LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG.

You squat before him, hand reaching out towards him. You must think he’s dead or unconscious with the way he’s hunched over, head hanging low with only the chains connected to the wall keeping him upright. His captors had kept him in this position since day one, making it impossible for him to relax or get any restful sleep outside of pure unconsciousness. His knees hurt so fucking bad but it’s something he has been forced to grow accustomed too – adaptation his only chance of survival. 

You reach forward, his senses on high alert with every little twitch your body makes. He can see the movement out of his periphery even as he stares at your dirty, worn boots. Your fingertips barely graze his shoulder, a ghost of a touch but it has him reacting like a rabid dog. 

You throw yourself back with a gasp of horror when he lunges at you, chains clanging deafeningly as they snap taut behind him to stop him from going any further. He stares at you, uncaring that the sunlight makes his eyes burn. 

You look horrified, reaching for your weapon, a machete that trembles in your hands as you swing the tip to point towards him defensively. You look petrified but there's an emotion in your eyes that he understands in the recesses of his broken mind as sadness. 

“Fuck, you’re dead,” you whisper and he bares his teeth, “I’m too late.”

You sound devastated over this revelation and he can’t fathom in his mind what it is you mean. He’s clearly not dead, corpses don’t move and attack. But maybe he is dead and this is hell. He doesn’t really know anymore, he realizes. 

The endless days of torture and confinement had rendered his brain broken beyond repair. He can’t make heads or tales of any of his thoughts. Logically, he knows he’s a living, breathing person but he feels fragmented.. He’s confused and muddled mentally. 

He watches, breathing heavily through his gritted teeth. He hasn’t been able to breathe through his nose in far too long – it’s been broken and set incorrectly but his nostrils are also clogged with dried blood. He’s sure his entire face and body is fucked up but not being able to breath through his nose has been one of the most difficult things to deal with.

You raise your blade, ready to strike. You could easily bring it down, cut right into the meat at the back of his neck, sever his spinal cord. You could kill him in seconds. He’s weak and helpless right now, the only thing keeping him going is stubborn determination to live that is instilled in all humans. But he’s not a human, he’s something else entirely now. Broken beyond repair, unable to recognize his own humanity in the face of others’ lacking.

But you stop. You sigh, a sympathetic sound that makes him bristle, and lower your machete. 

He’s confused. What is this mind game? Pretend lenience? He feels anger swirl in his chest cavity. He doesn’t need your pity, he doesn’t need your mercy. You should be putting him down like the rabid dog he is so he can die as he deserves.

You turn your back to him and go to leave. Beyond his own comprehension, he finds himself hating that. You shouldn’t be walking away from him.

So he speaks. For the first time since his captors had brought him here. All he had said to them were some strong curse words in Russian that he earned him his broken nose. 

“We will not tell you anything,” he hisses, voice feeling like sandpaper in his throat as it comes out.

You freeze in the doorway, looking over your shoulder at him with wide, horrified eyes. It seems like you stare at him for years. You drop your blade again and the loud sound makes him snarl in irritation. 

“Y-You’re…alive?” you whisper, turning to face him completely with a look of wonder on your face, “Oh my gosh, you’re alive.”

You rush over to him, dropping harshly onto your knees with a resounding crack. He glares at you, eyes burning from the way he refuses to blink. Your hands are trembling as you place them on his shoulders to steady yourself. He curses, practically snapping his jaws at you like a rabid dog. You jump, throwing your hands up in surrender.

“I-I’m gonna get you out, okay? Y-You just have to let me help.”

“Your tricks will not work on us,” he seethes, clenching his hands into fists against his back.

“I-I’m not tricking anyone,” you respond defensively. 

You toss your backpack off and unzip it. He watches you root through it before pulling out a little black bag. You glance at him for a moment before you place it down next to you. Reaching back in, you hold up a silver thermos for him to see.

You unscrew the top and hold it out to him. He can hear liquid slosh inside at the movement before you say, “Water.”

He clenches his jaw, teeth creaking in his skull as he does despite the way his brain is overcome with desire for the water. You deflate under his glare before you seem to understand. You tip it back and take a drink, making a show of swallowing it for him – proving to him that it’s safe. 

When you hold it out to him this time, he opens his mouth. You positively beam, tipping the thermos against his mouth. The water flows into his mouth and he suppresses a groan of pure euphoria at the relief it brings. You hold it there for him, letting him take a few deep gulps before you pull it away. 

The water drips down his chin and he chases the drops with his tongue while glaring at you. You give him an apologetic shrug, “You haven’t had water in a while, I’m sure. If you drink too much you might get sick. You can have some more if you let me unlock your chains.” 

He follows your hands as you lift up the bag you had pulled out, unzipping it to show him the lockpicks inside, “Deal?”

Although he’s still skeptical, he nods his head. You scoot to the side, leaning down so you can get access to the heavy metal shackles around his wrists. He tries to hide the wince of pure discomfort when your fingers touch his skin. His neck aches when he tries to get a look at you, no doubt some kind of injury that hadn’t made itself present until now.

You’re out of his view for far too long, messing with his cuffs. But after a long moment, they come free and his arms fall from the small of his back. The chains no longer keep him upright and he topples forward. You gasp, wrapping an arm around his middle to save him from hitting the ground. You grunt with the effort of catching him and carefully maneuver to lean him back against the wall. 

“Here,” you offer the thermos to him just as you promised. 

He takes it, shocked at the effort it takes to use his arms. He swallows a few deep gulps before your hands come back to swipe it out of his weakened grip. He slumps against the wall, relishing in the feeling of the water soothing the dry burn in his throat. Looking around the ramshackled, windowless building, he eyes the still open doorway and briefly considers making a run for it but his legs are still trembling from finally being freed from the kneeling position. Besides, he doesn't even know what country he’s in right now. Running in this state would only be a death sentence. His best bet is to stick with you for now – despite the fact he doesn’t trust you as far as he can throw you.

“Who sent you?” he asks suddenly, watching you pack up your bag – leaving the thermos out but out of his reach so he can’t guzzle more.

You look confused, zipping your backpack, “What do you mean?”

“Someone must have sent you,” he explains, flexing his hands on his lap to ease the aching pain in the knuckles of his joints, “So who was it?”

“Nobody sent me,” you explain with a shake of your head, “I was passing by and figured someone was trapped in here with all those shitheads outside.”

Nikto’s frown only deepens. You had dispatched guards outside? You don’t appear to be military or trained in any capacity. His suspicion spikes – something isn’t right. He wants to question you more, wants to know what you’re talking about but you stand up, situating your backpack on your shoulders before offering your hand.

“I have a camp set up nearby. You can rest up there,” you explain with a smile. 

He looks at your hand before he looks away, choosing to force himself to his feet using the wall as leverage. You don’t seem perturbed in the slightest, if anything you seem to understand, and instead turn your back to him to find the machete you had dropped earlier. 

He stares at your back, vulnerable and unaware. You’re an idiot for turning your back on him, he could end your life in a split second – he’s dangerous. Images of your blood spilling flash into his mind before you turn around and offer him the thermos of water again. 

He takes it and follows you out, sipping it now that his thirst isn’t as ravenous as before. 

When he steps into the light, it feels like the sun instantly burns his skin. He looks down at his pale skin, eyes following the various cuts and bruises that linger all over his arms. He realizes at that moment he doesn’t know how much damage has been done to his body during his time in confinement. 

He needs to recuperate badly. He needs to see the extent of his injuries and get his strength back. For the time being, you’re his only hope to be able to do that. 

If he’s correct and you’re not trained in any way, he can easily overpower you and kill you even in this state. 

He decides that he has no choice – he’ll go with you. 

He takes a look around him at that moment – and realizes something strange. 

You watch him stalk over to one of the many corpses that litters the ground. He roughly grabs one and turns over, frowning deeply at what he sees. 

It looks like a person but…it looks completely rotted.. He’s sure if he could smell anything, he would be overcome by the scent of decomposition. These bodies are not dressed like the military. No tactical vests or protective gear. They’re all wearing regular clothes, jeans, dresses, t-shirts. There’s even a few in just their undergarments. 

He suddenly finds it hard to breathe. His head aches. He reaches up and grips his skull with both hands, gritting his teeth against the throb in his temples. 

“Hey…are you okay..?” You ask sweetly, approaching him carefully – as if trying not to startle a frightened dog on the verge of attack. 

It doesn’t work. His hand wraps around your throat and you squeal in shock when you’re harshly slammed up against the side of the building. Your head cracks painfully against it, bouncing off of the wooden beam. You whimper in pain, scrambling to grab a hold of him. Your thermos falls from his hands, hitting the ground and rolling a few feet away. He easily knees your hand, making your machete fall out of reach as well, leaving you defenseless.

“Wh-What are you doing?!” you cry, tears immediately filling your eyes. 

He feels a strange pang in his chest at the sight but he ignores it, “What is the meaning of this?”

“What?” you whisper, choking and straining from his grip on your neck.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he repeats, loud enough that you flinch. Your eyes dart around behind him in a panic, searching for something.

“I-I don’t understand!” you cry in a panic, tears trickling down your cheeks. You’re scared. You should be, he thinks smugly. 

“Who are these people?” he spits, almost nose to nose with you from the way he leans in close. 

You look utterly confused now, looking around as much as you can, “H-How am I supposed to know?”

“You killed them!” he snarls, growing more agitated by the second.

You shake your head, “I-I don’t-! Don’t you know what’s going on?!”

“What are you talking about?” he lowers his voice, grip still painful on your throat. 

You struggle to take a few breaths, “Th-The outbreak? The…The sickness. I-It all happened a month ago!”

“What sickness?” he presses, although he releases the pressure on your throat just a bit, “Biological warfare?”

You shake your head, coughing a bit. “N-No one knows. I-It started out as a really bad flu. But then people started…acting weird,” he finally lets you go but doesn’t step away, ready to pin you again at a moment's notice while you rub your sore neck.

“Weird how?” he presses, frowning at how long it’s taking you to recover and talk. He has no patience, he wants answers.

You shrug and shake your head, brows furrowed like you’re recalling bad memories, “They started to go…crazy. Like, rabid animals or something,” the way he looks at you tells you that he wants more information, “Um…th-the first few people infected started to…like…bite other people. A-And then those people got sick too.”

“It’s airborne?” he asks, finally stepping away from you enough for you to relax.

You nod, “There’s an airborne strand. Most people are immune to it, they said. The ones who weren’t…”

“Infected others through saliva,” he nodded in understanding. He bent down and grabbed the thermos that had rolled away, giving you the chance to scramble and grab your machete, “Where are we?”

You hum, gripping your blade tighter, “About an hour or two outside of Atlanta.”

He frowns, “I am in the United States?”

You nod slowly, glancing at the rundown building you were in front of, “You didn’t even know what country you were in? What were you even doing in there? How long were you in there for?”

He sneers at your onslaught of questions, “None of your concern.”

This makes you frown, “Well, considering I just saved your life…”

“You saved nobody,” he snaps, unscrewing the lid to your thermos. He drinks the last bit of water inside, turning it upside down to show you it’s empty before looking at you expectantly. 

You sigh, motioning him to follow you, “My camp is this way. Let’s go before it gets dark.”

He grunts and follows you away from the wooden building and into the forest. Branches and leaves snap and break under your footsteps. It irritates him – you have no sense of stealth at all. But he bites his tongue, not wanting to deal with you getting irritated with him. He needs you and your resources, after all. 

Your camp is just that – a sizable tent with a campfire in the middle. You have some coolers and other items of survival lying about. 

“It’s not much,” you shrug, “I only just got out of the city a few days ago. I was staking out that little shack you were in when I realized you were surrounded by those things,” He grunts, simply standing there as you take a seat on one of the coolers and begin to make a fire, “You can wash up. There’s a creek not far from here. I’ll get the fire set up and get some food cooking for you.”

He doesn’t bother responding, turning on his heel in the direction you had indicated. 

The creek isn’t anything special, he notes. It’s quiet and he can still hear the sound of you bustling about your camp. You really need to work on being more quiet, he thinks. It irritates him in a way he doesn’t understand. 

He’s distracted from his thoughts by something strange – a reflection. A face. In the water. 

His face. 

Torn and mangled beyond recognition. 

One side of his mouth had been sliced up towards his ear. There was also a long cut that went clear across his face, over his nose, and over his eye. They weren’t bleeding anymore but he could probably afford to stitch them up at the very least. His eyes were red, the blood vessels in his sclera having busted from the brutal beatings he had taken. His nose was crooked and bruised with blood still dried underneath it. 

He feels his stomach turn dangerously, making him pull his gaze away. He cups his hands in the water, splashing it on his face. He viciously scrubs the raw skin, uncaring about the pain it causes or the fact the water isn’t sterile at all. 

He washes his face thoroughly, even cleans out his nose so he can breathe. When he realizes one side remains clogged because of the way his nose was broken, he resigns himself to snapping it back with all the strength he can muster. 

The pain makes tears reflexively spring to his eyes but they’re gone in an instant and he can breathe like normal once more. 

He’s so caught up in cleaning himself up he fails to notice the person creeping up behind him until a twig snaps and there’s a sharp thunk. 

You stand there, machete gripped in your hand, looming above one of the infected lying motionless on the ground. You lower your blade quickly when you realize he’s staring at you.

“Sorry…” you whisper, pulling a hunting knife out of your belt to hand to him, “I forgot to give you a weapon before you left,” You nudge the corpse with your foot, “They can be surprisingly quiet and sneak up on you.”

“You could learn a few things from them,” he quips, making your brows shoot up in surprise before you give him an embarrassed smile.

“I was in the city before this,” you explain, “I haven't gotten used to navigating the wilderness.”

He takes the knife, easily maneuvering it into his hold before he stands. His knees crack with the movement but he doesn’t pay it any mind. You take that as his cue and lead him back to the camp where the fire is going. 

You open one of the coolers, pulling out another thermos, handing it to him. 

“More water,” you explain, “There’s some cans of food in the other cooler over there. You can heat some up using the pot. I’m going to wash up as well.”

He doesn’t offer you a response, simply watching you bustle about. You grab a towel, some fresh clothes from inside the tent, and your machete before making your way through the trees towards the creek. 

