the fact that Nikto, in one of the comics in CoDM, took a group of civilians hostage, and then blew up the building along with them.

(not sure if the last one is absolutely canon)

let's sum it up ↓↓

I dare say that he is bold, aggressive and cruel in battle, shouting phrases such as "Death can wait!" / "You embarrass us!" / "choose violence." / "I like the way you do violence."

However, his in-game mini-biography states that he remains a calculating and methodical soldier, which means that he also has self-control, like other performers, because he is better than his tormentors.

Also, his name suggests that he is literally "nikto", which from the translation from Russian (since he is Russian) it simply means "nobody", like his personality does not matter.

"What do you mean you don't need it? You wanted it yes? I'll get it, your wants, my needs."

...

Watching your screen with you as he barely focuses on it, his mind preoccupied as his ears tune into the sound of your breathing.

Alive, unharmed.

And only then will he allow himself to sleep, his body a shield for you. Protecting you from the outer world, whether you like it or not.

...

AAAAJDJDJEJEJAAAAAALALDKDKEIEIEJDJSNS 😭😭😭😭😭💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!! 🥹🥹💓💞💞💕💓💓💞💖✨💖✨✨

SOFT NIKTO HCs Kinda! ! ! + Short scenes!!

I need him to fuse with me

Tw: mild mentions of possessiveness, overprotection. Spoiling, ooc nikto.

Nikto who doesn't struggle on pda because he's been through enough. Why would he waste time acting edgy when he could make sure you never have a reason to leave or run away?

"Come now lyubov', it's not safe to be far from me."

He says while his grip on your arm will be firm but never harmful. No matter what, even if he's mad its always firm, never painful. Fingers always interlaced and his scars act as added friction to keep your hand in his.

He doesn't even do it on purpose sometimes. If you ask, he will let go of your hand, reluctant nonetheless. But still, who is he to deny you a wish?

He wouldn't deny you of anything, years of torture had bared him of most preferences. AHe thought that as long as it wasn't cluttered it was fine.

Until he saw your room. Vibrant and alive, brimming with life, the room was loved.

He swore he could feel his heart squeeze.

He will buy you everything you want, everything. If you stare at something for a little too long he will buy it, he doesn't care that you say you didn't need it.

"What do you mean you don't need it? You wanted it yes? I'll get it, your wants, my needs."

On your birthdays he will buy you anything you look at, the only way to avoid a shopping spree is to stay inside yet even then anything you say in casual conversation will be bought.

"You wanted a weighted blanket, what else do you think this package is? Explosives? Not in our home, not with you moy lyubov'."

Acts of service and gift giving is almost always. To the point that it becomes a norm for you, good. He was aiming for that.

Shoot for the moon and catch a star brighter than any other.

His voice changes when he talks to you, especially at night. What can go from a,

"What do you think you're looking at?", To strangers to

"Absurd, no amount is too much to spend on you, love. Now you let me put it in the cart.>:(", to you.

Then at night he will be silent, preferring actions over words as he shifts closer to you on your shared bed.

His mind tired and foggy from the ordeals of the day as he wraps his arms around you. Chuckling a deep laugh that echoes through his whole body as he hears you complain, his arms are blocking your view.

Watching your screen with you as he barely focuses on it, his mind preoccupied as his ears tune into the sound of your breathing.

Alive, unharmed.

And only then will he allow himself to sleep, his body a shield for you. Protecting you from the outer world, whether you like it or not.

Okay okay I have to ask, what’s your fav head canons of Nikto then? I love hearing other people’s ideas and head canons of cod characters ^^ 💕

Ngl, i get inspired by other people's headcanons, and i make headcanons off THEIR headcanons 🥲👍… I'm unoriginal 😔💔

SOOOO, im “” Tagging”” (by that i mean putting // after the @ so the original creators dont get the notifcation for this LMAO=) blogs whose own works inspired me to create my own headcanons 🥰❤️

General Nikto Headcanons ❤️

Word Count: 1,584.

Tag List: ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ♡ @trepaika ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ☆ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

Allusions to NSFW beneath the cut! Readers are warned.

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Blunt and straight to the point. Sees no rhyme nor reason in beating around the bush and sugarcoating his words. As a result, he can be viewed as insensitive and lacking in empathy.

Impatient, and has a short fuse, so blows up often. Only you are able to be the calm after his storm, subduing him with soft reassurances and whispered words.

To say that he is possessive would be an understatement — he is extremely territorial.

After his torture, he is wary of the few things that he posesses and can actually call his own (you). His biggest phobia is losing you, and his irrational fear is someone stealing you away. Any prick unlucky enough to not catch on to you two dating will be lucky enough to survive the beating that he is given.

On that note, he is simultaneously self-assured, and insecure.

His mask is a part of him, and personal. It will take him months for him to shed said part of him.

