Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.
Iâm also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because itâs been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.
Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture
Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds â but thatâs no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.
Heâs a great partner, a great teammate; youâre sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.
âYou did good today,â he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.
âSo did you,â you reply, squeezing his hand in return.
âStay with me tonight?â He asks.
You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That heâs asking you to come to his tonightâŚ
âAbsolutely,â you reply, squeezing his hand. âI just need to see the captain first. Okay?â
He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian â some insult about goats and mothers you think.
âYeah, exactly,â you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.
A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasnât helped the anger. You donât spar any of your team with anger; they donât deserve.
Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when youâre feeling a bit⌠aggressive.
âCap?â You call, still holding Niktoâs hand. âCould I stop by for a nightcap later?â
His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. âYeah, babygirl. Iâll leave the door unlocked.â
Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.
âShowers. Now,â the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. âDouble time. I need to have a word with Price still.â
â
Long after the sun has gone down, youâre standing outside your captainâs door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and heâs going to take care of you.
Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.
One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.
âThere you are,â he rumbles. âCâmere.â
You flash your teeth, âNo.â
He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. âAlright then.â
Thereâs no real fight. Youâre not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And heâs not looking to actually make you submit. Thatâs not the point of this game.
He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.
âSettle,â he orders.
âFuck you,â you snarl back, nipping his lip.
He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.
âBrat,â he rasps in your ear.
âIâm not,â you snap.
âOh, yes you are, babygirl,â he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. âBut thatâs alright, I like you bad.â
He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesnât indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.
He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesnât stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.
âGonna say please like a good girl?â He teases.
âNo,â you hiss back.
He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (Itâs supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.
âPretty noise,â he coos. âDo it again.â
When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your âeffortsâ to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but thatâs what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.
He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now youâre fucking throbbing for it.
âGimme,â you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.
âGive you what, brat?â He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. âMy cock? You think you deserve it?â
Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that youâve soaked through your shorts.
âYes,â you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.
He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.
âYeah?â He growls. âAlright then.â
He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then heâs plunging into you. Itâs too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.
âFuck.â His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.
âHow does that feel, babygirl?â He murmurs in your ear. âYou needed daddyâs cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?â
You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.
He lets you â could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely â but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.
âFucking move,â you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than youâd like.
âWhat was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?â He teases, rolling his hips.
Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.
âDaddy, move,â you cry, voice going up in pitch.
âThereâs my brat.â
He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesnât even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.
Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.
âGonna ask daddy to make you cum?â He goads.
âEarn it,â you reply.
He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while youâre still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but thatâs fine by him, heâs plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.
âFuuuuck,â you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, âDaddyâŚâ
âFeel like being good yet?â He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.
âN-no,â you whine, fight gone out of you now that youâre getting exactly what you want.
Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet youâre dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.
âSâalright, doll, donât need to be good to be mine.â
Heâs barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.
âDaddy, daddy,â you sob. âFuck, I wanâ it.â
âWant it, huh?â
âMhmm,â you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.
âOh, right there, huh?â He coos. âDid daddy find your little sweet spot?â
A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, heâs wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.
ââM gonna⌠f-fuck, fuck,â you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if youâre trying to urge him on or get away. Doesnât matter, heâs in charge, has been since the beginning. âDaddy, I wannaâŚâ
âWhenever you want, babygirl,â he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. âSqueeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.â
Didnât realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.
âDaddyyyy,â you whine.
And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.
âThatâs it, easy,â he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. âEasy, doll.â
He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.
âCâmere,â he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.
The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didnât, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.
âYou did so well, babygirl,â he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. âSuch a good girl. Even if you think youâre being bad.â
You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you canât handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.
âI still want you,â he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. âAlways will. Youâre mine.â
You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.
âLove you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?â
You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.
You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.
(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldnât just touch at will. And afterwards⌠well. Itâs not like he didnât do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not⌠not ideal. Not like this.)
Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.
Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.
âMâokay, baby,â he says before you can ask. âFeels good.â
You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.
When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.
You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows youâre taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.
Only when itâs over does he ask if youâre ready to go to Niktoâs. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But youâre looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.
At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.
You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.
The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.
âEvening, Nik,â you coo.
A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, youâre wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.
âLove,â he rasps in Russian into your hair.
You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how youâre touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.
âSmell good,â he murmurs.
âYeah?â You giggle. âShowered just for you.â
He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.
âYouâre dehydrated.â
He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like heâs about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.
âGet a glass please? I could use some water myself.â
Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.
âThank you,â you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.
And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while youâre still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else itâs miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.
âThis is nice,â you coo. âCan I kiss you?â
âYes.â
You wiggle around until youâre chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like heâs trying not to close his hand.
âOkay?â You ask.
âYes.â
You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. Youâve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.
âHere next,â he says when you dip to go to his chest.
He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize thatâs all skin too.
âOh,â you breathe. âCan IâŚ?â
âYes.â
You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust heâs showing you.
âI love you,â you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Donât mind.
He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.
You donât pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesnât lead, doesnât rush or pull or press. But thereâs tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You donât ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.
âStill okay?â You ask.
âStill okay.â
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