Once you’re out of sight, he does as you offered, sipping the water and heating up a can of pork and beans that you had stored away. It was your only can but he figures you won’t really mind. Not that he would care if you did.

When you return, you’re freshly washed and smiling. It irks him, you seem so chipper and happy despite the situation you’re in. You’re the polar opposite of him in all aspects.

“I want you to tell me more,” he says suddenly as you’re digging through the cooler to find something of your own. 

You look quizzically at him, “About what?”

“Everything,” he says shortly. 

You stare blankly at him as you open the can and pour it into the pot – not caring that the sauce from his own food is still inside. He sighs, “About the sick people.”

You make a noise of understanding, looking up at the darkening sky, “They’re not really people anymore. Once they get really sick…they die. The fever usually kills them if the bites aren’t lethal. And then once they’re dead, they…come back to life,” you pause, stirring your food, “Only they’re not right. They’re mindless. All they want is to eat the flesh of the living. It’s a cycle. You get bit, you die, you turn, you bite someone, they die, they turn, they bite someone…on and on.”

“So they are not sick,” he says, “But walking corpses.”

You nod, “I used to feel bad killing them. They used to be people, you know? But I watched too many people back in Atlanta die trying to be pacifistic.”

“Why did you leave the city?” he asks, “Surely there are safe zones, no?”

You shake your head, “Not anymore. They tried back when the outbreak started. But it didn’t work. I don’t know of any place that’s safe anymore. The city is hell, too many of them roaming around, it’s impossible to be safe. I had to get out of the city where the undead population was lower but…” you sigh, taking the pot off the fire as it begins to boil, “They’re coming out of the city now, making their way here to the outskirts.”

“What-” he begins to ask you another question but you cut him off.

“Hey, you asked me a question. Now I want to ask you one!” you smile jovially at him as he glares.

“Go ahead,” he hums, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s an ache in his bones at the movement but he ignores it.

He’s afraid you’re going to ask him something he can’t answer. He doesn’t want you to ask him what he was doing locked away in that building like a mutt up for euthanasia. But he prepares himself for whatever invasion question he’s going to have to shoot down.

“What’s your name?” you ask, much to his relief.

He sighs, “You can call me Nikto.”

“Alright, Nikto,” you positively beam and he has half a mind to look away before you blind him.

“What is your plan now that you are out of the city?” he finds himself asking, though he’s not really sure why. He shouldn’t really care what you’re planning but he finds himself…curious. He wants to make sure you’re going to be safe. 

You saved his life, he decides. He’s indebted to you so he should at least make sure you’ve got a good game plan for when he inevitably leaves you. It’s clear you’re completely untrained, he can offer you good advice as payment for your freeing him before you part ways for good.

The idea makes him frown and he pushes it to the back of his mind.

You hum thoughtfully, finally beginning to eat your food in big spoonfuls, “I think staying away from the cities is the best choice. I need to find some better shelter, this tent set up isn’t going to hold up in the long run. I just have to figure out where to go.”

“You should decide soon,” Nikto says, “Winter will be coming.”

You nod, swallowing a bite of your food, “I’m not really sure what I’m going to do. I can’t say I have the best survival tactics.”

Nikto laughs through his nose, “No, you do not.”

Your jaw drops before you bark out a laugh, “Hey! That’s not nice, I’m trying my best! Anyway, what are your plans?”

That makes him pause. 

What are his plans?

He thinks for a moment, “I’ll find the people responsible for this,” he gestures to his injured face.

You make a sympathetic sound, placing the now empty pot of food down, “That’s understandable. Do you at least have an idea of where to start?”

“I can head to base and find out what I need,” he explains.

Your brows raise, “Base? Like a military base? Are you in the military?”

“Mercenary,” he quips, making it clear he’s not going to be offering you anything more on the subject.

You hum, “Well,” you stand, stretching your arms over your head, “We best get some sleep. You’re welcome in the tent with me.”

“I’lll keep watch,” he says, knowing damn well he’s not going to be getting any sleep.

You seem to understand, “Alright, goodnight, Nikto.”

“Do you have medical supplies?” he asks, stopping you before you can dip into the open tent flaps.

You pause, thinking, “Not many. They’re kind of hard to come by. Hang on.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you crawl into the tent. You hunt around in the darkness for a familiar, metal box that you keep stored safely near your sleeping bag. When you crawl back out of the tent, you offer it to him.

“This is all I have. There’s some pain killers, gauze, and just really anything I could scavenge before I left Atlanta.”

He takes, flipping it open to assess the items inside before he grunts.

You take that as a sound of acceptance and smile again, “Goodnight.”

You think you hear him mutter it in return as you zip the tent closed. As you crawl into the sleeping bag, snuggling down, you realize you feel safer than you have in a long time with another person keeping watch while you’re completely vulnerable. 

You wake up like clockwork to the first beams of sunlight trickling into your tent. You sit up, stretching with a quiet groan. Not long ago, you would wake up with sore muscles and painful stiffness. But you’ve finally grown accustomed to sleeping like this. 

When you crawl out of the tent, Nikto is sitting where you left him last night, staring off into space. But his blue eyes quickly cut over to you, analyzing you. 

“Did you sleep?” you ask curiously as you get to your feet.

“да,” he mutters but you’re not sure you actually believe him. 

You suddenly realize that he’s stitched up the wounds in his face. The skin along them is red and inflamed but he doesn’t seem to register the pain at all even with the movement as he eats a pot of food. 

“Do you have a scarf?” he asks, at the feeling of your eyes on his disfigured face. 

“For?” you dumbly ask. 

He merely stares at you, cold and blank as if he can insert his thoughts directly into your mind. When you don’t immediately get it, he sighs and gestures to his face and a look of realization takes over your expression. 

You get up and disappear into the tent again. He can hear you rustling about and he frowns once again at the amount of noise you make. 

You come back out with something clutched against your chest.

“I don’t have a scarf,” you say, “But I did grab this at a…one of those military stores, you know the ones.”

He raises a brow at the embarrassed look on your face. You offer the object to him and he quickly realizes what it is – a mask with a hard mask for the top of his face and a cloth that stretches from the bridge of his nose down his neck. He hums appreciatively, eagerly moving to put it on.

“Wait!” you cry, forcing him to pause. 

You grab the metal box of medical supplies he had discarded beside him. He watches you tug out a roll of gauze, unwrapping it before gesturing towards him as if asking for permission. 

He stares at you for a moment, unblinkingly as he weighs his option before ultimately nodding his consent. You straighten your back and lean forward, carefully beginning to wrap the gauze around his freshly stitched wounds. 

“This way,” you murmur, your breath fanning across his skin from how close you are, “The mask won't irritate your wounds too much and they can heal faster.” 

He grunts, though he doesn’t really care. He sits completely still as you wrap him up before stepping back to let him slip the mask on. It fits him like a glove and he feels the tension in his shoulders fade the moment he’s hidden behind the mask. 

You beam at him, the happy little look on your face that you always seem to wear. He wonders how the hell you’re always so chipper given the state of your life right now. 

He’s not quite sure what compels him to stick around long past the worst of his injuries have healed. Every time he even so much as thinks of leaving, he can’t bring himself to move a single inch out of the camp. 

He thinks about leaving you here undefended, unprotected. You’ve only really survived this long by being smart – not by being skilled. Plus, you’re so trusting and nice. Hell, you invited him right into your home; a disfigured monster that doesn’t even know who he really is anymore. And you happily co-exist with him without even thinking twice about it. You know he’s dangerous, he’s told you as much. Yet you still trust him. 

He feels like an undeserving mutt that’s been tasked with guarding the beautiful, vulnerable you. 

So he stays. He remains there, guarding you and the camp every single night – only sleeping in short increments that always seem to be disturbed by something moving in the darkness of the woods. 

He stays even as days and weeks pass by and the warm early-fall weather begins to get a little more bitter. He stays even when he becomes more restless and antsy from being in one place for far too long. He’s been trained to always keep moving, never stay in one place for too long or else you become a bigger target to any nearby enemies.

The number of the undead has increased over the days that pass. At first it was one or two creeping up too close to your camp but before he knew it, he would kill a dozen throughout the night and wake up to a pile of them nearby. 

“It’s getting dangerous,” he states one evening as you boil some of the creek water while he cleans the hunting knife you had given him weeks ago. 

You hum thoughtfully, “I’ve noticed it too. More of them are migrating from the city looking for living people.”

“It won’t be safe to camp here for much longer,” he states bluntly, holding his knife up to the firelight to make sure it’s clean. 

“Do you think we should move?” you ask. 

His face twitches as the mention of ‘we’. He knows he should cut off any expectations of you sticking with him. You shouldn’t be with him any longer, he never planned to actually stay by your side. 

But there’s that nagging in his head again, past the whirring noise that never ceases – telling him that a good mutt stays. 

“Yes,” he finds himself answering despite himself. 

You beam, nodding your head, “Alright, Nikto. I trust your judgment.”

His fist clenched around his knife at those words. You’re such a fool, you have been since the moment he met you when you dropped your weapon to the floor to rescue him. Your trust in him makes him sick to his stomach. But he also finds himself practically preening under those words, rolling them around in his brain over and over again – you trust him, a rabid street dog like him. He doesn’t ever want to betray your trust in him. 

True to his word, the two of you are packed up and on the move the very next day. He had been up the entire night, killing whatever wandered out of the surrounding woods while you slept away peacefully. 

A guard dog, that’s all he was. That’s all he was good for. 

He carries the heaviest of the packs with ease. He had spent his recovery gaining his strength back to where it was before he had been held captive. He needed to be in tip-top shape if he wanted to be able to keep you both alive.

It allows you to easily keep up with his wide strides. You have your machete gripped in your hand, but it’s utterly useless to you – with Nikto’s sharp senses, he dispatches any threats before you can even register that they’re near you. 

Something nagging in the back of his mind has him asking, “Why were you alone for so long?”

You hum, “I was with a group of survivors for a while,” you explain, sounding a little out of breath as you follow him over the rough terrain, “But there was a lot of fighting amongst everyone. Things started to get dangerous, you know?”

“Humans can be stupid,” Nikto scoffs, not quite understanding the simmering rage beneath his skin at the mention of you being in danger. He’s glad you got yourself out of the situation and found your way into his protection. 

Nikto jumps down off of some tall rocks, turning to hold his hands out to you. Without hesitation, you jump down, landing right into his arms. He grunts at the impact and easily steadies you on your feet, trying to ignore how it feels just right having you nestled in his arms. He waves you to walk ahead of him, stalking close behind you as you both emerge from the forest and onto a highway.

“We can scavenge here,” he says, looking around at all the cars frozen in time, packed to the brim with forgotten items. 

“Oh, good idea!” you chirp, “What are we looking for?”

“You look for food and medical supplies,” he says, “I will find weapons.”

“Alright,” you hum, setting off to the left, tugging at some car doors to see which are open. 

He watches you work for a moment before setting off to do his own task. 

A few hours pass by before he’s calling you back to him with a swift whistle and a wave of his hand. He watches you unload the backpack you had stuffed to the brim full of canned goods and some bottles of pain killers and other prescriptions. 

He picks up a couple bottles, reading the faded labels before grunting and putting them down. He presents you with his own bag – it was hard to come by any true weapons but he managed to find things that worked regardless.

“Oh wow,” you muse in wonder, “That’s great, Nikto! We’ll be set for a while, won’t we?”

He practically preens under your praise, though it doesn’t show in his eyes. He remains coldly staring at you as he zips the bag up and places it on his back where it belongs. 

“Let’s move,” he orders, turning his back to you, keeping an ear out so he can make sure your footsteps are close behind him.

You’ve made it a considerable distance from where you previous camp was by the time the sun sets. By some miracle, the two of you managed to find a quaint little cabin nearby a small town yet safe enough from civilization that it felt safe. It was even near a stream that would be incredibly helpful given the fact the plumbing no longer worked anywhere.

“Stay here,” he orders as he carefully opens the door, “Kill anyone or anything that walks up.”

He watches you frown, shifting uncomfortably on your feet at his words. He pauses in the open doorway, knife clutched in his fist as he waits for your response. But you avoid his gaze, making him groan in annoyance. 

“Understand?”

You sigh, shoulders slumping as you hold up your machete, “I understand, Nikto.”

He huffs and moves inside, though he doesn’t believe you. He keeps an ear out for any signs of distress from you outside while he makes his way through the house. With practiced ease, he clears every room, killing two undead that are locked away in a bathroom before deeming the house safe. 

“You,” he mutters when he walks back outside. You nearly jump out of your skin, whirling around to stare wide-eyed at him through the darkness, “Inside.”

“Is it safe?” you ask, hopping up the porch steps.

“да,” he mutters, dropping his backpack in the middle of the living room. 

You copy him, discarding your backpack, rolling your shoulders with a sigh to ease the ache in them. He watches you, sitting on the couch as you look around, eyeing the one singular cough that he currently occupies.

“Where are we sleeping? The bedroom?” you ask him.

He huffs through his nose, “Here.”

“But there’s only…”

“One couch,” he finishes, standing up, “It’s yours.”

Your brows shoot up, “But where will you…”

He holds his hand up for you to stop, “I will take watch.”

You make a noise of discontent, “You’ve taken watch every single night, Nikto. You need some rest.”

“I’m fine,” he quips, “I don’t need much sleep.”

“Nonsense,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “Why don’t you at least lay down with me and relax for a while?”

“Someone needs to keep watch,” he argues, glare deepening when you clearly don’t back down. 

“A few minutes won’t kill you,” you huff, reaching out. 

Your hand wraps around his forearm, tugging him towards where you slowly begin to sink down on the floor. You figure getting him to rest on the couch with you will be a fruitless effort, so the floor it is. With the carpet, it’s better than the hard ground you’ve been sleeping on for weeks anyway. He goes willingly, not taking his suspicious gaze off of you for even a second. He watches as you lay on your back, using your backpack as a pillow. 

He grunts and follows your lead, even though he’s itching to get up and keep watch. Both of you know he's not actually going to sleep, but he still allows you to feel the victory of having ‘won’ by making him lay down. 