Constantly fears that you will leave him once he reveals his face to you, so puts it off for as long as he possibly can. The day that he takes off his mask, only for you to be so casual about it and passing it off as your day-to-day, is the day that became cemented in his hard, stony heart.

Has conflicting views towards marriage. On the one hand, is an official document declaring your relationship really so necessary? Isn't an expensive wedding superfluous, and too sensational? To him, all of that is redundant — he's yours, and you're his…

…On the other hand, a glistening ring on your finger invokes a primal desire to make you more his than you are already. It would be a declaration of a love which even death wouldn't do part. Maybe he should pay more attention to the rings on display at the jewellery stores you pass by when shopping occasionally together.

An introverted man, who finds solace in solitude; excluding you, his partner, he has no companions, and rarely associates with anyone else. The voices in his head are bothersome enough, so why does he need additional voices bothering him? With that said, you would think that your presence would be a bother — especially with your mindless chatter when Nikto doesn't grunt at the idle small talk at times, wholly unresponsive for the majority of the time — but the moment you give any indication of leaving, he seizes your wrist, his cold, icy eyes silently pleading for you to stay. And you do. You always do.

Bringing me onto my next point: he is a good listener. Your ramblings are all that to you; ramblings. To Nikto, however, it's his chance to unpick all the information about you, down to the littlest of details. You wrongly assume that your words fall on deaf ears, but he listens, and he memorises every opinion you have, every statement you make, and even the small anecdotes that you share, which becoming engraved in his brain. He goes over every sentence religiously, as if it was the Bible.

He has an exceptionally good memory, tending to remember things that you had forgotten. Mention something that you craved in passing? He would surprise you with it the next time you bring it up. Alluded to someone who insulted you and ruined your day? Well, it would be no surprise that that person would never ruin your day ever again.

He is like a cat in the sense that he is an unwanted stray. However, when you came to want him, it dawned on you that he was no cat, but a panther. A predator — savage, vicious.

He would kill for you, no questions asked (He has already done it, but you don't know about that. After all, you hadn't asked him that question yet, only in jest. Truth be told, he has made so many death threats that you have become desensitised to them, dismissing them as nothing more than that: threats).

He would have died for you (PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE @//charliemwrites’s DEPICTIONNOF NIKTO IN THIS SCENE??????? HAD ME ON MY KNEES 🛐💍🧎🏼‍♀️ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE VI NEED HIM SOVBAD); however, when you were hyperventilating as you sobbed and were close to reaching hysterics, that's when he realised that he should value his life more.

Incredibly stealthy. You've seen his execution animations… 🤒 Uses that stealth to sneak up on you whenever your guard is down to smack your ass. 🤭

Insomnia troubles him at night, the relief of sleep rarely coming to him; therefore, he tends to be nocturnal, buying groceries and going about the usual errands you would have otherwise done during the day. When you wake up, that empty fridge is magically stocked with your favourite food, your bear snoozing sometimes — most of the time he stares at you like a creep. 💀 /aff

When he does sleep, it tends to be during the day, and it's almost as if he is a bear entering hibernation

He sleeps like a plank — on his back, his arms by his sides, and his legs straight. You'll curl onto his side, your head on his chest, his legs between your core, and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

Snores. REALLY loud. 😬 ONLY when you are in his arms 🙄 — when he sleeps alone, he is eerily silent.

Subsequently finding him laying in bed, still and silent, you were sobbing, thinking that he died in his sleep. Finally, after minutes of shaking him awake, he opened one eye, and grumbled groggily: “Дорогая, shut up. I am not dead. Not when I have you to live for. Now, come.”

Once he is asleep, good luck getting him to wake up again; unless you somehow manage to disentangle yourself from his arms — only then, when his myshka is missing, does he begrudgingly get up from bed, stand outside the bathroom door, and whisk you back to bed, willfully ignoring your complaints.

Proud of being your protector. Always has his hand[s] on you in some way or other, protectively keeping you by his side.

Has 20/20 vision, and perfect hearing.

Don't mistake his opening of pickle jars and water bottles for you as chivalry — he is taking advantage of it to show off his muscles for you. Doesn't want you to ask if you want to cup a squeeze of his bicep — when he sees you staring, he will forcibly take your hand and put it on his arm, positively smirking beneath that mask of his.

Has a staring problem and is unashamed of it. From his point of view, there is no problem in staring at you all day and every day.

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Eye contact with him is intense. Whenever you avert your gaze, he instantly grabs your chin to angle it so it's facing him. Eye contact during sex is a given.

Despite not wanting to be a father, he has an insatiable breeding kink (does not care whether you are a female, a male, an infertile female, or other — he is delusional in that sense).

Although he isn't against children per se — mainly indifferent to them, if I'm honest — wouldn't want to pass on the generational trauma onto his brood. He would prefer his bloodline ending with him.

