All Eyes On You -Nikto-

Deadpool

Yall I can't wait to watch the new Deadpool movie, THAT MAN CAN BREAK EVERY 207 BONES IN MY BODY, I just want him to love me. You better believe I'm busting more then a nut when I watch it.

posting your fic on AO3 like

хозяин

Nobody. You wish it weren’t so apt. But he’s not a person, not anything of Earth.

Content: Dub-Con, Biting, Scratching, Exhibitionism, Possessive Behavior, Toxic Behavior

You must have pissed something off in a past life. Or they’re planning on giving you something really good in the next one. Because this… this is too much. He’s too much.

We are exactly right for you, khozyain.

It’s not just the taste of leather and oil on the back of your tongue each morning. Or the crimson smears on your sheets before bed. You could live with the shit sleep, the centuries of foreign memories, and the occasional hankering for raw meat that thins your appetite to nothing.

“You’re KorTac’s best operative?”

It’s a question you’ve heard a dozen times before – and will likely hear a dozen times more. The criticism is valid. You’re not an imposing figure; nothing impressive about you. Look more like a child in a Halloween costume than anything resembling a soldier. The question never bothers you because the unofficial title is as ill-fitting as the gun strapped to your thigh.

It’s not you they need to worry about bothering.

“We are. Problem, soldat?”

“There’s no problem, Nikto,” you answer in Sebastian Krueger’s place.

No, Krueger is too busy wondering where the big, dark figure behind your shoulder just came from. He could have sworn you stepped out of the transport alone. In broad daylight, no less. (That doesn’t mean there aren’t shadows.)

Nikto grunts, nearly tripping you with how closely he walks, toes of his boots nipping at the heels of yours. A stride twice the length of your own but doggedly following, not leading.

“Thought there was only one ‘a ya,” Declan O’Conor muses.

“Paperwork issue,” you lie, smiling.

Nikto grunts, pressing into your back as you stop in front of your temporary captain. You have to brace against his oppressive weight, feel yourself flush a bit when you don’t quite manage.

“Who’re you, then?” Declan asks, eyes on your shadow.

“Nikto,” comes the gruff reply.

Nobody.

You wish it weren’t so apt.

But he’s not a person, not anything of Earth. You don’t know if he ever was; he never gives you a straight answer when you pluck up the courage (or frustration) to ask. Last time, he told you that if he ever wanted to feel human, he’d just be inside you. (You’d flushed, didn’t know if he meant in your mind, where he often takes up unwanted residence, or… elsewhere. Couldn’t make yourself ask him to clarify, afraid of the answer. Jumped whenever he touched you for a week.)

You don’t know the exact bounds of this pact either. He listens to you only sometimes. When it suits him – or when it least suits you. And you’re not immune to his cruelty either, as the bruises and bitemarks and scratches can attest. Nothing like the romanticized crossroads deals you see in tv shows and movies.

Truthfully, you’re not even sure if he’s a punishment for you or if you’re a reward for him. What’s that line you read online once? Dog heaven is squirrel hell. Did he make a deal with you, or did he make a deal with something else, and you’re just collateral?

You never bother to ask. He’ll just click his forked tongue and tell you that it won’t get rid of him either way. The worst part is that he’ll be right. You’re pretty sure the Christian God as you know Him has nothing to do with any of this.

The mission doesn’t matter, not really. You only listen for objectives. Whoever needs killing, whatever information needs gathering, wherever the hostages are. The rest is all useless extra, so much noise to Nikto, not even listening. He’s too busy bullying his way between your thighs, sinking his teeth into the meat through your cargos.

You’re never sure if he’s visible or the other operatives just avoid looking at him in these moments. Regardless, you flush and kick at him when his jaw locks too hard. It’ll bruise livid and ugly, and he’ll fuck the head of his cock into the aching ring of teeth prints left behind.

He’s insistent when the briefing is over, riled up by the promise of bloodshed. Pushy and growling, nearly snapping through his “mask” as he herds you like a rabid shepherd to your temporary quarters.

He fucks you in the doorway though, using one thick arm to bounce you like a personal fleshlight. The other keeps your jaw forced open so he can spit and lick into your mouth, obscene and filthy.