He is nothing if not a loyal dog to you now, he realizes. And he’s okay with that, he decides. 

He watches as you fall asleep, lashes brushing your cheeks with the moon casting shadows along your skin. You look so sweet and peaceful, relaxed as you know, even in your sleep, that you’re safe with him there. 

He reaches over, fingertips almost brushing your skin before he sees the healing scars along his digits. He pulls back before he can actually touch you. 

A mangey thing like him has no right to touch ethereal porcelain like you. 

When you wake up, the sun is beaming in through the windows of the little house you sought shelter in. You have to squint your eyes from the blinding light, taking a look around the dusty room to see if you can find a familiar form - but he's nowhere to be found.

You sit up, stretching your arms above your head before clumsily getting to your feet. You stumble around blindly for a moment, checking each room before making your way to the front door.

When you open the door, you're greeted by unfamiliar sounds from just out of view. You follow it, hopping down the stairs to round the side of the house where you find Nikto. 

He's got a large piece of wood that he's steadily whittling into a spike. Beside him are several other similar spiked wood pieces on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, approaching him as you eye his work curiously.

“This place is vulnerable,” he mutters, grunting as his knife gets caught on a hard piece of wood. 

“So…?” you mutter, squatting down beside him. 

He sighs like you're stupid but you ignore it, used to his awful attitude by now, “I am making traps.” 

“Oh,” you hum, “Like a spike trap? That they'll walk into?” 

He paused, unspoken surprise shining in his pretty blue eyes, “You know?” 

You smile, “Back in the city, the group I was with tried to make some. They weren't very good, the zombies just kind of…knocked them over.” 

He snorts, not quite a laugh but it makes you beam regardless, “These won't fail.” 

“Ohh,” you giggle, “Mr. Confident are we?” 

“Of course,” he mutters, resuming his work, “I know what I’m doing.” 

“I was thinking,” you say, making him pause for a brief second to look at you before resuming again, “We could probably head into town and find some useful stuff. I’m sure a guy like you really knows what will be helpful that regular civilians won't.” 

He grunts, “We’ll go. Later.” 

You grin, excitedly nodding your head, “Do you think we'll stay here for a while?” 

“Winter is coming,” he says, “We should stay.”

“Sounds good,” you agree easily. 

Nikto had proved himself time and time again to be knowledgeable and trustworthy. You stare up at him, grateful that he decided that you were someone he was willing to stick by and help. He could have bolted and left you behind the second he had the chance, abandoning the dead weight that you were. If only you knew how close he was to doing just that.

You rest your chin on your knees, silently watching as Nikto finishes up the spikes. He uses some paracord from his backpack to construct them, hitting and kicking them to test their stability. 

He bustles about, scoping out the most advantageous positions to place them. Once he has them set and secure, he stands back to admire his work before giving a firm nod to himself. 

“We’ll go,” he says, heading back inside before coming back in a split second with both of your empty backpacks.

“To town?” you ask, catching the bag when he tosses it at you, “Now?”

“There’s still much daylight left,” he says, setting off in the direction of the town. 

You stumble to follow after him, jogging to keep up with wide, swift steps. 

Your little house isn’t very far from town – settled down an old side road, it’s just a few miles to hike to reach the first signs of what once was civilization. Now, it’s all but silent. The buildings show signs of weather from not being used or maintained. Windows are broken, doors are splintered, and ivy crawls along the walls of many of them. When you pass by some buildings, you can hear banging of the undead inside where they’ve undoubtedly been locked in since the start of the outbreak.

You follow closely behind him, careful not to lose him as he turns and rounds corners. He’s quick and nimble on his feet, barely making any sound as he moves. You’re struggling to catch your breath when he stops and yanks a door open – the back door to a hardware store. 

He holds it open for you, motioning you inside urgently. 

You step in, silent as you can as he closes the door behind the both of you. He stands still, listening closely for any sounds within the building before he nudges you forward with a hand on your back. 

You stumble, barely catching your footing as you walk into the store. 

The aisles are primarily bare, having been picked clean by looters before you. But Nikto still eyes random items and plucks them off the shelves to stow in his backpack.

Across the store, you spot a door. You peek in through the smudged window, excitedly turning to look at Nikto.

“Hey, there’s a storeroom back here,” you whisper, catching his attention, “it looks like it’s got a bunch of stuff back there!”

As he approaches, you try the doorknob, clicking your tongue when you realize it’s locked. You toss your own backpack off, rifling through the pockets to pull out your trusty lockpicks. He stands back, letting you work to unlock the padlock that keeps the door shut. It was clear people had previously tried to break it open, dents and marks marr the metal surface. 

It takes only a few moments for the lock to click open. You gasp excitedly, turning to look over your shoulder to see Nikto watching you with his arms crossed over his chest. 

You pull the padlock out of place and drop it to the floor before flipping the metal plate open. Nikto’s hard hand grabs your arm, pulling you backwards behind him before he nudges the door open with his boot. 

It slowly creaks open and he peers inside, knife clutched tightly in his hand. 

“You did good,” Nikto finds himself muttering as he looks at the fully stocked shelves – all sorts of equipment and supplies lie there for the taking.

Your cheeks burn at his praise, heart stuttering in your chest. He’s never praised you before and you practically glow with how happy those words make you feel – you’ve finally actually helped him out!

“Give me your bag,” he orders, holding his hand out.

You pass it to him, watching him stuff some random items into it before he hastily zips it up and hands it back. You grunt at the new weight but slide your arms through the loops and situate it on your back regardless. 

He fills his backpack up much more but he doesn’t even make a sound as he puts it on. 

“Lock it back up,” he orders as you two step out, “We’ll return to get more.”

You nod and situate the padlock back into place, tugging it for good measure before you turn. Nikto is already heading out the way you came and you race to catch up to him. 

He’s out of sight by the time you reach outside. Looking around, you round a corner, wandering just a little further before you realize that he’s not actually here.

“Shit,” you whisper, turning on your heel to go back the way you came.

“Well, hey there,” an unfamiliar voice has you stopping in your footsteps, “You lost?”

You turn to see a group of three men, leaning against the side of a building a little ways ahead of you. You feel your heart plummet into your stomach as you look around, hoping to see the familiar, broad form of Nikto. 

But there was no sign of him so you turned to look nervously at the strangers, “Not lost.”

“You look lost,” one of them says, “You all by yourself, sweetheart?”

“Um, no,” you mutter, heart racing anxiously in your chest, “I’m traveling with someone.”

They all make varying noises in acknowledgement, “You need somewhere to stay?”

“Uhh,” you clear your throat, shifting on your feet to fight the urge to run. 

“We have a camp not far from here,” the one who seems to be the leader says, “The name’s Max, this is Connor and Alan. What’s yours?”

You stutter out your name, smiling nervously as you watch them approach you, abandoning the building they were leaning casually against.

“That’s a real nice name,” Alan mutters, eyes traveling up and down your form, “So what do you say about coming to our camp? Your friend can come along too. We’ve got food and shelter and everything you could need.”

“Oh! Well,” you clear your throat, trying to summon up a polite smile, “That sounds really nice, it does!”

“So you’ll come?” Connor asks, sounding almost too excited.

“I-I’ll have to ask…my…the person I’m traveling with..b-but I think it sounds like a nice idea…” you agree, placating them as you’re searching for any way out of the situation you’re in. 

“We will decline,” a familiar, accented voice sends a wave of relief through you. 

Nikto comes into view, stepping in front of you, blocking your body from view of the three onlookers who look much less confident than they did a second ago. 

“This one stays with me,” Nikto says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Shit,” Alan huffs, “You didn’t say the person you were traveling with was some…” he sputters for a moment, “Creepy ass prick.”

Your brows shoot up at their sudden hostility. You wouldn’t say Nikto is creepy. Sure, he had the socialization skills of a sea cucumber…but he wasn’t a bad guy.

Not like these men.

“We reject your invitation,” Nikto says, a commanding tone that has even your spine stiffening. 

You’ve never heard his voice so chilling. He didn’t sound exactly warm and sweet when he spoke to you, but this was unlike any tone you’ve ever heard him use. If you were on the opposite team, you’d be pissing your pants. 

“Yeah, we don’t want you anyway,” Max spits. 

You peer around Nikto, catching sight of the ugly, nauseating glares the other ones are sending your way. Fear prickles to the forefront of your mind, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You wrap your arms around Nikto’s arm. He stiffens at the contact, cold eyes cutting to glare at you.

“Let’s just go, okay?” you whisper, tugging him in the opposite direction. 

He stares at you for a moment before turning to glare at the three men. Nikto eventually gives in at your incessant tugging, letting  you pull him away. 

Once you’re both out of sight, he shakes your grip off and storms off in another direction. You hurry to catch up to him, tossing a look over your shoulder to make sure you don’t see three forms following you. All is clear and you practically sprint to follow after Nikto. 

He doesn’t say a word the entire trek back to the house. 

“Nikto!” you cry as loudly as you can without attracting undead attention as he storms up the porch and throws the door open, “Nikto, stop!”

He whirls around at that, practically looming over you with the way his glare makes you feel so small and insignificant. He’s intimidating on the best of days but when he’s trying to scare you, it’s much worse.

“You were going to go with them,” he snaps, making you frown.

“No! I-I wasn't–!”

“You lie?” he hisses, staring unblinkingly at you, “We heard you.”

You deflate at that. In the amount of time you’ve known him, you’ve picked up on how he expresses himself. He only begins to refer to himself in third person when he’s struggling to get a handle on his overwhelming emotions, which isn’t often. Usually, it’s when he has a nightmare during the few times he manages to actually sleep. 

“I wasn’t really going to go, Nikto,” you try to quell him.

“Do not lie to us!” he shouts, making you jump. The sight makes his heart squeeze but he’s too wound up to stop now, “You should have gone with them. Then we would be rid of you.”

He wants so badly to stop the vitriol from spilling from his lips but he can’t. He watches you curl in yourself, shoulders deflating as the little light in your eyes dims. He feels like a monster in that moment, snuffing out your light – the brightness that he’s come to worship. 

You sniffle a little, “You don’t mean that.”

He barks out a harsh, cold laugh that draws your eyes to the floor. The sight is pitiful and sad. He doesn’t mean that, he knows it. But he can’t stop himself, “Of course it is. You think we like this?” He motions vaguely to you, “You hold us back. You can’t even do the most basic tasks of survival. You’re an idiot. We would be happy for them to take you off our hands.”

Your bottom lip quivers as the tears fill your eyes. He can see them, big, fat droplets that hover on your tear line as he tears you down, “I-I didn’t want to go with them. I just…thought that sayin’ no would make them mad…”

He snorts, shaking his head as he storms past you. His shoulder knocks into yours, making you stumble to the side before the front door slams, leaving you inside by yourself. 

You drop your backpack on the ground and take a moment to cry into your hands, releasing all the negative emotions that are building. It helps you feel a little better in the moment but any time you think about his words, the tears well up all over again. 

Nikto doesn’t come back inside, even as the sun dips below the horizon and the house is cast into utter darkness. You don’t have an appetite to eat so you hunker down onto the couch, hugging one of the throw pillows to your chest as you force yourself to fall asleep. 

You don’t see much of Nikto the following days. Whenever you do, he doesn’t speak a single word to you. He ignores your existence and that only rubs salt in your wounds. You’re not brave enough to try and talk to him in fear of the flat out rejection you would receive. You think being ignored is better than hearing that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

One morning, you step outside to see him hauling zombies off the spike traps he set. The sight makes you frown. There’s a lot more than usual in the pile he has of the ones he already removed with many still stuck to the traps. 

As usual, he doesn’t even look at you as you watch him work. He has to stab a few though the skull to get them to die, grunting with the effort. You try to ignore the ache in your chest when he breezes by you to go inside. He’s completely silent, unsettlingly so – even his footsteps are quiet. 

That only makes your cheeks flush – he really was better than you, even at something like walking stealthily. Given his years of training, it makes sense. But the glaring difference is still embarrassing now that he’s brought it up.

Nikto appears again with his backpack, emptied out. He doesn’t say anything as he stalks off in the direction of town, leaving you standing on the porch, watching him vanish into the distance. You sigh to yourself and head back inside, resigning yourself to opening a can of food and simply waiting for him to return. 

But the time ticks by, minutes turning to hours. You organize the supplies you have to pass the time – the medical supplies, the food, the weapons, the tools. All placed into their own respective piles and containers. 

“Need more bandages,” you mumble to yourself as you sort through what you have. You have tons of painkillers and prescription medications but not a ton of supplies to actually help with wounds that either of you may get. 

For all the heavy lifting Nikto does between the two of you, he certainly doesn’t get hurt as much. Before you met him, you absolutely had your fair share of injuries but not anymore. Nikto picks up more than enough slack for you to get by comfortably. 

You sigh, deflating – maybe you really were useless. You shake your head of those negative thoughts despite the way they cause tears to sting your eyes. You were good at your own stuff, you had a good eye for finding hidden supplies, you could lockpick just about anything, and you were good with killing zombies when you needed to. Sure, you were clumsier than Nikto, but the dude had military training! So that was an unfair comparison to begin with. 

By the time Nikto returns, it's dark and cold. The temperature dipped significantly, leaving you wholly unprepared. You knew winter was on the way with the way the air outside became crisper and drier, but this cold weather was completely unexpected this early. Your clothes weren’t meant for it so all you have is your sleeping bag that you pull out from the corner where you had stowed it. 

The door creaks open and you shoot up from your sleeping bag in alarm. Nikto emerges into the living room, walking backwards towards you. 

“Nikto..?” you whisper, anxiety welling in your stomach from his unusual behavior.

“I saw a horde of them,” he says, the first thing he’s said to you since your fight, “At least 100 of them, heading this way.”

“What?” you gasp, watching him place the now heavy backpack down. A successful looting in the town, it seems, “What do we do?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, scanning the room, “we will just stay put until they pass.”

You watch as he shoves the couch with a grunt of effort, moving it so the back is facing the entryway, serving as a blockade. He walks over to the backpack, hastily unzipping it before pulling out a gun.

You gasp, “Where’d you get that?”

“Gun store at the edge of town,” He mutters, pulling the gun back to peer inside before he perches himself on the couch, legs spread to take up as much room as he can. 