His dirty talk is so filthy that you get wet from just his voice and innuendo. (Thank you @//xoxunhinged for your headcanon 😫💦)

His animalistic instincts are so prominent that you've become convinced that he purrs whenever you stroke that sensitive spot on his scalp, and growls in between grunts as he thrusts into you.

Is rough, leaving dark hickeys and bruises, but he would never, ever hurt you. He's rougher than most, but has sufficient self-restraint to be realise ahead of time if he is making you uncomfortable.

You are his deity, and he worships you — if he was to ever hurt you, he would enter a state of loathing. Since you were a merciful God, he would take the liberty of punishing himself — retribution suited to his crime.

One time you two were play wrestling and he almost dislocated your hip on accident. He didn't touch you again for at least two weeks, until he finally considered himself worthy of your touch.

Is dominant in bed, for two major reasons: because he prefers exerting the control which was forced upon him, relishing in having you submit to him; manhandling you to showcase his strength

A third reason is because if you were to ever top him, he'd cum embarrassingly quickly.

Probably gets off to being stronger than you. Deliberately puts you in positions which render you powerless, only able to take what he gives you.

Whenever you enter his room, he always sits in the darkness. Insists: “I do not need lights. Lights are wasted when I can see in the dark.”

Which is true... but it is also a pretence to hide the concerningly detailed shrine taking up an entire wall, dedicated to you. You'll come to find all of your lost trivial belongings when you mistakenly flick on the light switch.

His loyalty and devotion is unparalleled to any other's. He is utterly and unashamedly down bad for you, and he is willing to do anything and everything to keep it that way.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to do much, because you, too, love him. A lot.

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A/N I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEED HIMI NEED HIM I NEED HIM I NEEDH IM I NEED—

Yeaah i thought comparing him to a panther would be cool 🐈‍⬛

“Guard dog” and just anything to do with a “dog” is an overused trope to me at this point 😐. Dont get me wrong!!!! , it doesnt mean that i dont LIKE the trope!!!! , but my own interpretation of Nikto is a little different, abd i think it suits him better,, Esp bc panthers technically 🤓☝️ do *not* exist, which links to how the definition of his name in Russian is “Nobody” :)

An unconventional animal for a very unconventionally attractive man😽,,

Anyways, it is time for a cigarette 🚬🤏😪. I will return in approximately 56 business days (trust me guys 😋✌️).

I LOVE THESE HEADCANONS BC THEYRE SO ORIGINAL AND MAKE NIKTO MORE THREE-DIMENSIONAL !!!!!

THANK YOU FOR THESE OMGMGMGG ☺️☺️☺️☺️💞💞💞💕 YOU HAVE BLESSED THE NIKTO SIMPS!!!!!!!!!! (me. I am ALL the Nikto simps 👺👺👺/j)

Also METRO METRO METRO JDISJDIAJSJSDJDJSJFISJD MY CHANCE TO RAMBLE!!!!!! 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

Im yet to read the books... 😔✊, but I played the games twice !! 😘

I got the bad endings in both of the Metro Redux games — because i did NOT spare any of the antagonists 💀💀☠️, i was stealtgy throughout but i wasnt gonna spare the main villain EVEN after he tried to kill me with his snipers????? 😭 — and, like, every time the player was revealled to STILL be Artyom i couldn't help but wonder how the fuck he was still alive after basically being consistently obliterated in two explosions 😭😭😭 thankfully got the "good" ending in Metro Exodus (my favourite game of the series — the open world exploration and the crafting was just 👩🏼‍🍳💋🤌)...

... Got scared an embarrassing number of times 😥 did NOT help that i played the games in the dark 😰😰😰 i was so STUPID 😭😭😭😭

Ill stop it right there 😐🛑✋,, sometimes i REALLT need to learn how to stfu sorry 😭😭😭

Nikto HC

speaks English. gets extremely annoyed about people who think he doesn't understand well due to his accent.

in fact he speaks several languages besides Russian and English. As a former FSB agent he has an excellent education in *classified* and speaks *classified*, *classified* as well as *classified* fluently.

is not unusually laconic for his profession. due to his training he got taught to keep communication minimal in the field to avoid accidental slip ups.

After getting caught and tortured Nikto worried about his face not allowing him to fit in back home anymore. That never kept him from keeping in touch with family. He is currently trying to figure out how to not scare his dement Babushka with his cut up face. His solution so far is to send letters.

Has excellent handwriting.

Favourite food is pelmeni. if he gets his hands on a bag of pre-made deep frozen pelmeni he will not count how many of the pelmeni he would like to eat but dumps the whole bag into the pot. He never fails to finish those.

Tried to explain to König what smetana is. Has not succeeded.

Secretly nicknames every tank he ever happens to drive as бакчик / little tank.

Doesn't like dogs. They are too loud and aggressive as his most common encounter with dogs are military or police trained canines and that's his sole point of reference.

