#for all the masks you wear and all the faces you hide beneath them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ohbother2 · 3 months

Note

Okay….Adam sfw and nsfw headcanons? I cannot believe I have begun to simp after this trashbag DAMN YOU ALEX BRIGHTMAN-

I have an admission... I fucking love Adam pls keep sending Adam requests in I can't get enough of this man

Also, sorry I've been MIA, I've got a lot of deadlines coming up so updates will be more spaced out over the next few weeks :)

I love Adam but he's quite difficult to write, so pls lmk what you guys think! I tried to keep him in character! (This was far longer than planned lol I just love this man)

NSFW - Minors DNI

---

Adam x f!reader - General Headcannons

SFW

You'd been in heaven for many decades, possibly even centuries, before you had ever even entered Adam's radar

He was the 'original dick', as he liked to constantly remind everyone within shouting distance, and spent all of his time surrounded by the higher-ups of Heaven, attending meetings, court-hearings, and dealing with training his danger-tits army for the next extermination

It would take a lot to enter his radar, having to work your way into the correct circles, gain the right connections and attend the right events

But once you're in the circumference of society he haunts, you're on his radar immediately

He's a man with fine tastes, look at his previous wives, he has a type ("fucking bombshells" as he would describe them) and as soon as he sees you in his peripheral one afternoon he's zoned in and absolutely entranced

No one has ever said no to him before, so when you do, he's taken aback. Hiding his confusion and deep-rooted offence with a flippant comment "Oh, playing the hard to get game, babe? Lucky for you I fucking love the chase."

Inwardly, he's fucking fuming, why on earth would you reject him? Alas, he's sure he'll win you over eventually... right?

He's arrogant, he's cocky, he's a self-entitled piece of shit, but he's also determined, passionate, and is anything but a quitter

You will not know peace for months after your reject him

He'll storm into your office whenever he feels like it - which is whenever he has enough free time to do so - bugging you relentlessly as you try and finish your work. He never stops asking questions about you: your day, your hobbies, your love life, what're you doing after work tonight? He's free, he could take you somewhere nice, show you a real fun time

When you stop answering he starts bitching about his day to you, about the local gossip, about some Seraphim that pissed him off, about some bitch at the bar, which he could totally take you to, did he mention he was free tonight?

He doesn't just hound you at work, and you often find yourself coming to a screeching halt in the street and abruptly turning the other way when you spot his iconic mask - he's a tall man, his horns poking noticeably above the crowd as he tries to find any excuse to find and talk to you

When he gets really desperate, after months and months of unsuccessful attempts of gaining your attention, he finally turns to Lute with the all too familiar question "You're a woman, right? What do you-"

The advice she gives is not one he is happy to receive, 'stay away and tone it the fuck down', but he listens, ego taking a massive hit as he watches you carry on as normal

Funnily enough, you start to miss the annoying dick, and you begin to look forward to his far less frequent visits, which mainly consist of you both bumping into each other at work and making polite conversation

When he really can't take it anymore, and he happens to hear rumour about another man planning on asking you on a date, he practically breaks down your office door with a bouquet of flowers, thrusting them unhappily into your hands and asking incredibly politely for you to please go on a date with him

You're both surprised when you agree, and he can feel his face heating up beneath his mask as he whoops, calling a "I knew you'd come around babe, I'll pick you up at 8 tonight. Can't wait to see what you wear." over his shoulder as he bustles back out of your office, practically vibrating until he can tell Lute the news

He's 'The Original Man', and once you become his girl there is nothing he wouldn't do for you - he's constantly swinging by your office and pulling away the less important paperwork, commenting that he can get one of his workers to do it and freeing up time for you both to hang out; he's constantly flying through your balcony with bags of some new takeaway and chatting about this amazing new food place he found as he drops the heavy bags on your counter; someone causing you trouble? If he can't personally deal with it due to some 'relationship' he has to upkeep, he's sure to inform Lute who will have the situation handled before sunset that same day

Basically, he has authority in Heaven, and he's going to use that to make your life as easy as possible

Having a bad day? He can fix that. Oh, not in the mood for sex? Well, he's an amazing cuddle buddy, and he has the softest wings, let him just grab some snacks from the kitchen and then get ready for a night on the sofa wrapped in his strong arms and soft wings

His wings are insanely soft, and big, and despite his best efforts, no matter how long you've both been dating, they will flutter if he hasn't seen you in an extended amount of time, or if you're wearing something particular nice - he can't control it and it thoroughly ruins his bad-boy persona

You're the only other person beside Lute who he feels comfortable with letting preen his wings, and after you start officially dating he only comes to you with the issue, batting his eyelashes and pleading with you to 'take care of him'. You do, and he always breaks his promise not to 'make it weird' until you give him a firm smack on the back of his head - he's fallen asleep more times than you can count with your hands in his wings