“If you use that, it’ll attract more,” you mutter, eyeing the weapon clutched in his hand.

“Will only be used in an emergency,” he explains calmly, “If they come in, I will shoot and you will escape.”

You frown, “But…”

“No arguing,” he snaps, shutting down your protests immediately, “Go to bed.”

You lay back down, tucking the sleeping back up to your chin. You can hear the incessant sound of Nikto fidgeting. His knee bounces up and down, his boot tapping against the floor rhythmically. You roll over and close your eyes, letting the sound lull you to sleep. 

You wake up to a loud bang and the shock of cold. You sit up, catching sight of Nikto still sitting on the couch. He brings his hand up, pressing a single finger to his lips to signal you to be quiet. 

You listen closely, realizing you can hear bangs from all around the house along with the growing sound of groaning. 

You just barely manage to stifle a gasp when you see a group of zombies stumble past the window. Your eyes are wide, not sure if you’re trembling from the cold or from fear. The groaning gets louder and louder and you find yourself clasping your hands over your ears, trying to drown it out as panic seizes in your chest, making it hard to breathe. 

You close your eyes, curling up on your side in a little ball, trying to keep the tears at bay as they fill your eyes. 

You feel hands on you suddenly, all at once and you nearly cry out in fear but a firm hand plants itself over your mouth.

“Shh,” Nikto whispers, having gotten onto the ground with you at the sight of your terror, “You’re safe.”

You whimper, turning to curl into him. He stiffens at the feeling of you wrapping yourself around him but doesn’t budge, letting you cling to him as you cry softly to yourself.

Nikto’s own arms wind securely around you, cupping the back of your head to hold your face against his chest. You’re shivering so he pulls the sleeping bag over the both of you, making sure you’re snug and cozy as he keeps an eye and ear out for anything strange happening with the horde. 

You somehow manage to fall asleep through it all, feeling safe and secure wrapped up tight against the Russian’s chest. 

When you wake up, it’s just you in the sleeping bag. You sit up straight, looking around the room. The couch has been moved back to its original spot and Nikto is nowhere to be seen. 

You wander outside to find Nikto sitting on the porch, scarfing down a can of food that no longer has a label. He pauses when you walk out but doesn’t turn to look at you – it stings a little, considering how he held you last night. He could at least afford to acknowledge you. 

He places the can down, situating his mask back on his face before standing. 

“Do you um…think the horde moved on?” you find yourself asking, desperate to start any kind of conversation with him. 

He doesn’t show any acknowledgement to your words for a moment, instead focusing on fixing up the traps that had been knocked over when the horde wandered through last night. You stand there, awkwardly shifting on your feet as a million thoughts race through your head. 

Of course he was still pissed at you, a little cuddling to keep you from getting you both killed last night doesn’t mean shit. You shouldn’t let it get to your head, Nikto only did what he did so you’d just shut the fuck up. As always, you were the liability and he had to stretch himself thin to make sure you didn’t fuck up. He pushed past his own boundaries – ones you knew he had, he hates being touched, just to keep you from panicking anymore than you already were. And you had cuddled into him, knowing he had those boundaries so he’s probably even more pissed at you than he was before. 

You stifle a sigh and go to roam back inside, a hypothetical tail tucked between your legs. 

But he suddenly says, “It should be safe. Most likely some stragglers to keep an eye out for. I’ll go into town and finish looting what I can find.”

“Oh,” you mutter, reaching down to nervously clutch the hem of your shirt, thumbing at some stray threads, “You don’t want me to come?”

“No,” he grunts, hauling a dead zombie off of the spikes to the ground, “Like I said, there will be stragglers. You will stay behind and make sure the house stays safe.”

“Oh uh, alright,” you offer him a wobbly smile. 

Of course he doesn’t want you to go with him, you lament. He’d already made his feelings about you clear. In fact, once this horde is fully in the rearview mirror, he’s probably going to take off and go survive by himself, without having to worry about you tagging along. 

That thought sends a dreadful wave of sadness through you, like a bucket of ice water. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching as Nikto carries on with his work. 

“Um…Nikto?” you find yourself asking, voice wobblier than you intended it to come out.

The sound has him straightening immediately, turning to look over his shoulder at you. Brilliant blue eyes burn holes into you as he stares, assessing you sagging shoulders and tear-filled eyes. An ache grips his chest, squeezing his heart at the sight of you. 

“You’re not…going to leave, are you?” you ask timidly, “I mean, like…forever? I-I know you said you were tired of having to look after me and…” 

You trail off as you watch him stalk up to you. His boots slam heavily on the steps, making the wood beneath your feet vibrate. He stands in front of you in record time, cinching an arch around your waist to pull you against him. 

You gasp, your chest pressed firmly against his. He reaches up, tugging the soft cloth part of his mask down, letting it rest around his neck. You take a moment to admire him, the scars marring his skin that disappear underneath the hard upper part of the mask.

He leans in slowly, giving you an opportunity to stop him. You should stop him. A loathsome dog like him has no right to be this close and intimate with someone serene and sweet like you. You’re beautiful and ethereal, he’s like a moth attracted to your light. 

He can’t help himself from dipping down, slotting his scarred lips right over yours. You sigh contentedly, delicate hands that he’s worked so hard to keep clean and soft pressing up against his firm chest. He reaches for one, wrapping his fingers gently around your hand, thumbing over your knuckles as he lets you kiss him until you pull back. 

Your eyes are lidded and you’re practically panting but you lean back up, winding your arms around his neck to pull him closer. 

He follows your lead, merely watching as you reach back with one hand to open the door. You tug him in with you, leading him over to the couch. 

He sits down, sitting like the obedient dog he is as he waits for his master to make their next move. He sits back, legs spread as you stand between his knees.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, I take it?” you ask, tone teasing but you both know you’re asking seriously.

He grunts, looking off to the side, “I wasn’t– I was just…” he grunts in annoyance at his inability to formulate his thought, “I didn’t…want you to leave.”

Your eyes widen at those words before you throw yourself into his lap. He grunts, hands coming up to wrap around your hips, steading you as you hug him close. He hears you sniffling against his neck and frowns. 

There he goes again, making you cry. He fists your shirt in his hands, acting like he doesn’t feel them trembling from having you so close to him. You pretend you can’t feel it either. 

This is the closest you’ve ever managed to get to him, the furthest past his walls that you’ve gotten. You understand, his lashing out was because he was scared. You don’t want to say anything that will make him sink away from your grasp again.

You do the only thing you can think of, at that moment. You kiss him again. 

His head leans against the back of the couch, letting you kiss him over and over again. Your soft hands come up and touch his scarred cheeks, holding him there so you can work your lips against his until the both of you are panting and desperate for air. 

As you sit on his lap, pecking his lips as you both catch your breath, you feel something beneath you. Hard and hot, pressing between your legs in a way that sends heat flushing through your entire body. Goosebumps rise along your skin as you look at him. He seems to realize it too – he’s hard. His blue eyes flicker away from you and his hands grip your waist, ready to hoist you off of his lap and onto the couch. 

You should be far away from him now – there’s no reason for someone precious like you to sully yourself anymore than you already have by letting him close to you like this. 

But you cling to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck so he can’t move you.

“Nikto…” you breathe, swallowing around the nervous lump in your throat, “I really want…”

He pauses. You want? You want. He’s ready to give you the world if you so desire it. Even though he feels unworthy, undeserving to be near you, he’ll do anything you want in this moment. He’ll let you use him, take everything you need from him without ever thinking of taking anything in return. 

You’re his savior, the little light he’s drawn too and can’t look away from. He wants to be worthy, deserving of your caring touch and sweet kisses. Even though he’s nothing but a mangy mutt, you think of him as nothing but yours. 

“You can have,” he finally breathes, shocked by how thick his own voice sounds.

You lean back, secure in the fact he’s not going to try to run away now. His hands fall from your waist, flopping to the couch beside him. He can do nothing but look up at you in pure admiration as you slowly lift your t-shirt up. 

He watches every inch of skin revealed to him. You tug the item of clothing up over your head and drop it to the floor, leaving you in a bra. It’s not the cutest thing ever, before the apocalypse you’d probably be wearing a pretty, lacey number. But now, it’s just a sports bra that’s becoming a little threadbare from the fact it’s the only one you own. 

Nikto doesn’t seem to mind, judging by the way he can’t take his eyes off of you for even a second. He watches you tug the hem of the bra up and over your breasts before it meets the floor as well.

It feels like all the air evaporates from his lungs at the sight. They’re pretty, soft looking with nipples that harden in the cool air of the empty house. His cock fattens against his thigh, twitching at the sight of them.

He’s so lost in admiring you that he doesn’t notice the way you self-consciously shift in his lap. 

“N-Nikto..?” you whimper, his eyes snapping from your chest to your face.

A frown tugs at his lips at the bashful look on your face. As if  his body acts on auto-pilot, he lifts his hands from where they sat uselessly at his sides, bringing them up your body to cup your breasts in his hands. 

You jolt at the touch, sighing happily at the feeling of him touching you. His hands are rough and callused, but it feels so good when his thumbs brush over your nipples. You arch your back, pressing your chest firmly into his hands, encouraging him to touch you more. He squeezes and massages your tits, weighing them in his palms appreciatively before moving to play with your nipples. 

You sit there, leaking into your panties as you watch his scarred hands pinch and roll the little buds between his fingers. A little whine is pulled from your lips when he pinches a little harder than intended, softly brushing his fingers over them to soothe the pain as a silent apology. 

Your cheeks feel hot, flushed from watching him play with your body. He hasn’t said anything, but those pretty, blue eyes haven't moved a single centimeter off of you. You feel like the center of his universe with the way he revels in the sight of you. 

You want to show him more, you want to see that look of heady admiration on his face as he sees the rest of your body. The way he looks makes you feel like the prettiest person he’s ever laid eyes on, makes you burst with confidence. 

Though you don’t know it, to him you are. He’s never seen someone so beautiful, so breath-takingly gorgeous that it makes his head swim. 

Your hands suddenly drift forward, sliding underneath the black long-sleeve compression shirt he was wearing. He ignores the anxiety that makes his heart flutter as you begin to pull it further up his chest. He lifts his arms, letting you tug it over his head before you toss it to the floor to join your own shirt. 

You lean back, hands sliding down the firm planes of his pecs, pausing to admire the little metal bars that go through both of his nipples. He’s well-built – not like he spends all day at the gym training. But built for strength, firm but soft at the same time. There’s scars all over his body, countless little ones and big ones. You wonder what he’s been through in his life to leave his body so marred. 

Tattoos coil up both of his arms, some of the scars bisecting the ink and disturbing the images there. You knew he had tattoos, but he kept most of his skin covered even when it was blisteringly hot and he was doing work outside. You never understood how he withstood it.

He suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes his skin crawl. He reaches up and tugs the cloth of his mask back over the bottom half of his face, clipping it to the metal of the upper half. You don’t comment on it, instead continue to admire the upper half of his body. 

You can feel his cock kick beneath you and you stifle a moan. You clench around nothing, dribbling messily into your panties. You suddenly want them off, you want to feel him – you want to show him your body. 

He watches you move, sitting up on your knees. You wobble slightly and he rushes to grab your hips to stabilize you. You reach down and hastily unbutton your jeans, shoving them haphazardly down your thighs. Your panties go along with them and Nikto fucking groans at the sight of your drippy little pussy revealed to him. 

You struggle for a moment more before the pants and panties are finally discarded on the floor. You lean back on his lap, watching as his eyes follow every single contour of your body. You feel like you’re under a microscope, the way he takes in every detail of you. 

His mouth is bone dry at the sight. Your soft, plush little cunt that’s shiny with a slick coating of your arousal. It’s dripped down your thighs and already seeps into his pants, leaving dark, wet spots on the fabric. 

He moves from gripping your hips to your thighs. You gasp as he easily arranges you on his lap, planting your feet on the couch with your legs completely spread. Your folds split apart at that, revealing the creamy little hole that clenches pathetically around nothing. 

He slides up your thighs, unperturbed by the slick mess that greets his digits on your thighs. There’s a lewd, sticky sound as he pulls one of your labia to the side, spreading you open even more for his greedy gaze. 

You clit twitches in time to the way you clench around nothing. A groan slips past his lips involuntarily at the sight. 

“Симпатичная (pretty),” he utters, mostly to himself at the breathtaking sight. 

His index and middle finger slide between your folds, trapping the bud between them with a mean pinch. A cry is ripped from your throat, thighs twitching from the pleasure. Your pussy is gooey and soft beneath his fingers and he can’t take his eyes off the sight in front of him. 

He switches to his thumb, pressing the pad of it against your clit. You make the sweetest sounds as he plays with it, back arching as you sigh and coo softly at him. Your eyes are wide, staring at his masked face as he makes you feel good. 

“Ah, please, Nikto,” you pant, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth as you talk, “Please, please, please.”

“Please what, little one?” he pants, sounding just as broken as you. 

You reach down clumsily, grabbing his wrist to redirect him to your entrance. He clenches his jaw to keep any embarrassing sounds from slipping out as he prods you little hole with his fingers. 

“Yes, yes,” you pant mindlessly to yourself as you ease your hips forward, swallowing the length of his middle finger to the final knuckle. 

You cry out at the feeling of having his digit inside you, clenching snugly around just the one. His brows furrow at the hot, tight feeling of you squeezing around him. It doesn’t take long for him to work a second one right alongside it. 

You’re inconsolable, trembling and twitching in his lap as you stare between your legs at the sight of his fingers stuffed inside you. You rock your hips against his hand, urging him to move them. 

He slides them out to the tips before sinking them back inside you with a resounding squish. Your cheeks burn from the lewd sounds, proving just how wet you are for him. 

You’re so wet and pliant for him, soft walls eagerly stretching for him when he scissors his fingers apart. Your pretty cunt drools down his wrist and he feels his mouth fill with saliva. He knows you’d taste so sweet, like the most heavenly ambrosia. A mutt like him has no right to crave the taste of something so coveted. But he wants it. And you, you might be kind enough to give him that taste – but the thought of taking off his mask now makes him uneasy. He’s not used to being vulnerable like this, he hasn’t been like this with anyone since before…a shiver goes down his spine, nausea curling in the pit of his stomach as memories flash before him. 