Read the Metro 2033 series twice. he enjoys how he can recognise the places in the story from his previous Moscow visits.

sometimes he thinks about quitting the military job he has to retire somewhere in a little village where he could read and fish and generally be at peace. but he doesn't feel like it is his time yet. and he isn't sure if he actually would like to be on his own with all his too loud thoughts. So he stays, stuck in the limbo of waiting from something. Or someone?

Omg he is so fucking blunt 💀💀💀 your depiction of Nikto gives me LIFE 🙏😭💓

ACKDKSJDJSJSKAKSJDJSSDD

^^^^PLEASE BECAUSE VECAUSE I COULD VISUALISE THIS VIVIDLY IN MYNMIND?????? 😭😭😭

the immediate contradiction of his "chivalrous gesture" ☠️☠️,, like damn what the fuck were we expecting, 😭😭😭 for him to pay for our groceries too? (maybe 💔)

///

HE IS SO SOCIALLY AWKWARD LIKE I CAN LITERALLY FEEL THE SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT FIRST-HAND 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ITS AS IF ITS HIS FIRST TIME INTERACTINT WITH ANOTHER LIVING BREATHING HUMAN BEING AND HE DOESNT KNOW WHAT TO DO LMFOAOAKAHDUHRJEHF,,, I FEEL SO BAD) but also, like,, 🗿 "Your garden is shit" seems so in character for him???! 🤨

,

It's actually horrific how much this made me blush like, 🤯

Oh to have Nikto tell me im fuckable 😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😢😢😿💔💔💔💔💔🙏🙏🙏🤲🙏🙏🙏🤲🤲🤲🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

"soft slow fuckin with Nikto sounds real good." i'm panting like a dog in heat LOL It really does sound good. Honestly I could drown your inbox with asks about him, howeeevvverrr my brain is fixated on him awkwardly attempting to woo/ get to know us. like how is he going to integrate himself into our life especially as non verbal as he tends to be. would we no think his presence is creepy? or maybe he protected us when we first met so now whenever we see him we kind of just feel safe ?

-🥷

My lil bestie 🥷 drown me in Nikto I’m happy with that what a way to go!!!

So I’ve written the origins of husband Nikto 🥲 I got so carried away apologies and I could literally go on about this forever. Shall I make a part two?! Maybe I’ll make a part two…

At first you thought absolutely nothing of it.

You had promised your best friend a meal of delicacies from her home country as a birthday gift, knowing how much she missed her mothers cooking. After tears on your shoulder, you offered to make her a feast if she gave you some ideas.

Dutifully then, you trudged down to the special supermarket on the edge of town, the one that stocked a wide range of eastern treats. It wasn’t familiar territory for you, the fluorescent lighting and shelves towering with jars covered in Cyrillic writing. But a promise is a promise after all.

You spent way too long trying to decipher the meaning of things, staring down at the little scribbled names your pal had written for you on the back of a receipt. Just about every tin looked the same. Frustration started to itch at the seams of your mind, as you leant upwards to examine a canister of black cherries.

Actually you might buy these, they look so tasty.

“Lost?”

The voice behind you is harsh, making you jump nearly out of your skin, a thick accent drenched in gravel. Turning, you give yourself a second fright. There’s a man stood behind you in the narrow aisle, a solid wall of muscle and sinew, black balaclava revealing nothing but a pair of suspicious, bright blue eyes shrouded under dark brows.

“I’m okay thank you.” Your voice comes out in a squeak and those unreadable orbs narrow slightly. He’s carrying a plastic basket that seems comically small in his large hand, dressed entirely in dark colours, compression gear layered under looser fitting garments. It looks like he’s about to bring the city to its knees in a hail of bullets. That or he’s in the witness protection program.

He glances down at the receipt held fast in your fist.

“Those.” He points at the cherries. “Are not on your list.”

Jesus fuck he’s so blunt, like painfully so.

“I know that.” Your reply is a little snappy and it causes his eyebrow to quirk upwards. “I just thought they looked nice.”

He lets out a huff of something that sounds like mirth, then snatches the list out of your palm before you can stop him. You think better of trying to grab it back.

“Black cherries are good.” The man is skimming the list. “Good for tea.”

You supress an urge to roll your eyes at him, you haven’t come here for a chat, not that he seems the type to want to talk.

“Come.” He crooks his fingers at you like a dog, then makes to stride up the aisle. When you don’t immediately follow, he eyes you imperviously. Just the look he gives you, has you scurrying along in his wake, nervously holding your jar of fruit like it’s a talisman.

The man doesn’t talk to you again, except to mutter stuff to himself in what you suspect is Russian. Gradually he places items into your basket, while you inspect them. Credit to him, he does actually seem to be collecting the things you need.