He returns the favour, of course, and he sticks to his word like a gentleman, hands remaining firmly against your wings and not daring to wander. He's not a saint, however, and he will whisper less-than-holy things in your ear as he works - he'll stop if you don't play along, and finds himself enjoying the innocent intimacy of it. If you do play along? Oh, boy, his hands don't stay on your wings for long

He uses his wings a lot in his body language, and in your initial stages of courting he'll constantly puff them out to make him seem bigger, trying to impress you with his sheer size - embarrassingly for you, it works

PDA is not approved of in heaven, so he has to maintain his distance from you in public but that is a completely different matter in private

He will take every opportunity to touch you, innocently, whether that be a had on your jaw to bring your attention back to him or to guide your gaze wherever he wants you to look, a hand on your bicep to pull you this way and that, a large hand between your shoulder blades if you're being too slow

In public, completely subconsciously, whichever wing is closest to you will outstretch, barely noticeable to the majority of people, corralling you in closer to his side, and protecting you from whatever might happen - there's no danger in heaven, but still, he likes to know you're safe, and his wings reflect that desire

In private, he's constantly got a hand on you, oftentimes both, on your arms, your shoulders, your waist, the small of your back, your thighs, fucking anywhere - he likes having you on his chest on the sofa, and he finds it funny when he tries to do the same and crushes the air from your lungs

He loves when you cook and he can just stand behind you with his chin propped on your head or shoulder and his arms around your waist. You constantly have to tell him off for whispering foul things in your ear, but he quickly shuts up when you threaten to send him away, his grip tightening against you as he pouts playfully and watches silently

He will actively stretch out his wing when it's cold or windy or rainy, shielding you from the elements with his large wings and loving the excuse to pull you close. "What're they gonna say babe? I'm just keeping you dry."

The biggest difficulty in your domestic lives is the housework, he's an old fashioned man and he's never really had to do housework before. He's gotten better throughout your relationship, but he still absolutely hates washing dishes, but he'll happily sit in the kitchen and keep you company and talk mindlessly as he watches you work. He always thanks you with a kiss

If you ever make him do it, expect to be sat on the counter right next to him and no you cannot leave until he's done and yes you will listen to him complain the entire time and yes he will always slap your ass with a wet hand as payback, cackling as you yell half-heartedly

Deep down, incredibly deep, oceanic levels of deep, past the many many levels of crude jokes and brash humour, of over-compensating confidence and attempted witty one-liners, past the smirk and the puffed chest and the domineering presence, is a man who is cripplingly doubtful and insecure - two of his wives have left him for the same man, and he's absolutely terrified (but would rather burn in the fiery pits of hell than ever admit it) that it's going to happen again

He can seem rude and brash and uncaring, but he really is trying his best, and he's desperate to prove to you, in his own way, how much he really cares (He's scared to admit even to himself how much losing you would crush him)

Because of this, no event is ever half-assed - it's your birthday? He's got the biggest cake he can find and he's made some of his exterminators set up a surprise birthday party for you. It's your anniversary? He's pretending he's forgotten until the morning of and suddenly you've got a reservation at one of the nicest and most in-demand places in all of Heaven

"Come on, sugar," He'd reprimand you mockingly, shit-eating grin on his face at your excitement "you really thought I'd forget my special girl?"

He can doubt himself sometimes, worrying about your feelings for him, but he hides his insecurities whenever you catch him in deep-thought with some lame sex-joke

He doesn't ever want to talk about his insecurities, and he'll never outright tell you what he fears more than anything, but you pick up on it after enough time together

You don't pry, but you do card your hands through his hair when you see his eyes go particularly glossy one afternoon, pressing a kiss to his temple and scratching at his scalp, making your way slowly to his wings and back and taking your sweet time. He closes his eyes and listens to you ramble about your day, which eventually turns into you rambling about him, how handsome he is, how hard he works, and how much you love him and how you don't know what you'd do without him

He doesn't realise it, but you say just the rights things he needs for him to regain that pep in his step and for his cocky words to have more meaning behind them

NSFW

He's the Original Dick, and you'd hope he had the goods to back up the talk with the amount of bragging he does

He does; he does have the goods, and some would say he's being humble because what the fuck

He's the oldest human in history - he's seen it all, done it all twice, and he's more than willing to share some of his tricks with you

He's too proud and self-centred to ever let you have complete control, but when he's particularly lazy he'll let you go on top (as rare as this occasion is) but he'll still guide you as best as he can, lifting you easily with his strong arms and sweet-talking you with his sharp tongue