But he’s quickly brought out of it by your sweet little moan of his name. He looks up and finds your head tossed back, neck exposed in a way that’s just asking for him to kiss and bite. 

“A-Another,” you suddenly pant, looking at him with dazed, lidded eyes. 

“You can handle it?” he asks, raising a brow.

You nod, reaching between you to cup his covered cock. He groans at the feeling of your hand touching him, even through his pants, “I’ll take this, so I can take three.”

He grits his teeth and bites back a moan at that. You’re a devious little minx, all big, wet eyes and drippy pussy but a silver tongue that urges him to do anything in his power to please you. 

He brings his index finger into the mix, carefully sinking all three digits in together. You whimper at the stretch but you’re so wet and pliant that you easily adjust. Rocking your hips, you gasp when he curls them to nudge that sweet little spot right inside. 

You lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. With your head resting on his shoulder, he can hear the softest croons that fall from your lips. You’re so close, smell so nicely of the simple bar soap the both of you use. He wonders what you would have smelled like before the world went to shit, did you use floral scents? Maybe you were a fruit scent kind of person. 

He moves his other hand forward, thumb inching towards your clit but you reach down and grasp his wrist.

Your face still buried in his neck, you shamelessly whisper, “W-Wanna cum on your cock, Nikto.” 

He moans, deep and soft. The sound has you clenching around his fingers and his cock twitches in response. 

As he continues to eagerly work you open on his fingers, neither of you makes a move to touch the little bud again. Instead, your own hands get busy with undoing his pants. 

“Fuck, Nikto…” you whimper when you pull his length free from the confines of his tac pants, “Piercings?”

You wrap your hand around him, eyeing the two sets of piercings he has on his cock. The first, on the head, pierces through the bottom of the glans and comes out of the tip – Prince Albert, your brain helpfully supplies. But there’s another on the underside where the base meets the plushness of his balls, a bar that sits horizontally.

Nikto appears unperturbed by your curiosity, too busy watching how your fingers are unable to wrap around the girth of him. He’s not the longest out there but fuck if his cock isn’t fat. He’s going to stretch your tender little cunt wide open and have you creaming before you know it. 

He twitches in your grasp just thinking about it. The feeling has your attention pulled away from the piercings in favor of slowly stroking him. A bead of precum drools from the tip, glistening alongside the metal there. 

“You’re big,” you breathe, mesmerized as you jerk his cock in your soft hands. 

“да,” he mutters, grunting when you squeeze him just right. 

His cock leaks even more, dribbling down the sides of his length only to be caught by your hand. You use it to make the slide of your hand smoother and before long he’s as slicked up as you are. 

His fingers no longer move where they’re buried inside you, too preoccupied by the feeling of you stroking his cock. The sounds are slick and lewd, his precum making everything messy. 

“C-Can I? Nikto? Please?” you babble mindlessly. 

“What?” he asks, his own brain struggling to catch up with you. 

“I wanna sit on it, please?” you beg, rocking your hips against his hand even though his fingers are completely still inside you. 

He pulls his fingers from inside you, replacing your hold on his cock with his own. You situate yourself back on your knees and place your hands on his shoulders. He holds himself still as you align your sticky cunt up with his tip.

Both of you fall silent as you sink down. You reach halfway, the thickest part of him before a meek cry bubbles past your lips. 

“F-Fuck!” you squeal, rocking your hips to work yourself further down.

“Does it hurt?” he finds himself asking, as if the furrow in your brow wasn’t enough of a tell.

“Uh-huh,” you whimper but don’t stop, continuing to force yourself lower and lower. 

Nikto groans when you suddenly and finally bottom out. Every incomprehensibly thick inch of his cock is stuffed inside your creamy, drooling cunt. Tears line your eyes from the burn but you make to start bouncing before you’ve even adjusted. 

Nikto’s reflexes finally catch up to him and he quickly clamps his big hands around your waist, pinning you in place on his lap.

“Nikto!” you wail petulantly, 

“Wait,” he commands, sharply glaring when you whine and continue to try and bounce. 

He keeps his grip on your hips, instead forcing you to rock back and forth. The tension melts from your shoulders as you moan in pure euphoria. 

“Fuck, Nikto!” you wail, jaw dropping open as he continues to work you like that, grinding your messy cunt over his cock.

“Just like this,” he pants, grunting at the feeling of his cock stirring within your plush walls.

“B-But,” you gasp when your clit catches on his pelvic bone just right, “Th-This doesn’t feel good for y-you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he groans, “Ты ощущаешься словно рай. (you feel like heaven)”

You lean back, palms flat against his knees, taking over the movements. Nikto reaches up, cupping your bouncing breasts as you needily hump his cock like you’re in heat. You’re creaming a mess around the base of him, slick, sticky sounds the only other sound between your moans. 

“Oh fuck!” you wail, entire body trembling as your head hangs back between your shoulders, “Oh, please, Nikto! Please make me cum. I’m gonna cum, please, please, please!”

“Блять! (fuck)” he snarls, sliding his hand down to find your clit. 

You’re so noisy, noisier than he ever anticipated. He expected you to be a shy, timid little thing. But here you are, begging. You’re absolutely gagging for it. You’re trembling and teary eyed as you wail for pleasure that only he can give you in this moment. Fuck, it makes his cock ache from where it’s stuffed inside your messy little cunt.

His thumb presses against the bud and your entire body twitches as you cum. The sight is spectacular – the embodiment of everything good to him, writhing and cumming all over his cock just like you deserve. 

You clench around him, creaming messily all around the base of him. You squeal and wail out your pleasure, using his cock to ride out the wave of pleasure. You hump back and forth on him, using him just to cum on – like a toy. He’d proudly be a toy for you just to witness the beautiful sight of you in the throes of orgasms like this till the end of time.

“Please fuck me, Nikto, please!” Your ceaseless begging snaps his control like a thread. 

Before you know it, your entire world is flipped. Your back meets the couch and a firm hand wraps around your throat, pinning you there. Nikto’s form looms over you, with one knee on the couch and his other foot on the floor, like an overwhelming presence. 

He pulls his hips back and fucks his cock into you with a harsh slap of his skin against yours. You cry out, clawing at the arm that pins you down. He pays the pain no mind, too addicted to the squelching of your wet little cunt as you take every inch over and over again. 

Moans are punched out of you by the sheet force of his thrusts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, body twitching from overstimulation. You’ve just cum and he’s fucking you like an animal, pinning you helplessly down as you can do nothing but take everything he gives you.

He fucks you right into another orgasm, not even needing to touch your clit. You’ve never cum like that before, always needing a little touch on the little bud. But Nikto is just full of surprises, his cock more than enough to send you over the edge. Tears dribble down your cheeks while your cum drips down his balls. There’s a milky ring around the base of him that he can see every time he pulls back, a clear sign of the fact that it was his cock you came all over. He doesn’t slow down for even a second, even when you begin to sob and thrash beneath him.

He leans down, moving his grip from your throat to the couch, caging you underneath his body. He’s heavy, pinning you down easily beneath him. You're unable to do anything but take it – take everything you begged for. Your feet kick uselessly against him, trying to run from his cock but unable to get anywhere. He hits that tender little spot deep inside you that you’ve never been able to reach on your own and it sends shockwaves down your spine. Your nails claw at his back, tearing at his skin and leaving marks that he’d proudly wear for a lifetime.

“Tell me to stop, little one,” he pants in your ear, “Tell me to stop.”

He’s giving you an out, you realize. Giving you a chance to escape before he breaks you beyond belief. But you don’t want that – you can’t imagine being deprived of this pleasure.

“N-No!” you squeal, drooling from the sheer mind-blowing pleasure, “D-Don’t stop! Please, please, please! I-I’m gonna cum again! F-Fuck, Nikto!”

He fucks it out of you just like that, pinning your twitching, trembling body underneath his oppressive weight, leaving you unable to do anything but take it. You moan, sobs tearing from your chest as the orgasm is torn from your sensitive little cunt. It’s too much, it’s impossible to even breathe from how your body feels like a live wire.

Nikto growls against your neck, heavy balls slapping against your ass from how deep he fucks himself into you. You’re still squeezing and spasming around him, clenching with every wave that wracks through your body. You haven’t been able to fully come down from the orgasm, twitching and gasping against his shoulder as he fucks you well past overstimulation. 

You’re delirious, whimpering and crying against him as he finally cums. He gasps your name – hoarse and thick with pleasure as he fills you up. His cum is thick and hot, oozing past the seal of your walls around him, dripping onto the couch as he uses you to work through his well deserved high. 

He collapses against you, the hard part of his mask digging into your skin but you can’t be bothered to care. All you care is that Nikto is surrounding you – his sweat dripping onto your body as his cum drips out of your cunt. 

His softened cock slips out, allowing a gush to follow in its wake. But you don’t even notice. You wrap your arms around Nikto and let your eyes drift close, content to feel safe and protected underneath him. He’s like a guard dog, keeping his most precious possession hidden away. And you’re content like that, snuggling into him and falling into a blissful sleep.

By the time the two of you wake up, the sun has dipped low enough to cast orange and reds across the sky. The temperature is steadily dropping but you feel incredibly warm and cozy wrapped up tight in Nikto’s embrace. 

He slid off of you sometime after you fell asleep, choosing to lay beside you instead of on top of you. You're still tucked between him and the back of the couch, comfy and happy.

“Nikto..?” you ask, keeping your voice low to not interrupt the serene atmosphere. You know he’s awake because the man barely sleeps.

“What is it?” he asks, not opening his eyes.

“I just wanted to know…” you shuffle closer to his chest, “When I found you…what were you doing in there? All chained up?” 

He grunts at the memory, brows furrowing beneath his mask, “I don't recall much. I was being held for interrogation.” 

“Don’t they usually do that kind of thing in like…a prison? Or a military base?” you ask, reaching up to mindlessly pet the fabric of his mask, “I always imagine that kind of situation in a room in a police station or something.” 

He grunts, “It can happen anywhere the enemy has a safe house.” 

“I see…” you murmur, “What did they want?” 

“Information,” he responds easily, “They're always after intelligence.”

“You didn't give anything up?” you ask, “Even after they hurt you?”

He twitches at the mention of his injuries, “I would be no good to them dead. I gave up nothing.” 

You make a sound, nuzzling into his chest, “What's interrogation like that like? Were you scared?” 

He grunts, “Not scared. Angry. Animals like that do anything they can to extract information,” you shift to look into his eyes, noticing the thinly veiled anger in them, “Anything.” 

The frown of understanding crosses your face and you go to sit up but he pulls you back down, tucking you into his chest. He doesn't want you looking closely at him after admitting that. He doesn't think he can stomach that sadness - the sympathy that will be on your face. He doesn't deserve your kindness, he doesn't want your pity. 

“I'm sorry, Nikto…” you supply softly, kissing his bare chest. 

He sighs, closing his eyes again, trying to ignore the visceral images of strange hands pawing at his body and pulling at his clothes. Nausea turns in his stomach but he simply pulls you closer to him. 

The next morning, he wakes up before you and decides to  wash up in the bathroom. Although the water doesn't work, it's not much work for him to lug a few jugs of water from the nearby stream and bring them back for the two of you to use to wash off. 

The water stings on his back and he takes a moment to look in the mirror, seeing red lines marring the skin. He huffs, laughing through his nose, picking up his mask to slide it back on but he stops short. 

An idea pops into his head as he thinks about you - about your pretty, perfect body. He thinks about how wet you were, the way you dripped and gushed for him over and over again. His mouth waters at the memory. 

He slips out of the bathroom, finding you laying on the couch. He had tucked the sleeping bag over you so you wouldn't get cold but you've pushed it down your body in the time he went to wash up. 

Your bare breasts peek out, nipples hard. He slips the sleeping bag down, letting it fall to the floor. You're completely naked, one leg bent up leaving your legs in a 4 position. 

He can still see a mess between your folds - a slick concoction of yours and his cum. He slides onto the couch, carefully cupping beneath your knees to spread you open. 

You hum, eyes fluttering open. Your gaze falling to Nikto between your legs, face bare and inching ever closer to your cunt. You look so cute and sweet, whimpering sleepily as you lay there vulnerable for him. 

Despite the fact that his face is completely uncovered for the first time in months, he doesn’t feel the need to crawl out of his skin and hide away. The way you look at him, dazed and sluggish, makes his cock chub up. So sweet. So precious.

He places one of your legs over his shoulder, pinning the other down against the couch. Your breath hitches as he inches closer, scarred lips pressing against the skin of your knee, inner thigh, your pubic bone before he stops. Blue eyes linger on your face, watching the furrow in your brows and the anticipation of the pleasure his mouth will bring you. 

He dips down, tongue falling from his mouth. He slides the muscle between your folds, a moan ripping from him as he tastes the concoction of your cum and his mixed together. You whine, head tipping back against the couch, quickly losing yourself to the pleasure. 

Your back arches, reaching down to card your fingers into his hair. The black strands are surprisingly soft and you can’t resist tugging them. He easily goes where you direct, slotting his lips right over your clit when you nudge him towards the little bud. 

“N-Nikto!” you squeal, kicking against his back as he suckles on it, lashing his tongue over and over back and forth until you’re twitching and trembling from the overwhelming pleasure. 

He pulls back, dipping back down to prod at your hole. You’re panting, tossing your head side to side as he slowly sinks his tongue into you. 

You’re wet and gooey inside, the bitter tang of his cum mixes with the sweetness of yours. You open up easily around his tongue, pliant and soft as you croon and coo at him.

“I-It feels good, Nikto,” you pant, voice thick with pleasure, “M-Make me cum, please?”

You ask so sweetly, so politely. He can’t deny you of the pleasure you so deserve – not that he has the right to deny you any pleasure. If there’s anyone more deserving of using him, it’s you. He’d gladly be a toy just for you to pursue pleasure from over and over. 

His tongue slides free from the grip of your cunt, slipping between your slippery folds up to the hard bud of your clit. Precum fucking drools down his thigh, painfully hard cock dripping over the sounds you’re making. Your clit throbs on his tongue, you’re so close that you’re near tears.