You push and squirm, but he just laughs that awful, maniacal rattle and grinds your clit into his pelvis. Until you start to mean it when you whimper “no” and “stop.” It always makes him cum so hard that you taste ichor in the back of your throat.

It’s too much to hope that you’ll eat in the mess hall uninterrupted. Nikto’s presence attracts the worst, and Krueger is compelled to pick at the weakness you exude. It’s no question that he’s a bigger, stronger, meaner beast than you. But like a dying soldier left to scream in the field, there’s a muzzle hidden out of sight, awaiting whatever is lured in – for mercy or to feast.

Krueger takes the seat across from you, one of his boots landing heavy and threatening on top of yours. You eat quietly, picking at your mashed potatoes and rubbery chicken. Listen to him jab and jeer.

Nikto is there but he’s not. He’s laughing in your ear at all the true but derisive things Krueger is taunting you with. All the sins he boasts of and the reactions he takes as proof of your inadequacy for the assignment you’ve been brought for. It would hurt more of you didn’t know it was true – and if your nerves weren’t rattling.

There’s a line, always a line. Some fault hidden beneath the surface that you don’t see until the ground splits and swallows up the unfortunate soul above.

This time, it’s a comment about how much more useful you’d be as a cockwarmer.

The plastic fork is an inch from his eye by the time you finish blinking.

“Nikto, stop!”

It snaps in his tight fist – but stops. Krueger hasn’t even processed how close he was to losing half his sight before you’re yanking Nikto back by the straps. He’s growling, snarling, half-crazed over a comment he’s made himself. You abandon your mostly full tray and the table altogether, putting all your weight and strength into dragging him from the cafeteria.

“Calm down, that’s enough!” you shout over the animalistic sounds ripping from his throat.

He turns on you instead. Pins you to the wall just outside, in full view of anyone passing on their way to dinner.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he’s chanting. Ripping through your pants (that’s the second pair this week) and thrusting against the seam of your ass. Already leaking precum from an obsidian tip at the small of your back, the corpse-pale base nestled between your cheeks. If he had the coordination through the frenzy, he’d stuff it into you dry and tight. As it is, it’s all he can do to buck against you, fingers digging divots into the cement wall, dust raining down on your face.

Mine, mine, mine, he chants inside your skull in languages known and unknown. You’re leaking through your underwear, too overwhelmed and bewildered to be anything but turned on. Fear is synonymous with attraction, those two wires soldered together and circuited to your pussy.

Copper fills your nose, warmth drips down your lips. Nikto scents it like a hound, yanks your head back to lap at the blood, groaning into your mouth.

Yours, yours, yours as his cock splutters against your spine, too hot. Tingly, almost caustic. You can barely breathe and he’s hauling you over one big shoulder, scooping your slick to prod at the hole he was just grinding against.

Us as you’re pinned with nowhere to go and no voice to praise or protest. In a room darker than a void. Suspended on an endless continuum of pleasure and pain, phantom claws raking your skin and phantom mouths filling whatever holes his cock isn’t occupying.

Sometimes you wonder if the plural “we” and “us” he tends to use is in reference to you and him, or…

The mission is going to be a success, it always is. You separate from the rest of the KorTac squad, shooing Nikto’s hands out from under your shirt. The claw marks still sting; the sooner you can get out of tac gear, the better.

He cracks his neck as the two of you approach the infil point. It sounds like snapping bone. A crescent moon carves into the night sky, sharp enough to cut yourself on.

“Is it time, khozyain?”

Those cajoling whispers caress your ears again. To let him run rampant, to let him fill your bath with blood. He’d be a scourge on the earth if you let him, a one-man apocalypse. The death of the world for a slip of the tongue.

Your hold on his leash is so tight that it’s imprinted past the skin, down into muscle. But on nights like tonight, for things like this… you let out the lead.

“Stay clear of Point B,” you remind into your com.

“Roger,” all others agree.

If they know what’s good for them, they’ll abide by the plan like holy writ. Not even you can promise their lives if they stray.

Shadow looms behind you, grows with each beat of your heart, spills over your shoulders, threads down your arms. You don’t dare glance at the inhuman head hovering right by yours, the maw parting for vicious, pearlescent teeth and pooling saliva. Hungry. Starving.