You watch him, the way his gaze remains steadily engrossed in whatever he’s doing, reading tiny labels and crouching to tug things from the dusty back of shelves. You notice he’s wearing gloves inside, the worn palms suggesting they’re constantly in use. His own basket is full of sweet jams, peppermints and candies in brightly coloured packaging with unrecognisable cartoon characters on them.

“Sweet tooth?” You ask him. The man just looks at you blankly in response and you wonder whether he’s being rude on purpose.

After another five minutes of murmuring that’s incomprehensible to your ears, he passes you the list back, your full basket weighed down. In a strangely chivalrous gesture he takes it from you, seemingly unfazed by how heavy it is.

“Anything else?” You shake your head and he nods towards the counter.

“You pay then.”

Frowning, you follow this strange guy over to the cash desk. He observes you handing over cash for your goods and then struggling off with two heavy bags.

You don’t know it, but Nikto is just as perplexed as you are. From the minute he saw you holding his favourite brand of cherries, he was utterly engrossed in you. At first he wondered if you were Russian, considered trying to talk to you in his mother tongue, then decided against it. You looked too confused by everything to be able to read Cyrillic.

He hesitates for a minute, paying for his treats with little care or attention. It’s not in his nature to be helpful, or to care about strangers. But something about you calls out to him, you’re sweeter by far than any of the food he’s just bought. Something is shouting at him, gnawing in the pit of his chest. A heady need to be in your presence for a few moments longer.

You’re halfway up the street, still limping along with your bags when he catches up to you. Without saying anything, he takes one off you and then another, making himself look like a packhorse in the process.

“I don’t need more help thank you!” You try and hoist the bags back, but he clings on with grim determination, gazing down at you sternly.

“Don’t be stubborn.” He replies flatly. Then he gestures up the road. “I will walk you home. Get!”

He speaks that last word as an order, plain and simple, like you’re an unruly mare that needs taming. Only because he won’t accept any of your protests, you end up letting him walk you to the corner of your street. You don’t talk and he doesn’t either, just plodding along in your wake silently and frightening people passing by.

“This is fine thanks.”

You’re not about to show the oddball where your home is. The man lets out a snort.

“I can find out where you live little one, it is not a great mystery.”

His porcelain eyes glitter a little wickedly in his mask, as you mouth soundlessly at him, caught between annoyance and no shortage of concern. Then he makes to stride up the road, looking into peoples windows, a fierce figure who’s bound to frighten all of your older neighbours.

“Stop that!” You snarl, jogging to keep up with his pace.

He lets out a low chuckle, a rasping file of amusement against a steel trap of reluctance.

“Then show me which is your place da?”

You lead him up your garden path, while he takes in the overgrown borders and ragged lawn.

“This garden is shit.”

“Yes, thank you I’m aware.”

That encourages another harsh bark of mirth as he follows you into your little house. He looks around from the corners to the ceiling, like he’s scoping out the exits. He hasn’t seemed skittish until now. Placing your bags down smartly, he starts to rock nervously on the balls of his large feet.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Russian caravan?” He asks hopefully.

“No English breakfast.”

You can see his nose wrinkle under the fabric covering his face, but he just sighs.

“Da, black with cherries.”

The man observes you carefully, hawk eyed and watchful as you make his drink. With another huff of impatience he takes over when it comes to adding the fruit, placing several viscous, rich cherries into the steaming mug.

He doesn’t sit when you do, leaning uncomfortably against the counter like he’s afraid of settling down. It’s as if he’s never been in a home before, a feral animal coaxed inside by the promise of a juicy bone to gnaw on.

“Your house is less shit than it’s garden.”

“Thanks very much.”

He just nods, then turns away from you. It takes you a minute to realise he’s drinking, and that he obviously doesn’t want to show you his face. That strikes more sympathy than you’ve felt for this strange creature thus far.

“I appreciate your help.”

He just grunts and then the silence is lingering, spiralling out of control until you’re cringing with it.

“You cook?” The man peers into the bags again, then directs his line of vision questioningly back at you.

“It’s for a friend.”

“Which friend?” He snaps, suddenly irritated. As if he’s asking you that when he knows precisely none of your mates. You blink at him and gradually he seems to collect himself.

“A boyfriend?” His tone is careful, with a delicate undercurrent of a threat laced within it, hands balling into fists over his cup. Your scowl in response encourages another low huff from him.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Why did you admit that? You should have said something to the tune of your fella being due home in an hour. Now he’s never going to leave.

“How? You are fuckable.”

Your cheeks grow hot, like someone’s lit a fire in your face.

“None of your business.”

He barks again, not so much a dog, more like a tattered grey wolf, mouth savage and eyes wild.

“Do you have a name?”

The man totally ignores you.

“Tomorrow I will come back and work in the garden.”

The way he tells you that, leaves no room for debate and when the next day dawns, he’s already working away. You watch him anxiously from the front door, hastily pulled on clothes over your pyjamas.

“It’s six am! You can’t be serious!”