You tug at his hair, a pang of pain going through him but he doesn’t dare stop you. He’s all yours – hurt him as you please, it will be his honor. 

“F-Fuck!” you squeal, thrashing against the couch as you finally cum.

He moans against you, wrapping your twitchy clit between his lips. He sucks on it, lidded eyes watching as you tremble through the throes of your orgasm. You pant and cry, chest heaving in deep breaths as you gasp out his name over and over again.

Before long, you’re whimpering and pushing him away. He easily moves, letting you push his head away from your sensitive pussy. Your slit is covered in a sheen of your cum, the white of his cum is long gone – he had swallowed every drop he could taste. 

You sit up quickly, shoving against his chest. He grunts, falling back against the couch. You drop to the floor, knees hitting the carpet before you’re fumbling with the button of his pants. 

He grunts, helping you open them. You don’t even wait a single second to reach in to pull out his hard cock.

“Gosh, Nikto,” you pant, “You’re so big. Can’t believe I fit you last night.”

You giggle, almost delirious as you nuzzle his length. He sighs, softly brushing your cheek with his fingers. You kiss up and down it, practically worshiping him with your lips. You kitten lick the tip, whimpering at the salty tang of his precum on your tongue. 

“Ты очень хорошо справилась (you took it very well),” he mutters, making you pause.

You look confused, “What?”

“Nothing,” he responds, redirecting your attention back to his cock by meanly slapping the head against your lips. 

You whimper, seemingly forgetting all about it as you take the head of his cock into your mouth. It feels strange with the piercing there but you quickly get used to it. You can’t take much of him and your technique is sloppy. It’s clear you don’t have a ton of experience sucking cock.

“Have you done this before?”he finds himself asking.

You look up at him through your lashes before you pop off of him. You look sheepish, shyly shrugging your shoulders, “Not really.”

He grunts, acting like that admission doesn’t make his heart hammer in his chest. His expression betrays nothing as he once again directs you back down. 

“Slowly,” he commands, voice even and collected. 

You open your mouth, letting him slide along your tongue until he reaches the back of your mouth. You cough when he tries to nudge past it, quickly trying to pull your head back but he stops you with a firm hand on the back of your neck.

“Careful,” he warns, “Relax your throat, little one. Let me in.”

You whimper, looking up at him with teary eyes but you don’t fight him when he pushes your head further and further down. He hisses when you gag, choking around him until tears come to your eyes. 

He holds you there, not pushing any further, just relishing in the feeling of your hot, tight throat spasming around him. After a moment, he lets you up. You cough, sputtering and wheezing. Leaning forward, he runs a thumb beneath your eyes to wipe away the tears that trickle down.

“Too much?” he mutters, watching you collect yourself. 

You shake your head, “I like it.”

He laughs through his nose and leans back again. It’s an invitation to do as you please with him. You wrap your hand around his base, leaning forward to take him back into your mouth once more. You don’t take him as deep as he had made you, stroking whatever didn’t fit with your hand. Your spit made for good lubrication, aiding in the slick slide. 

Your tongue was soft and hot against his tip. Whenever you play with the piercing there, his thighs twitch involuntarily. His head falls back against the couch, eyes rolling up into his skull when you noisily slurp against him. 

You pop your mouth off of him, stroking his cock while kissing down the length of him. 

“Блять (fuck),” he groans, unable to take his eyes off of you as you kiss down to his balls. 

You slurp one of them into your mouth, humming when his back involuntarily arches at the feeling. He grits his teeth, glaring at you at the mischievous look in your eyes.

You pop off of his balls, licking your lips, “Sensitive, Nikto?”

“Тише (quiet),” he spits, tugging you towards his cock once again.

You take the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue and sucking until your jaw begins to ache as you stroke the rest of him at the same time. Nikto moans, gritting his teeth as his body trembles. His balls tighten and he flinches when your soft hand cups them. 

It quickly creeps up on him, his cock twitching and his balls drawing up. And then all at once, he’s spilling into your mouth with a guttural groan. You whimper at the heady taste on your tongue, eagerly swallowing down every single drop. When you pull back, you stick out your tongue, proudly showing him that you took it all.

Nikto groans, leaning down to slip his tongue into your mouth. You sigh into the sloppy kiss, lashes fluttering as you lose yourself in him once more. He decides he loves the taste of his cum mixed with you.

He fears he’s more enamored with you than he thought. He’s a loyal mutt, after all.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the sun was obscured by looming dark clouds. You stood on the porch with Nikto, frowning at the sight.

“It looks like it’ll storm,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself as a chill blows through you. 

He nods, staring ruefully at the sky, “I’ll return soon.”

“Do you have to go?” you frown, “How about I come with you? I don’t like you being alone out there with this weather.”

Nikto shakes his head, placing a gentle, gloved hand on top of your head, “You would only slow me down.”

You deflate, looking down at your feet with a frown etched across your face. He regrets the words as soon as they come out, “Прости (sorry), you should stay. It’s safer.”

You sigh and nod your head, “Alright, I’ll just clean up.”

“I won’t be long,” he assures, stepping off of the porch. 

“Okay,” you try to smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He wants to stay to make you happy but he knows you both need the supplies before anyone else takes them.

Nikto casts you one last glance before he turns and stalks off down the road towards town. You watch until he is well out of view before you slip back inside, quietly closing the door. 

You slip into the bathroom, strip yourself of your clothes and step into the bathtub with a sigh. You use the jugs of water to carefully wash your body. The water is quite cold but it does the job. You definitely miss the luxury of a nice, hot shower with good water pressure. You scrub your skin, using the bar of soap you have on hand. You’re shivering by the time you finish, wrapping a towel around your body but it does nothing to actually keep  the cold out. 

You creep out of the bathroom, hissing at the cold air as you make your way over to your backpack. You unzip it, shuffling around inside to pull out some clothes. 

You manage to slip on the oversized sweatshirt , despite your shivering, that Nikto had managed to grab you on his last trip. The fact he thought to get you some warm clothes despite the fact you were both fighting at the time warms your heart. 

trigger warning.

You’re about to slip some panties on when you hear the front door creak open. You perk up, hopping to your feet to go greet him at the door.

“Nikto, you’re back-” you stop short when you see three unfamiliar forms standing in the doorway. 

Nikto wouldn’t have brought anyone to the house under any circumstances. Panic grips your heart and you stumble backwards. 

“Ah, there you are,” a familiar voice murmurs, stepping forward further into your house, “We knew that freak bastard had you hidden somewhere around here.”

“G-Get the hell out of here,” you hiss, feeling uncomfortably exposed with just a long shirt covering you, “N-Nikto will be back any minute.”

Max scoffs, “Naw, we saw him head into town. He ain’t gonna be back for a while.”

“He’s a fucking idiot,” Alan coos sickly, “Leaving a sweet little thing like you all alone.”

You don’t even realize you’re trembling. Fight or flight kicks in and you attempt to bolt past them. You know the chances of getting by them are miniscule at best but it’s all you can think of – there’s no other exit besides windows and neither you nor Nikto had even tried to open them. All you know is that if you get cornered, you’re as good as dead – escape is your best option. 

The three still have the front door open and if you can just get outside, you’ll feel much better and can get your bearings to defend yourself.

But when you attempt to bolt past them, all three of them move. You cry out when you feel arms wrap around your middle, hoisting you up and away from the door. You watch as Max kicks the door closed, closing off your one escape. 

You struggle and kick, making it difficult for them to hold onto you as they drag you back to where you came from. You tumble onto the ground, grunting at the impact as they loom over you, making your skin crawl. 

You dive for your machete, hand wrapping around the hilt of the weapon, ready to swing it right down onto whoever is nearest to you but a heavy boot stomps down on your hand. You cry out, pain radiating down your entire arm under the immense weight of the man. He takes the opportunity to kick the machete, kicking your hand along with it until the blade flies across the room and out of your reach.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Max whistles, “You wearin’ this just for us?”

You realize in the struggle, the shirt you were wearing had ridden up, exposing you completely to them. You shove the shirt down, heart hammering in your ears as they leer at you.

“What do you think, Alan?” Max claps his hand on his buddy’s shoulder, “I know you had a little crush at first sight on this pretty thing.”

Alan licks his lips and grins, eyeing you up and down, “Yeah, I sure did. Was real disappointed when you didn’t wanna come with us, sweetheart.”

“All yours, buddy,” Max chortles.

As if sealing your fate, lightning flashes outside followed by a deafening strike of the thunder that nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Alan takes that moment to pounce. You cry out when he presses himself on top of you. 

You briefly think back to what it felt like to have Nikto on top of you. The sensation was completely different – right now you feel your skin crawling like millions of little bugs are writhing underneath. You want to get away, you’re scared and this strange man’s touch is nauseating. 

Tears fill your eyes as the man pushes your shirt up, slotting himself between your thighs despite the way you fight to keep him out. You sob, pushing at his chest, trying to slide out from underneath him. But he gathers your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head.

Another one comes around, Connor your brain sluggishly supplies. He reaches down and tugs the hem of your shirt up until your breasts are bare to them. 

“Fuck, look at that,” Connor croons, making you squirm in humiliation. 

Alan laughs, pressing himself firmer between your legs. The rough drag of his jeans on your folds burns and you can’t control the sob that tears from your chest when you feel the hard press of his erection. Fear is like ice water through your veins, knowing what they’re going to do to you making you tremble uncontrollably.

“We saw you,” Alan hums, cupping your chest in his bare hands, squeezing your breasts hard enough to make you wince, “You and that creepy fucker, this morning.”

Your bottom lip trembles as you stare up at him, tears dripping down your temples, wetting your hair. You know what he’s referring to, they had watched you and Nikto on the couch. 

“No wonder he wears that mask,” Max laughs from somewhere else. Your eyes darted around to look for him, finding him squatting down by the entryway hall, rooting through the supplies you had organized on the floor, “Ugly bastard like him. Can’t believe he gets to fuck someone like you.”

“D-Don’t talk about him like that,” you snap, uselessly kicking against the man on top of you.

“Aw, don’t like us talkin’ about that fucked up face of your boyfriends?” Connor sneers from beside you. 

Alan’s free hand, the one not holding your wrists, goes down to his pants. He tugs at the button of his jeans, easily undoing them. He’s hard and leaking when he pulls himself out and you feel nausea crawl up the back of your throat.

“Lucky find,” Max mutters from behind you.

“Got anything good?” Connor asks his companion, rough hands coming up to cup your breasts as Alan’s cock slides against your folds.

“Yeah, these two have got practically everything,” Max mutters. You can see him stuffing things into his bag from your periphery, “Probably that freak’s doing, ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You sniffle, your mind automatically drifting to thoughts of Nikto. You wish he had never left, you wish he were here right now. You’ve never wanted his presence more than in this moment, you’d give anything to have him with you. Thunder rattles the windows and you find yourself hoping that he’s at least out of the storm and safe.

Your hips jump, jerking away from the sudden painful prod of an unwelcome cock. Alan growls in annoyance, pressing more firmly against you to keep you from moving.

“Sit still,” he snaps, “It’ll go a lot better for you if you just behave.”

“No,” you pathetically whimper, still squirming every time you feel the heat of his tip pressing against you.

“You’re really pissing me off,” he snarls, pressing his hips forward, only for him to miss, slipping upwards through your folds instead. It’s a dry burn that makes you wince, “Fuck!”

“Givin’ you some trouble there, Alan?” Max teases, laughing.

Alan’s ears turn red under his humiliation, “Hold them down!”

Connor snickers but abandons his groping of your breasts in favor of taking over Alan’s hold on your wrist. Alan pins your hips to the floor with an arm slung over your lower stomach.

You squirm, sobbing in despair when you realize that you’re not going to be able to get away now. His grip is firm, preventing you from moving a single inch, even as you kick and attempt to knee the man off of you. He’s unperturbed, flashing your tear soaked face a sinister smile before he begins to try and press his way inside you again. 

Thunder roars overhead, muffling the scream that tears from you, “No,” you barely hear yourself wailing, tears falling endlessly down your cheeks, “Stop, please! Please!”

Your pleading falls on deaf ears and you really, truly think that this is it. You feel the burn as he begins to press inside you, you’re dry and unprepared for anything but he doesn’t care. 

But before anything else can happen, there’s a strange sound from behind you. You open your eyes, not realizing you had closed them. 

You look over, blinking away your tears to see Max, slumped over on the floor. There’s a pool of blood soaking into the carpet around him. Beside him is Nikto, knife clutched in his hand, trembling as it drips blood. Relief floods through you at the sight of him, sending more tears rushing down your burning cheeks.

Connor releases his hold on you, going for his weapon strapped to his hip but a knife soars through the air. There’s a solid, wet thunk as a knife is thrown, plunging into the center of his chest. 

He gasps, a wet sound as he reaches for the knife stuck in his chest. He doesn’t pull it out, merely touches the weapon before he looks at Nikto and then Alan. Blood drips from his lips as he falls back onto his ass, trembling and breathing raspily.

“Скотина (brute/animal),” Nikto snarls, standing to his full height. His eyes flash, displaying absolute rage within the vibrant blues, “Я тебя убью (I’m going to kill you).”

Alan finally throws himself off you, horror plastered all over his face. Finally free from his nauseatingly oppressive weight, you slam your thighs closed and yank your shirt back down, trying to preserve any bit of modesty you possibly can. You scramble backwards, tucking yourself into the corner, arms wrapped around yourself as you watch. 

Another knife flies through the air – this time sinking itself right into Connor’s eye. He makes a strange, croaking sound, jaw dropped before he slumps motionless onto the floor. His one eye, staring blankly in front of him, unseeing now.

Alan, seemingly realizing that he’s all that’s left, panics. He makes a mad dash for you, where you’ve tucked yourself away to protect yourself. He crawls on all fours, advancing upon you as fast as he can in his fear. 

The sight of him coming closer makes a fearful cry tear from your throat, trying to push yourself further back into the corner the closer he gets.

Something hot and wet splatters all over you and you whimper, barely taking in the sight in front of you. 