“Nikto.”

A rolling, ravenous churr vibrates through your skull. The lowest windows of your target begin to crack.

“Hunt.”

His love -Gaz-

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who has a somewhat weird obsession when it comes to your hair. Whenever he is near you or having you sitting in his lap, his hand is tangled in those locks of yours, and if you happen to be bald, he likes to try and keep your head warm with his hands.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who picks out branches with little flowers on them, so he can watch a youtube tutorial on how to make a homemade bouquet. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who rubs your feet every night while telling you the stories he has made up about your future together. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who has so many pictures of you saved in his phone that when he runs out of space, he will start deleting his work pictures so he can take more pictures of you. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who would get a small tattoo that symbolizes you if you agree to marry him.

I hope you enjoyed my tidbits on Gaz!!! Thank you for reading!!!

To far to touch -Ghost-

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, his therapist looking straight at him.

"Let's go through this again" Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he starts to focus on his finger tips, then his shoulders and his ears It was like he could feel your presence close by, walking through the hallways, taking a shower, sitting down to eat a meal. "She was my everything" He says outload. He remembers the way that you would hold out your hand as a way to invite him to sit with you. The clothes he would pick out for you when you would ask him to. The big smile that overcame most of your face when he would laugh at your jokes. "Then why did you kill them?" He felt his heart stop and his head light. During these moments when he was in this office he sometimes would remember that he is there and not somewhere with you. "What are you talking about?" his voice sounding a bit squeaky. "You don't remember Simon?" Think of the flowers, think of the hospital bed and the morning dew" He was close to crying at this point, his hands gripping the chair like it was going to be ripped from his grasp. "Y/N asked me to!" His breathing heavy and hard. "Y/n was ill" he said to himself.

You held his hand as he led you to the flowers, the roses that you guys had planted together many months before. The unforgivable favor, the whisper he still hears when the sun starts to show. "Put me to rest Ghost, put me out of this pain" He would wish that his gun might get stuck in the chamber when he set it against your temple. "Remember me always" "Always and forever" He opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. "I don't know what your talking about" he would repeat as he does each day. When the cuffs are put back on his wrist and Price is walking him back to his cell, he can almost catch your perfume as if you were there with him.

I am not sure how i feel about this one exactly but maybe I will re write it down the line when I have more thought for it. I hope you enjoyed!

@crunchyheartbeat (what a satisfying name) made a GhostxReader post and I had to nyoom in on a HC I have:

Imagine in those fics where Ghost has a decent flat and good taste, he has these to drink from

His favorite -Ghost-

Simon "Ghost" Riley who bought a glass cup of your favorite color so he can drink bourbon out of. Simon "Ghost" Riley who nicknamed his gun a similar name to yours. Simon "Ghost" Riley who pushes soap over during meal times so he can sit next to you first.

Simon "Ghost" Riley who watches the insane amount of TikTok's you send him so you know that he appreciates them

Simon "Ghost" Riley who is always a few inches behind you in the battle field because he would never let anyone harm you.

I hope you enjoyed, maybe tomorrow I will post something about price. Thank you!!!

Lost and found -König-

Tw: some cuss words?

When I tell you that König is a southern man in my head, heee is.

You knew that when you were in high school listening to the speeches of how to not to do drugs, or how bad drinking is for you, or how its double bad to drink and drive, you start to wonder why you didn't pay close enough attention because if you did you wouldn't be stranded on the side of the road.

Truthfully you weren't that tipsy, a shot here and there didn't kill you but having a run down car and only a small amount of water definitely did. You did not think that this was how your night was going to turn out. Watching your feet as you walk along side the road you put your thumb out in hopes of catching somebody, anybody really would be perfect. "Come ooooon" you yell out as another car passes you for the umpteenth time. You sit down in the grass feeling a bit embarrassed for yourself while trying to keep your puke in rather then out. How nice it was to finally see a truck pull over to the side of the road after sitting there waiting for so long, your knight and shining armor. You stood up to slowly start walking to the truck while you feel your nerves go haywire, when the biggest gol darn man you have ever seen steps out of the drivers side. "Hey are you okay?" "Do you need help?"