The guy raises an eyebrow at your hushed shout, what little you can see of his face looks unconcerned.

“For fucks sake come inside.”

You make him another cup of tea and this time he sits down gingerly at the table, still uneasily gazing around like someone might jump out at him.

“You don’t need to do my gardening for me! I’m perfectly capable of doing it, I just need time.”

He shrugs off your argument, toying with his untouched cup. Another bolt of sympathy strikes you at that.

“I’m just gonna brush my teeth, don’t go anywhere.”

The man looks at you and for one glimmering moment you catch a softness in his eyes.

“I am not going anywhere little one.” He pauses, after he points back to your threadbare front lawn. “It will be nice for you, once I am done.”

Utterly confused, you start to climb the stairs.

HNNNGGG someone hold me back from continuing this I can foresee another Virgin!König situation arising omgggggg

Extension of @itsagrimm ’s post and conversation which we had 😇✨✨💖

Some additional Nikto headcanons

Word Count: 653

Tag List: ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @rustic-guitar-notes ♡ @best-soup ☆ @lotionlamp ☆ @luci4theminorannoyance ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @nightlyvoids ♡ @skeletalgoats ♡ @aethelwyneleigh27 ☆ @arrozyfrijoles23 ♡ @dobaddo ♡ @the-second-sage ☆ @wil-xyz ☆ @revnatheshadow ☆ @feelya

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Nikto is extremely bitter, and spiteful. His childhood was stolen from him from the moment he became an officer. In addition to this, his torture left him scarred — physically and mentally — and he is conscious of a childhood which he could have had, yet is unconscious of what the childhood which he did have was like. He either does not remember, or the memories have been repressed; either way, he recognises what he has lost, for he is met with the naively mischievous glint in the eyes of the boyish rookies that arrive with the optimism of a young, hopeful lad, and he is cursing under his breath in Russian, resenting the happiness and zest which they give off, contrasting the spite and bitterness which festers within him.

Perhaps he displays said “boyish” behaviour in order to reclaim some of the innocence which he had when he was a young boy; again, either it is intentional, and he behaves in such a way as to I personally believe that he doesn't even realise that he behaves in such a way: in Nikto's eyes, he has prematurely matured and aged, making him see through the lens of a damaged man; yet, that same lens may be making him blind to the boyish behaviour which he unintentionally displays, evident in the scraps of content that we are fed of him 😓

Maybe Nikto has two boys inside of him which define him, both the same age, yet different: one is the child which was robbed of its innocence and forced to endure atrocities unimaginable; the other is the child, innocent, which has been locked away, wondering why it cannot be let out. Neither is aware of the other, and it's all the more tragic.

Exploring this point further, Nikto being 28–29 is surprising, as he acts far older than his age. It's as if the experiences which he has experienced have aged him mentally, and he genuinely feels the pain of it all straining his psyche. It's tragic that someone so young was subjected to such torture so soon, and be forced to wear a mask 😟…

Given how the wiki states that “he has an uncanny ability… to hide his true identity”, it is ironic. What if from his perspective he has hidden his identity so well that there is none to be found anymore? What if he perceives himself as an actual nobody after having been done so immorally wrong? What if as a result of his torture and lasting trauma he has had his personality and identity stolen, just like his childhood, and is therefore unable to rediscover it?

…Maybe the mask is his subconscious way of protecting the remains of the innocent child, wanting to preserve the past purity of his child self (before being inevitably forced to mature as a result of his environment, and consequently his other experiences?*)

*Note, I can imagine that Nikto's childhood was robbed at some point as an adolescent, but he was still innocent and did not grasp what it was. After his torture, the truth behind his childhood may have come to light, and shed darkness on what was otherwise something positive. Furthermore, he could be clinging on to what little remains of that innocent child.

In addition to own personal headcanon (where he is blunt), he probably spouts the darkest jokes and has a morbid sense of humour. I don't necessarily believe that he would use humour to cope with his circumstances, as in all honesty, he does not strike me as man who indulges in idle banter like “haha i got tortured guys 😎,, sooo anyways 0/10 would not recommend 😰😰 — my other voices wouldnt either, trust 💪🙏” 💀,,

,,but, I certainly believe that due to how desensitised he has become to morbid matters, he has reached a point in his life where the horror amuses him, and doesn't affect him.

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A/N Finished writing this yesterday at 23:11 instead of actually fucking SLEEPING 🥱😫😫,, my priorities are notbthe ones that i should be prioritising lmfao 💀

Surprisingly posted something else 😱😱❓⁉️⁉️❗ this is VERY uncharacteristic of me!!??? I was supposed to post one post and disappear for ~3 months?? 🤔🤔🫡🤨🧐🧐🤨

Been reading Metro 2033 rn and its [Redacted, as the rant was two paragraphs] 😍😍

Not much else to say lmao — been existing i suppose 🤯

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)... 🥲💔

FLUFFY NIKTO!!! 🗣️FLUFFY NIKTO!!! 🗣️FLUFFY NIKTO!!! 🗣️

ACKDHUEHDJDJSDJD 😭😭😭😭🙏💕💕💞💞💞💞💕💕💞💕💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

i love u fluffy nikto. nikto bath (sfw!!) fic soon ?