Alan sits above you, wide eyes bugging out of his head as he stares into nothing. Blood dribbles out of his open mouth and you notice the tip of a knife poking out of the front of his throat. His entire body jerks when the knife is ripped out, leaving a gushing, gaping wound. He tries to make a sound, but only wet gurgling comes out. 

His limp body is yanked backwards, hitting the floor with a loud thunk. 

Nikto’s masked face is in front of you at that moment and you don’t waste a second throwing yourself into his arms. He grunts at the impact but quickly wraps his arms around you tightly. 

“Nikto,” you sob, voice coming out choked and thick as you try to relay everything to him as best you can, “Th-They just came in. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to r-run. They-He tried to-!”

“Hush,” he coos into your ear, cupping the back of your head to tuck you into the crook of his shoulder, “You are safe.”

You stay there like that with him until your breathing calms down. You slump against him, suddenly exhausted. Nikto doesn’t let go until he can feel that your heart has stopped racing. He shifts, starting to pull away from you and you quickly latch onto him with all your strength despite the way your muscles scream in protest. 

“No,” you pathetically cry, “Don’t go.”

“Я тебя не брошу (I will not leave you),” he mutters and slips from your grasp despite the way you cry for him, “We will clean up.”

He holds out his hand for you and you take it, letting him pull you up to your feet. Your knees tremble but he doesn’t let you go until you’re steady. He looks at your face, reaching up to wipe at the blood splatters that mar your skin. 

He clicks his tongue, turning to lift up Alan’s corpse. He hauls it over his shoulder and makes his way to the front door. You hurry to follow after him, holding the hem of your shirt down to keep you covered. 

He tosses the body off the side of the porch, spitting on it for good measure before he turns to go back inside. You follow closely behind him every step of the way. 

end trigger warning.

“You are like a little duck,” he mumbles, turning to face you after he’s done dumping Connor’s body off the side as well. He reaches up, softly stroking your cheek – a little bit of affection that makes your eyes water. 

You can tell he’s trying his best to keep your spirits up, despite how clumsy he comes across. You know Nikto isn’t good with people or emotions so the fact that he’s trying to cheer you up means the world to you. 

Once the final body is out, Nikto closes and locks the door with a quick flip of the deadbolt. You look down at your feet in shame – you hadn’t locked it earlier and they had walked right in.

Nikto turns you around with a firm hand on your shoulder, gently nudging you towards the bathroom.

“Wash the blood off,” he orders you, “I will be waiting.”

You want to argue, want to beg him to come into the bathroom with you but you can’t find the words. You don’t want to burden him anymore than you already are so you nod your head and duck into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

The thunder is fading into the distance but the downpour continues. With the sun sinking lower and lower by the minute, any light you have to wash the mess off of your skin is fading. 

You quickly use the leftover water to wash the blood off of your face and neck. You follow the blood speckles beneath the collar of your shirt before you lift the offending fabric up to see your breasts and stomach are also splattered with the red droplets that managed to drip down. You scrub the blood off, using all the water you need until there’s no more signs of it. 

When you finally calm yourself, heart racing, you drop the shirt to cover your body once again. You step out of the bathroom, closing the door behind you as you wander into the living area. Nikto is sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the black, crooked TV screen on the wall. 

“Nikto?” you call, pulling him out of whatever stupor he seems to be in. Blue eyes fall to you as you wander over to him, “I cleaned up.”

He grunts in acknowledgement, “I can see that.”

“There’s some blood on my shirt,” you mumble, tugging at the collar, “But I don’t have another one.”

He stands at that, stalking over to his bag that has been tossed haphazardly into the middle of the floor. He yanks it open, fighting with the zipper for a moment before he pulls out a sweater and tosses it to you. 

You catch it with ease, though the sleeves end up smacking you in the face. You pet the soft fabric and hum contentedly. Nikto watches as you eagerly tear the top you’re wearing off, exposing your bare body to him once again before slipping beneath his sweater. The size is much bigger than the one you had before, the collar slipping off of one of your shoulders. You collapse onto the couch, curling in on yourself as you watch Nikto collect his own clothes for the night. 

He strips off his shirt, quickly replacing it with a simple t-shirt before he changes his pants as well. The ones he puts on aren’t his usual choice – they’re sweatpants. Usually Nikto wears tac pants, the kind with a dozen pockets for him to store weapons and supplies. He looks so casual and cozy like this.

“Will you lay with me, Nikto?” you find yourself asking, making him look up from where he was looking into his bag.

“да,” he toes his boots off and scoots you closer to the back of the couch so he can lay on the edge. 

The both of you shift until you’re comfortable. You rest your head on his chest, knee tossed over his waist, allowing you to get as close to him as possible. He remains still beneath you, eyes open, peering into the darkness of the room, listening for anything outside. 

You relax completely against him as you drift off to sleep. He takes that moment to wrap his arms around you, hugging you as close to him as he can without disturbing your slumber. 

He can’t relax, the entire night has him reeling, though he’ll never let you see that. He had come in, the first thing he heard were the voices of men, sending the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Then he had heard your voice, your desperately, tearful sobs begging for your assailants to stop. 

When he had come in, he made eye contact with that first man, sinking his knife right into his skull before he could make a sound. 

His eyes had found you, pinned underneath the form of another man, shirt pushed all the way up and pinned completely. You were practically naked and he could see clear as day what that man was trying to do. The fear and turmoil painted on your face as you looked at him, the relief in your eyes when you had seen him – it spurred him into action. 

Despite the fact that you were safe and avoided any physical harm did little to quell his mind. The fact you had been through such an ordeal, been subjected to the same horrors he himself knew all too well made a pit form in his stomach. He would do anything to turn back time, he would tell himself to stay put – he wouldn’t have taken that needless trip into town to gather the last of the loot he had left behind. 

He’s not sure how much time passes but he dozes off. Only for his eyes to shoot open when you whimper softly beside him. He looks down, the dim, early morning light allowing him to see the furrow in your brow. Your body is tense, occasionally twitching as you dream. It’s clear it’s not a good dream, He has a feeling what it is you’re dreaming about. 

He silently holds you close, letting you thrash against him until you gasp awake. Sweat beads at your forehead as you frantically look around.

“You’re safe,” he whispers, keeping his voice as soft as he can without spooking you.

You swallow thickly around the lump of your throat and look up at him. There are tears lining your lash line and your breathing is a little choppy.

“Nikto,” you whimper, clutching desperately at him.

“Talk to me,” he mumbles, cupping the back of your head to force you to look at him.

“I-I…” you sniffle, bottom lip quivering with the onslaught of your tears, “What if you didn’t come in time?”

He softens at that, “Don’t think of that.”

“But, I-I can’t stop thinking about it,” you whimper, burying your face in his chest, “I was scared.”

“I know,” he coos, resting his chin on top of your head while you cry, “It will not happen again. Я не сведу с тебя взгляда (I won’t take my eyes off of you).”

“I don’t want to think about them,” you sit up, all at once tossing your leg over his hips. He steadies you with two hands on your waist, “Help me forget, Nikto.”

“If you’re sure” he mumbles, not fighting it when you hastily shove the hem of his shirt up. 

You slide your hands across his chest, pausing at the piercings in his nipples. You touch them softly, making him twitch at the feeling. 

“Did they hurt?” you ask, sounding a little stuffy from crying. 

“Нет,” he responds.

You smile, “I guess something like that wouldn’t hurt you, huh? It’s almost like you’re invincible, Nikto.”

“I’m not,” he responds, softly running his hands down your thighs, caressing the smooth skin there. 

“It seems like it,” you murmur, “You can do anything.”

He frowns, blue eyes looking off in the distance, “Но я не смог тебя защитить.”

“What?” you ask, leaning more of your weight against his chest. 

He reaches up, softly petting your hand, looking a little uncomfortable as he mulls something over in his head, “I couldn’t protect you.” 

Your eyes widen a little bit at that. You’re used to Nikto muttering things in Russian but he’s never translated himself for you before. For something so vulnerable to fall from his lips has tears springing to your eyes once again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you assure him, “I-I was stupid and let my guard down.”

“No,” he hisses, making you stop, “You are my responsibility. Your safety is my biggest concern.”

He reaches up, thumbing away the tears under your eye. You sniffle and nuzzle into his touch. 

“Can I kiss you, Nikto?” you find yourself asking.

He doesn’t offer a response, instead he reaches up to tug the cloth of his gaiter mask down to reveal the lower half of his face. Cupping the back of your neck, he tugs you towards him. You whimper when your lips meet his, quickling losing yourself in the kiss. 

Your lips move against his fluidly and he eagerly kisses you back. Your hips shift, subtly grinding down and he eagerly grabs your hips. He urges on your movements, encouraging you to rock back and forth against him. 

This is what you needed. You needed to wipe your mind of the awful feelings stirring inside you. You needed to replace their foul, wretched touch with his touch. You wanted to replace everything with Nikto. 

His sweatpants are soft, they feel nice against your pussy – your juices slowly soaking the fabric as you grow wetter. He doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, his cock only getting harder and harder beneath you. You barely break the kiss to reach between the two of you, reaching past the hem of his sweats to grip his cock. He grunts against your lips when you pull him out, sitting your cunt right on top of him. He slips right between your folds, letting you rub your clit right along the underside of his length. 

You whimper, sitting up, breaking the kiss in the process. You lift the hem of your shirt up, cupping your own breasts, pinching at your nipples as you hump your clit against his cock. 

He groans at the display, reaching up to tear the shirt over your head – granting him a fully unimpeded view of your beautiful body. 

“Пиздец (fuck),” he grunts at the sight of you. 

He looks between your bodies, watching you work your cunt along him, spreading creamy arousal across his skin. He can see when the head pops out from between your folds, the stimulation of the piercing catching your clit makes your body twitch every time.

It’s cute. Your reactions are cute, the way you wear everything you’re feeling right on your face. 

You get wetter and wetter with every roll of your hips until there are sticky strings of slick that connect your skin to his. It’s messy, the way you coat him in it. He absolutely adores it.

“Oh my– Nikto,” you whimper, “C-Can I cum?”

He groans at the sweet way you ask him for permission. Despite the fact you’re in control, rutting your hips, humping his cock like you need it to breathe, you’re asking him if you can cum. He’d be a monster to deny you such pleasure, he’d never dream of it. A mutt like him has no right to deny someone like you, after all. 

“Cum,” he orders, watching the way your eyes widen at his command.

You work your hips over him a few more times, swift, fluid rolls of your hips as you pinch and roll your nipples. He can see the moment your orgasm washes over you. You abandon playing with your nipples, planting your hands on his chest, shakily humping his cock as your entire body twitches. 

He can feel the rhythmic clenching of your cunt and your throbbing clit as you cum. You whimper and gasp, hanging your head between your shoulders, watching yourself cream all over his length until you fall still, trembling in place.

“F-Fuck,” you gasp, barely a whisper, “So good.”

He chuckles quietly at the dazed look on your face when you look at him again. You look ruined, after a little orgasm from humping his cock like a toy. You slowly stop panting and look at him, still as hungry for him as you were before your orgasm.

“Nikto?” you ask softly. He hums in response, “Will you sit up?”

Without hesitation, he does as you ask. He scoots the two of you back so he’s leaning against the arm rest, legs stretched out behind you while you remain seated in his lap. His shirt falls down his chest, covering his pierced nipples once again but you don’t mind, too preoccupied by the sight of his glistening cock. 

He wraps his hand around it, tugging himself a few times to ease the ache from how hard he is. You watch with wide eyes as he strokes himself, slick, wet sounds coming from the movements. The veins in his hand bulge with every squeeze when he pauses to work little drops of precum out. Your cum makes for incredible lube and it makes his head spin – the fact that you came all over him like that. 

“Nikto,” you coo softly, longing thick in your voice.

“Take what you want,” he mumbles without hesitation, moving both hands to grip your hips. 

You bite your lip, using his shoulders to stabilize yourself as you reach between your legs to grip the base of his cock. You both sigh in unison when you direct his tip to your entrance, slowly and carefully sinking down.

“F-Fuck…” you whimper, nails biting into skin, “Y-You’re so thick.”

He grunts when you stop, impaled only halfway on him but unable to sink any further. He watches you struggle for a second, admiring the furrow in your brow and the way you tremble every time you try to sink lower. 

“H-Help,” you whimper, “Nikto, please!”

His hand creeps between your legs, thumb pressing against the hard bud of your clit. You squeal, tossing your head back when you finally sink all the way to the hilt as you clench around him desperately. He grunts at the feeling of being enveloped in that hot, tight heat. You squeeze him so tightly, soaking him in your cum that you so beautifully worked out of yourself just moments before.

He holds your hips, supporting you as you start to ride him. You’re clumsy and uncoordinated, panting with just a few little bounces. He doesn’t blame you, being tired, after the night you had. 

“Hold on,” he orders you, forcing you to stop.

You do as you’re told, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He flips the two of you over, your back hitting the mattress. He lets you cling to him, knees knocking into his ribs as he ruts his hips against you. You gasp, whining into his ear at the pleasure that shoots through you. 

His balls are heavy, slapping audibly against you underneath the wet squelching of your pussy. You sound so sweet, moaning in his ear from how well he fucks you. 

He’s not rough for once in his life, treating you tenderly and delicately, holding you close to his chest while he uses his cock to wring every bit of pleasure out of your pliant body. You cling to him like a lifeline, twitching and trembling underneath him as you’re forced to take every inch of him. 

“S-So good,” you babble, “Nikto! Please, fuck, you’re so good!”

He grunts, doubling his efforts at the sound of your praise. He changes the angle of his hips slightly and your reaction is immediate. You cry out and he grunts, cupping the back of your head to muffle your cries in his neck. As much as he’d love if you could be as loud as you could, the undead outside could hear at any moment.

“Th-There, fuck, there, Nikto!” you mumble, slurred in your pleasure.

He huffs, keeping you tucked completely against him, pressing your body against the couch as he fucks into that spot. The sensation of his piercing grinding against the sensitive insides of your pussy is enough to get you twitching, walls clenching sporadically around him. You’re getting closer, little gasps and whimpers the only thing you can manage to get out as you focus solely on the mounting pleasure. It’s tight in your tummy, winding and winding until it will only take a split second for it to snap. 