The first time you ever see him without his god-awful mask is during an intimate moment - you're first intimate moment, where you downright refused to continue if he didn't take the cursed thing off his face

Again, he's insecure, and it takes a lot of reassurance and just the right amount of kisses on his jaw and neck for him to be convinced that taking his mask off was worth it

He lets you look at him for several moments, and then he's had enough and he took his mask off for a fucking reason and he's pulling you into his lap and kissing you properly for the fist time

You can compliment him later, he has other things on his mind right now, the main one being fucking you until you can't even conjure a coherent thought

After that encounter he slowly takes his mask off in private with you more and more, learning to appreciate how nice it was to be able to kiss your temple and actually feel you against his lips, as well as how nice it was to feel your lips against his cheek

Still keeps the mask on sometimes, especially when you ask so nicely

He absolutely loves receiving head, resting back in his office chair or against the back of the sofa and letting you get to work, grunts and groans falling from his lips as his hands grip your hair tightly and guide you exactly how he wants you

He will give head as well, he's not selfish by any means, but he much prefers kissing you as you fall apart beneath him - for him, he'd much rather swallow your screams and mutter dirty things in your ear as he brings you to release

Be careful with his wings, especially when he lets you preen them - gentle touches can easily be misinterpreted as passionate caresses and before you know it you're pinned on your back with a red-faced and disheveled looking Adam hovering above you, muttering about how you're a "fucking tease" and if "you wanted it so bad all you had to do was ask, sugar. I'll never leave you wanting."

He knows the power of wings, and his heavy touches against your own when he needs to "Just sliding past babe, what's that fucking look for? Can't a man work?" are no accident. He loves getting you all wound up. He takes it as a personal challenge to do it in public, and his shit-eating grin remains the entire day before he's pressing you against the door of his office or your plush bed and muttering about how fucking needy you are.

He doesn't take being teased well, and he'll glare at you the entire time until he can do something about it - he'll have even less patience than usual, especially for people who aren't you, and often has to do damage-control after he's regained his bearings a few hours later

He's a big man, and he uses that to his full advantage, man-handling you with ease, positioning you exactly where he wants you, pinning both of your wrists easily with only one of his large hands, pushing your legs apart like butter

He can lift you easily, and he'll hold you against the wall, or countertop, or wherever the fuck you guys are, and he'll keep you there until he's done

Lute has walked in on you both far too many times, and she always hurtles back out of the door cursing at you both angrily

He likes pinning you beneath him, spreading his wings over your forms and completely shrouding you with his form - you're fucking his, and no one else will take that from him

He fucking loves dirty talk, and it's a challenge to get him to shut up - he'll carry on talking at you long after you're able to respond, and he'll just start talking about that instead: "Aw, look at you, can't even fucking say my name you're so fucking dumb for this c-"

As said before, he's insecure based on the way he lost his two previous wives and the reflects into the bedroom

If you do degrade him, he'll just challenge you, telling you you've obviously not learnt your fucking lesson and picking up the pace, desperate to prove he's the exact opposite of whatever had just spilled from your mouth - you'll pay for trying to goad him on, he won't relent until you're a babbling shaking mess, stuttering out apologies and taking back everything you had just dared to say to him

Any praise you offer him he absolutely laps up. Call him handsome, tell him your his, tell him there's no one else in the world who would ever compared to him, how good he's fucking you - he'll get so wrapped up in the praise he'll even stop talking, completely focussed on his task of making you feel good, making sure you know there's no one else who could give you what he does

Dig your hands into his wings and he becomes a groaning mess, and it'll only be a few seconds of you muttering those sweet praises in his ears and your nails digging into his wings before he's collapsing on top of you and panting raggedly, still trying to mutter out curses and praises through his gruff gasping

When he really loses control his wings will flap of their own accord, and you've had to completely clear your side tables because he kept accidentally smashing everything that was on them

He likes to rest afterwards, and he usually tries to encourage you into going another round.

He'll tug you into his sweaty side, pulling you half onto his chest as he breathes deeply, immediately asking if you enjoyed it, and when you agree, he'll always mutter something along the lines of "Of course you fucking did, it's me."

#hazbin hotel #Hazbin Hotel adam #Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x reader #Hazbin Hotel Adam #Hazbin Hotel Adam x reader #Adam x reader #lute #Hazbin Hotel lute #Hazbin Hotel smut #Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel Adam smut #Hazbin Hotel x reader smut #smut

2K notes · View notes

vanderilnde · 3 months

Text

so true @altissiia. neighbour/butcher simon is but a matted cat that would charitably leave mice at your door if that wasn’t so off-putting

It’s eight in the morning, and there’s coffee all over your work blouse. Burning through the canopy of your shirt, sticking your skin.