[headlock - imogen heap]

nikto who finds comfort in domestic, quiet things after retirement.

nikto thought that he would be the kind of man who still takes mercenary work every once in a while, and remains tethered to a hot gun and cold battlefield. but when he settles into the quiet life and realizes that this is not weak, not shameful, he decides that maybe he’ll indulge in something close to domestic.

he picks up a job at the corner store a block away to keep his hands busy. it’s something lighthearted, easy. heavy machinery blaring in his ears and the hollers of workers would bring him back to the field. no, he prefers the quiet of a mom-and-pop shop. nikto doesn’t mind eating the kasha and smokey cutlets you prepared the night prior for lunch in the silent storage room.

in the beginning, when he comes home from work, he likes to pretend that he’s returning from a long deployment. it’s easy to trick himself when he looks at how you smile and fret over him, asking if it was too much and whether your cooking was up to par. 

but you don’t have to cry now and look up at him through bleary eyes, having been worried sick. no, you know that he will come home now. if you miss him, he’s only a five or six-minute walk away.

he likes to do things for you. if the chair to your vanity is wobbly, he’ll pick it up and lug it away to repair it in the backyard. if you’re having trouble painting your nails, he’ll take the brush and shakily apply it. you laugh at how he smears it all over your skin. when it’s time to bathe, it’s a guarantee that nikto will step in with you. he’ll lightly wash your back, taking care not to fiercely scrub. 

retirement isn’t so bad when he looks at the little things. he gets to wake up to you every morning, and never leaves you cold in bed, wondering where he is.

HVOXTOICOCYCPYVYVPYVTXECCRCTVYBYIFYVTCXTDCTVTYYVYVYCY

NIKTONITKONITKOTNIKTONIYKOYNITKROYJRIJDIEJDUEJSJSJWIAJSJSMSSR 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

NNEED

SSSOKCUHMUCH

OMGKDJSJA

😭😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💞💞💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘💘

AMAZJFG COSPLAY

HE LOOKS SO HANDSOME WJR THE POSEHDSUJSJAJSDAAAAAAAARGRHAHAAHAAAAHAHDHHHAAAAHGDHDH

IM

Ver ry normal for Nikto!!! 😁😁😁 (NOT a lunatic or an escaped insanr asylum patient i DWEAR 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Nikto on the rocks

❗❗❗❗❗❗❗❗❗⁉️⁉️⁉️❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓

NIKTO❗❗❗❗❗❗❗ SHSHRHRDDD OMGGOKMGMGMFKMGMG

I JUST WANT TO CUDDLE HIM :((( AND WRAP MY ARMS AROUND HIS BELLY AS IF HE'S A BIG BEAR 😣💓

I want to sink my teeth into his tummy 😊🍴🍽️

I saw this picture and I instantly thought "that's Nikto".

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 🤭✨✨

НИКТО Personality Analysis

-> Information Given

Some form of dissociation disorder

Tortured by Zakhaev, leaving heavy scarring and forcing him to wear a mask to avoid ridicule, fear from others, and shunning by society

Age is in the range of late 20s to mid 30s, not confirmed yet

-> Theories

Nikto says "us" a lot in his voicelines, and in his description it only says he has ACUTE DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER, which is when you zone out and fall into a heavy state of haziness and confusion for a short period of time before regaining focus. However, DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER is all about dissociating for however long, the range is limitless, and another identity will take over while you're spaced out. Therefore, this is why I believe Nikto had DID and not ADD.

Nikto has this animation where he's supposedly showing that he'll slit your throat in a very oddly realistic manner. What pressure to use and how he'd end off your head. I believe he's witnessed and first handedly experienced this when Zakhaev tortured him, and he began doing it while in the military. Why? Nikto has a very gruff, harsh tone, but it's only when he's yelling and putting too much pressure to his vocal cords. I believe he has a scar on his neck, maybe a bit too close to his esophagus and lower chin that didn't heal properly and affected how he projected his voice.

Now, Nikto has one voice line that goes, "I hear enough voices, I don't need another!" Referring back to my first theory, I believe Nikto also has very short patience and all of his alters do as well. His whole personality is built off of acting fast, doing as instructed, and constantly going. You never see Nikto stop. I believe this voiceline is a very strong giveaway to a part of Nikto's personality on how he functions. It also shows how his temper is kind of wonky.

-> Personality Scan-over

Nikto is presumed as a very harsh Russian man, brutalized by his captor Zakhaev and taken advantage of when he was at his absolute lowest. This has caused major issues with trust, abandonment, and self-love. Nikto struggles with expressing himself, often resulting in violence and anger as heard in his voicelines.