Nikto grinds his hips just right, the messy curls at the base of his cock nestling against your clit is all it takes for you to unravel. You squeal into his neck, eyes rolling back into your head as you thrash beneath him. He doesn’t thrust, instead continues to grind against you, squishing your tender little clit against his pelvic bones as you cry and wail. Your walls clench and squeeze around him while he stays there, simply letting his cock stir inside you to let you ride it out.

Suddenly, there’s a wet gush, soaking his pants, shirt, and the couch beneath you, “‘M sorry, sorry, Nikto, f-fuck! ‘M sorry.”

He shushes you, leaning back to rearrange your legs, pinning your knees to your chest. You’re still babbling apologies, embarrassed tears in your eyes – it’s sweet, you feel bad for making such a mess on him. He doesn’t care in the slightest, shouldn’t you know that by now? 

“Quiet,” he mutters when you cry out from the change in angle. 

You slap your hand over your mouth, tears trickling down your temples as you stare wide-eyed at him. You feel so good, it’s written all over your face. Your lashes flutter, threatening to close but you don’t want to take your gaze off of him. The sight is too good.

His strong fingers dimple the skin of your thighs and his intense, blue eyes burn from behind his mask. The tattoos filling up the skin of both his arms flex with every movement he makes and his shirt is splattered with remnants of your cum. The mere sight of him makes you clench around him, creaming messily just for him. “Touch yourself,” he commands, not sounding even the slightest bit out of sorts. Unlike you, babbling and crying from a couple little orgasms on his cock.

You sniffle, soft and teary as you do as he tells you. You reach between your thighs, trembling fingers finding your split folds, your hard little clit peeking out to greet your touch. You twitch violently at the feeling, eyes rolling back in your head as you stroke the pulsing bud. 

You whine, “F-Feels better when you do it, Nikto.”

He groans through his teeth. You’re so precious. 

He can’t resist such a sweet complaint. He abandons his hold on one of your thighs in favor of replacing your touch on your clit. It’s hard and throbbing under his thumb, slippery when he rolls the pad of his digit up and down on it. You whine and cry, muffled by your hand because you’re still following his order to be quiet. You’re so good for him. You still stare wide-eyed at him, chest heaving as you desperately gasp for air.

“Oh, I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum,” you babble, wrapping your now free hand around the back of your knee that he no longer holds. You pull yourself even wider for him and he changes to circling your clit as a reward.

Your back bows off of the couch, pretty tits bouncing with the movement, nipples perked and hard. 

“Ты такая молодец (you’re doing so good),” he mutters as you cum, squirting all over him again. 

It drips off of his skin, makes his balls ache. You babble your sweet apologies again, both hands covering your face in embarrassment. He sighs, leaning down, cupping the back of your head to tuck you against him. He shushes you, grunting when you squeeze down around him just right.

You’re soaked, dripping and creamy wet with strings of slick connecting the two of you. It’s hot and messy, lewd squelching coming from your tight little cunt as he works towards his own end. 

You’re whining and writhing in overstimulation now so he gives you a few more, deep thrusts before he pulls out. You watch, lidded eyes watching as he wraps his hand around his messy cum-covered cock. 

With a heavy groan, cum spurts from his tip. It splatters over your slick folds, mixing with the slippery film that covers you from the orgasms he worked out of you. He can’t resist tapping the head of his cock right against the swollen bud of your clit, the stimulation making your hips jump and whine rip from your chest. 

You finally relax, sinking into the cushions while he leans off the side of the couch to pick up the sweatshirt that was discarded. You sluggishly lift your arms and let him slip it over, not caring for the mess slathered between your thighs. You can deal with that later.

He settles in next to you, letting you snuggle in close. His mind is plagued with the idea of his mark being on you all through the night. Right between your legs, where his cum belongs. With you tucked snugly against him where you belong. 

The next few days are strange – you cling to Nikto’s side desperately, barely letting him out of your sight. He understands, naturally but he doesn’t want you to remain in a place that brings you panic. There’s bloodstains on the carpet that he catches you staring at from time to time, eyes wide and unseeing as memories flash in your head. He’s been there far too many times to let you wallow in it. 

“We should head out,” he murmurs one afternoon over lunch, “Find a new place.”

You look up from where you were staring dully into your can of soup. Your gaze brightens at his words and he knows it was the right call, “Really? Where?”

He hums, “Found a map in town. There’s a…survivor colony marked. We should head there.”

That bright look fades off of your face and he suddenly wants to take it all bad to see you happy again, “Why would we go to a survivor colony?”

“Would be good for you, no?” he asks, raising a brow under his mask.

You grumble and shake your head, placing your can down to scoot closer to him, “You don’t like people, Nikto.”

“You do,” he argues, watching you place your can down.

You wrap your arms around his middle, nuzzling your head against his shoulder, “I like you. As long as I have you, I don’t need anyone else.”

He has to look away under the intensity of your gaze. You look at him like he’s special, like he’s important. Even though he’s just a mutt, you’ve granted him the incredible honor of getting to stick by your side. 

He’s a brute, he’s unruly, unsightly. He’ll never say it out loud – never be able to say it, but as long as he has you, he’ll be okay too. 

A mutt and its owner, as it should be.

(It's well-known that despite the fact that Ghost does consider the 141 to be his family, he keeps his personal life very private and away from them. They respect that, in turn, but let's face it, Soap is nosy.)

Really, it was an accident. Soap swears it was!

He just happened to be passing by his lieutenant in the bar where the team had all gone to celebrate a wreck of a mission that they've managed to successfully finish. Truly, it was an accident when his eyes caught a glimpse of Ghost's new wallet, and he really, very much so did not mean to watch a little too long – long enough for it to open and reveal a hefty amount of cash and a small square of colors, barely noticeable. 

Soap's feet move before he could quietly search for more.

"Got a new wallet, aye?" He slides beside the taller man smoothly, just as the Brit had grunted out another order of Bourbon. Ghost hums in acknowledgement.

"Y'got a crush on me or somethin', Johnny?"

Soap chuckles even if the other does not. "A just happened tae see it. Fancy little thing."

It doesn't take long before Ghost disappears into the night, but the Scot swears his pace was a bit faster than usual when he left the awfully-smelling bar, and Gaz would be lying if he said he didn't see the little picture of a pretty bird tucked away in his scarily huge lieutenant's wallet.

It's not that Soap often makes bold assumptions about people and their personal lives, not when they're out of reach from him, but can you really blame him for thinking that the words 'Ghost' and 'girlfriend' do not sound right in the same sentence? Would it be considered an assumption this time if he'd seen the photo himself? Surely, his superior isn't some perverted freak who keeps an image of a breathtaking woman he randomly found in his private items. Uh, he hopes not, at least.

"Bullshit!" is what a drunken Soap yells when the Brit nonchalantly discloses to the team, without hesitation, that he is simply not interested in dating. He spills everything he's gathered in the past few months, from the smallest hints to the biggest; the unfamiliar strand of hair on Ghost's hoodie to the wallet from months ago.

"A'm no crazy!" Soap convinces no one as he's ushered back to the barracks for making such an insane assumption about the lieutenant in his unreliable state. Ghost's lips curl up into a smirk against the cold glass of Bourbon in his hand, sat back and relaxed with his legs spread wide.

Call him a big baby (he is) for making a fool out of his sergeant instead of just telling the truth and bragging about his angel to the others, but can you blame him? He just wants to keep you tucked away in his pocket, away from everyone else. What are you talking about, lovie? 'Course 'm not ashamed of you. You're just too pretty for them, is all. Gotta keep m' girl safe, yeah?

Besides, they don't have to know the way Simon melts into the nook of your neck when he gets home from deployment or know that he uses your lavender-scented shampoo. And no, it doesn't matter that Johnny knows. It's his word against the lieutenant's. He spares his LT and turns a blind eye this once.

When the time is right, Simon is sure to properly introduce his heart to his unspoken family. For the time being, he just wants to keep you his pretty little secret.

(It's well-known that despite the fact that Ghost does consider the 141 to be his family, he keeps his personal life very private and away from them. They respect that, in turn, but let's face it, Soap is nosy.)

Really, it was an accident. Soap swears it was!

He just happened to be passing by his lieutenant in the bar where the team had all gone to celebrate a wreck of a mission that they've managed to successfully finish. Truly, it was an accident when his eyes caught a glimpse of Ghost's new wallet, and he really, very much so did not mean to watch a little too long – long enough for it to open and reveal a hefty amount of cash and a small square of colors, barely noticeable. 

Soap's feet move before he could quietly search for more.

"Got a new wallet, aye?" He slides beside the taller man smoothly, just as the Brit had grunted out another order of Bourbon. Ghost hums in acknowledgement.

"Y'got a crush on me or somethin', Johnny?"

Soap chuckles even if the other does not. "A just happened tae see it. Fancy little thing."

It doesn't take long before Ghost disappears into the night, but the Scot swears his pace was a bit faster than usual when he left the awfully-smelling bar, and Gaz would be lying if he said he didn't see the little picture of a pretty bird tucked away in his scarily huge lieutenant's wallet.

It's not that Soap often makes bold assumptions about people and their personal lives, not when they're out of reach from him, but can you really blame him for thinking that the words 'Ghost' and 'girlfriend' do not sound right in the same sentence? Would it be considered an assumption this time if he'd seen the photo himself? Surely, his superior isn't some perverted freak who keeps an image of a breathtaking woman he randomly found in his private items. Uh, he hopes not, at least.

"Bullshit!" is what a drunken Soap yells when the Brit nonchalantly discloses to the team, without hesitation, that he is simply not interested in dating. He spills everything he's gathered in the past few months, from the smallest hints to the biggest; the unfamiliar strand of hair on Ghost's hoodie to the wallet from months ago.

"A'm no crazy!" Soap convinces no one as he's ushered back to the barracks for making such an insane assumption about the lieutenant in his unreliable state. Ghost's lips curl up into a smirk against the cold glass of Bourbon in his hand, sat back and relaxed with his legs spread wide.

Call him a big baby (he is) for making a fool out of his sergeant instead of just telling the truth and bragging about his angel to the others, but can you blame him? He just wants to keep you tucked away in his pocket, away from everyone else. What are you talking about, lovie? 'Course 'm not ashamed of you. You're just too pretty for them, is all. Gotta keep m' girl safe, yeah?

Besides, they don't have to know the way Simon melts into the nook of your neck when he gets home from deployment or know that he uses your lavender-scented shampoo. And no, it doesn't matter that Johnny knows. It's his word against the lieutenant's. He spares his LT and turns a blind eye this once.

When the time is right, Simon is sure to properly introduce his heart to his unspoken family. For the time being, he just wants to keep you his pretty little secret.

Starting off strong with the "he doesn't have one" argument because what use does he have for one when he's literally built for active duty? Well. First of all who build a robot you can't fuck? Second of all shhhhhhhh.

As it stands he doesn't have one. Not that he doesn't want one or wouldn't use one but the military can be so stingy... so obviously he's gotta enlist his favorite mechanic to make him one. Which is a fun in person request to make. Just showing up to your workshop and telling you he wants a dick while you studiously do not look at his crotch. You can feel him smirking when you ask what he plans to do with it. (He'd get by pretty well with his fingers and *redacted* but nothing beats dick)

So you gotta design a dick for this guy, take measurements, get input, spend hours agonizing over the neuropathways and how you're going to link this in to his synthetic nervous system. Plus like... are you gonna make this thing come? You probably should. If Ghost is going to be using it he should get something out of it.

So now you have to design an orgasm program. Which is easier said than done because how do you quantify that, and how do you code it, and most importantly how do you test it?

Well you test it by hooking Ghost up to the computer and setting the program to run, watching him stiffen and arch his hips into the feeling, swearing in that low mechanically filtered voice as he humps the air. Fuck he looks good. UNPROFESSIONAL THOUGHT. OK you stare at your screen and run a few more variations, asking him to describe each one and rank them. Great orgasm locked and loaded, now you have to set up trigger scenarios.

Which also means when you actually get the android dick to a solid prototype you have to call Ghost in and install it. You reserve the day, clear it with Price (new parts testing, custom made, you tell him. Giving no other details. He doesn't ask) and keep a fire extinguisher and a kill switch nearby while you tell Ghost to... jerk off.

And then you watch him stroke the gorgeous, big, cock you custom designed for him with thick, deft, fingers. And you wait for the orgasm program to trigger. And hope that nothing glitches and he doesn't rip your beautiful masterpiece of a dick off, and also that the come you designed actually comes out at the right time. So you sit there and watch him, press your thighs together and try not to shift in your seat even though you can hear the click of Ghost's cameras as he watches you watching him.

You don't wonder what he's thinking about. You don't focus on the grunt of pleasure he lets out. You do tap at your screen to check the sensitivity levels on the synthskin you used. You do reach to make sure he isn't squeezing too tight or stroking too rough and end up with lube based come spurting onto your face.

Which you suppose means it works.

Which means moving on to partner trials, and your hand tentatively wrapped around Ghost's fat cock. You don't remember why you made it so thick, but it doesn't help the ache between your legs. You try to keep a professional look on your face as you reset the program and start to stroke him with much gentler fingers. You ignore the come staining your face until Ghost swipes his fingers through it and pushes those same fingers into your mouth.

You end up on the workbench with him, grinding your clothed cunt against his firm thigh as you stroke his cock and he pumps his fingers into your drooling mouth. Mutter all manner of filth to you. Greedy whore, desperate piece of meat for him to fuck now that you've made equipment for him. Aren't you a smart little toy to make him exactly what he asked for, and so big too. "That what you want love," he asks, "you want a fat cock to split you open? Look'it you drool, probably tried it out before you stuck it on me."

Even if you didn't you can't say you didn't think about it, didn't drag your fingers over the dick appreciatively. All the scaling in the world, trying to make sure it would look right, fit right, on Ghost's body and you still made it with your preferences in mind. He knows it too. That's why he reminds you what a cock hungry toy you are. "All cooped up in here with no one to show you your place," you drag your tongue along his fingers, work your cunt against him, hope you leave a wet spot on his synth skin, hope he can feel you through the coveralls, "bet you dream about one of your bots holding you down and giving you what you deserve."