Your entire body is frozen in place, that is not a knight in shining armor, that is a executioner, why the hell does he have a rag over his face, why is he so big? he looks like he could squeeze your head right in between his arms and you would pop like a cherry. "My name is König, I am sorry to scare you, I just saw you sitting here and wanted to see if you needed any help". You watch as he takes off his red flannel and hesitantly hands it to you. "Here, you can wear this, its a bit chilly out here" As you slowly reach up to grab his flannel you peak at the back of the sticker that on his truck. "Military" you state out loud. König chuckles a bit and nodes his head. "Ya I am in the military, a good chunk of my life really"

"If you want I can drive you someplace safe, or you can use my cellphone to call someone"

If only you knew any numbers on the top of your head, you politely ask him to take you back home. He walks around his truck to open up the door for you as you climb into the passenger seat. Trying to cover your bottom with your hand as you do so, because your skirt might just be a little to short. You watch as he closes the door and steps back into the drivers seat. Sitting there as he starts to drive back onto the road you slip the flannel on. You never would have expected his flannel to smell as good as it does. Like a crisp wood smell with a hint of smoke, and definitely some sweat and dirt to. Maybe because you have been a bit buzzed, only know you have realized that this man has a thick Australian accent as he is speaking to you. "Your jacket is so warm" you say as you cut him off. You see him peeking at you through the corner of his eye, but as he starts to ask you were you live you fall asleep with your head against the window.

This image is from hqsugax on twitter.

So I do have an idea of maybe adding a second part to this but I am not positive yet. I hope you enjoyed my little story of one of my favorite husbands. Thanks for reading.

Zombie apocalypse -Ghost-

TW: Zombies I guess It is a bit of a longer read compared to some of my other post.

This was hard, really hard in fact to wrap your mind around. Part of you was wondering if maybe you had lost your mind along the journey that you've had to take alone. Being left alone by isolating yourself on your own decision is one thing, but doing it because everyone you loved was taken from you by the dead, the biters, walkers, whatever the hell you want to call them, is something else interlay.

Your alone with a six foot zombie, covered in what seems to be army tactical gear and plenty of weapons on his body, just staring at you. Staring like your the only thing that is occupying the space in its brain.

Holding your knife tightly in one hand, crouched beside a couch hoping that it had missed your precense. You had killed the few zombies that were in the living room but you couldn't believe you somehow missed him. "Honestly it's over for" you thought to yourself. There is no way you can fight a zombie of his size. Maybe if you had better nutrition intake but up to this point all you have really eaten is bags of noodles and cans of beans.

He's not moving... He isn't attacking you... He is just staring...

As you slowly rise to your feet, your legs shaking and your knuckles turning white from holding your knife to tightly, you noticed that his jaw is broken. A bit of confidence makes you take a step backwards, trying to head to the door. If his jaw is broken then it will be harder for him to eat you.

As you slowly continue walking towards the door and looking at him, you see him slowly raise his arms. Eyes widening and a breath sucked in your ready to make the run the last bit of space that is left between you and the door. Counting the steps as you run. one. two. three. four. "waaagh" Stopping in your tracks and turning your head, you thought maybe you heard wrong. Did this thing just try to talk, just try to say wait. "waaagh" Soft and horse, it says it again. Eyebrows raising and fear striking through your body, you focus your attention to his arm, then his hand, then the bag of chips he seems to be holding in them.

"What do I do" You think to yourself. You are obviously imagining it, going crazy from the lack of anything social in your life up to this point. You've been surrounded by zombies for so long you think one is trying to be friendly. You watch as the zombie tosses the chips towards you. as far as it can throw with the few broken fingers it has. Another grunt passes the zombies lips, head jerking towards the chips, and walking towards the couch to sit down upon it. Lifting it's hand and patting the couch next to it to signal you to sit down.

If you would have known months ago when this outbreak started that you would come across a zombie that is capable of still holding on to some part of his past self then you wouldn't believe it, but being here with Ghost while he walks along side you, defending off any harmful things that you guys come across, your thankful for him.

So I have an absolute love for zombie ghost to begin with and I'm thinking of maybe adding a few more of these cause any zombie ghost fanfiction is French kiss not gonna lie. But I hope you enjoyed reading and let me know if you would like more of zombie ghost post!