He typically doesn't like speaking to people, only his fellow military personnel, but even then it isn't guaranteed. Nikto is a very self-sufficient person, he's head-on about lots of things and isn't scared to take charge when need be. His main frustration is when people don't listen to him, he already lacks control mentally with all his alters.

Nikto is the type of person who struggles with letting people into his life, or into his head in general. He's reserved, too reserved. He doesn't like letting people in, and who could blame him with all that he's suffered?

But if you do manage to break down his barriers, expect tough love and lots of strange surprises. He'll become more protective of you in a physical sense, not caring too much about you emotionally. If you've brought him comfort in any way, shape or form, he will tell himself how much he cannot lose that solace you bring him.

Nikto is cold, and typically isn't good in relationships. In his voicelines, he's very aggressive and doesn't show any sympathy, much less many manners. The occasional "spasibo" (thanks in Russian) and that's all. It'd be hard to be dependent on him when he's just more independent than you'd expect.

-> Background Theories

True Name: Igor "Nikto" Vasilyevich Yurievich

Age: 33 or 34

Born in: Siberia, Russia

Family: No mother, no siblings

-> Summary

Nikto is a Russian soldier who fights in the private military dubbed "KorTac", an elite group of military personnel who fight alongside other military units to achieve a shared goal.

Nikto is a torture victim survivor, captured my Viktor Zakhaev and ending up with some severe scarring to his lower face and neck. This is why he hides his face with a mask, and also covers his whole body in dark clothing.

Nikto is an individual who struggles with a dissociative disorder, causing some of his work to be a bit half-done, not purposefully however. His lack of control due to his disorder brings him only disadvantages, making him stop mid-fight and inevitably making him an easy target.

Regardless of this, Nikto has proved himself to be a worthy soldier on the battlefield, exceeding many expectations and climbing the ranks cleanly and efficiently. His character is the embodiment of determination and dedication despite everything going wrong much to his dismay.

SCREAMING

A AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASDDHFHDHD DSHS

🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

eat up babes

Outfit inspired by this post :>

scared but tried to headcanon the design a little for when he isn't in full gear for missions... in other news i hhope to not neglect this account as much

Oh the things that I would do to have him look at me like this... 😔

He could murder me violently and I'd smile and say "Thank you! 😁"

Need him SO BAD,❗❗❗😫💦😫💦😫💦

i have hired this nikto to stare at you

"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 💗💗

Yall this is also super specific...

Do you think he has a scar on his forehead and he's tracing it?

@simp4konig

Words wouldn't be able to convey how down bad this art made me so I put it into a picture !! 😻😻💞💞💓,, sorry to disgrace ur art like this man 💀💀💀💀💀,,,, i literally dont eben know u and neither do you me im so so SO SORRY 😭😭😭💀... not really tho i have no shame when it comes to Nikto 😋

im sorry he looks weird here, im still adjusting with xp pen.... i haven't used a stylus for so long 🥹

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.

Oooh taking off nikto's mask thoooo

when you saw nikto's face for the first time, it was on a balmy night. you were deployed to a small section of the middle east, hunting down one of zakhaev's groups. but it'd been so, so long, and even a man such as himself, one burdened by the need for revenge, can only wait for so long.

so, you set up camp for the night.

you traded cigarettes with one another. he had the cheap, crude kind-- the sort that you smoke only to take the edge off. (really, you only liked them because his chapped lips touched each one before he passed them onto you.)

you still remember the look in his eyes. he was magnetic, this character that disturbed you but drew you in with every little quip and brooding look. there was-- is-- something about him that you just can't shake.

the night set in, and after smoking for quite a while, you both got into the tent. it was small. if a strong wind came through, it would've knock it down with the two of you in it. but you weren't nervous, not with nikto around.

he always wore a face-covering, often a mix of fabrics and tactile material. you knew of the campfire tales from your rookie days of what he endured, of how zakhaev tortured him, each story more exaggerated than the last. you don't really know what happened, you just know it was bad enough for him to always hide behind a mask.

like a fool, you asked him about it. and he answered by turning around, presenting the clasp to you, daring you to release him from the measly pieces keeping the mask together.

you did. your fingers hesitated before undoing the clasp, but you did it. he did not flinch-- he wasn't bluffing or trying to prove a point. he just let you do it, and you weren't sure of why. maybe it was because you were alone, or that he liked that your mouth touched his cigarettes, or maybe he just wanted to give you something to write home about.

was he beautiful, or ugly? was he "atrocious" and "blighted by scars?" maybe. maybe not. this character that people formed, that he played into, was not all it was made out to be. he looked just as tired as everybody else, just as sullen. you saw him as andre that night, not just nikto, the man who kills and terrorizes.