You had loudly cursed as your foot got caught behind an innominate object, propelling you face first—and coffee first—into the corridor. Surely, the whole flat heard it. The tight yelp you released, the thunder of your nose colliding with the floor.

You don’t care about the coffee blotches congealing in the hallway. The carpet has enough cryptic stains, ones that management isn’t bothered to fix, so you look away and throw a cursory glance over your shoulder—to see the cause of your fall—and grimace without conscious control.

It’s a bag of meat on your doormat.

Wrapped in a plastic, sitting in a puddle of fresh blood.

A few drops of dew glaze the bag by means of moisture. It hides its contents, hindering you from recognising anything inside. You poke it with your shoe, cringing at the cartilage and meat and marrow beneath the sole of your foot. It tumbles over in the clear film, revealing its gory underbelly and a sticky-note.

The note is dog-eared, crumpled, and damp. Covered in writing written by a slap-happy hand. Sorry for being too loud last night with my mates. Guess I’m a hypocrite. Here’s some meat please accept, is what it reads. The tail-end features a poorly-drawn smiley face and a signature. Simon.

He was being noisy last night. You were just too skittish to slap the drywall dividing you, or to knock on his door and ask him to keep it down. There was an overlap of voices, an undercurrent of accents, and the charm of beer cans persistently snapped open.

As you peel the note off the bag, the door beside you swings open. Simon stumbles out, sweatpants low on his hips, medical mask obscuring the lower shell of his face. By the looks of it, he just floundered out of the shower. His curls are still dripping with opalescent water drops. He’s shirtless, his chest hairs so blonde they’re almost glass-like. Tousled and wispy.

A few scars distort the skin of his ribcage and makes you wince. He’s breathing heavily, distending them, puffing out his chest.

“You alright?” He asks. “Heard you fall.”

You realise you’re still on the floor. Simon looks cosmic from this angle—colossal—hauling with him disciplined muscles eclipsed by a soft belly.

You meekly nod, rising to your feet. “‘m fine.”

Simon’s eyes flutter down to your chest. A hot-flash pools under your skin, sticky, messy, leaving you preening under his gaze, until, of course, you belatedly remember your spilled coffee. How your shirt sticks to your skin, revealing the barest hint of your breasts. You don’t cross your arms.

“You’ve something there,” Simon sniffs. He gestures to your chest.

“Um, yeah. I know.”

A whisper of discomfort marinates between you. Discomfort that Simon doesn’t seem to notice—or doesn’t seem to care about—as he keeps staring at you.

He grunts. “I got you meat.”

“Thank you!” You chuckle. “It was a… sweet gift.”

It takes you by surprise when Simon tucks his chin into his chest, grumbling. His crows feet crimp together like knife-edges as if he’s barely smiling.

“Wait here,” he mumbles, then spins on his heel. You assume he’s going to put on some clothes, or bring you some more meat, but when Simon returns, he outstretches towards you a threadbare jersey, waiting expectantly.

“Stained your blouse,” he snorts. “Wear this.”

Owlishly, you blink. It’s your work blouse that’s stained. You can’t go in a Manchester United shirt.

“Um. I wouldn’t–”

Simon shoves it in your chest. At this point, he reminds you of a wet dog. Dripping wet, gratified of his gift-giving. Leaving raw meat that stinks of ammonia at your doorstep, handing you a shirt too-many-sizes too big for you. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

His hand is still extended. Above his mask, Simon’s eyebrows pucker as if he’s pouting. Like a kicked mutt, confused, and a little ratty. You feel awkward indebtedness eddying through you, so you snatch the jersey from him and slip it on jointly. It smells heavily of nicotine and pomade, slightly impairing you.

Satisfied, he nods. You think he’s going to say something else—there’s a little stifle between the flicker of his eyes and his jaw—but he doesn’t. Simon turns around and slams his door shut in your face.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost/reader #simon riley/reader #simon writing #writing #butcher!simon

2K notes · View notes

ichangedmycornyahhname · 11 months

Text

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Warnings: Spicy fluff, teasing, sexual innuendos, reader and Miguel being cute, not proof read at all.

Summary: Reader recently bought a new spray that has certainly caught Miguel’s attention.

His hands gripped at your hips, the slight tug causing you to hum with amusement. The soft graze of his fangs against your skin made the blood rush to your head. Or maybe it was the fact that the two of you were on the side of a building having a steamy make out session.

You didn’t know what was going on with Miguel lately. Usually he was much more reserved when it came to physical touch, so his steamy advances drew you into his web. “Mi corazon..” While the words were soft, hardly heard over the blaring horns of the city, you caught them. You caught them and clung to them, just as he clung to you. “Yes love?” Your words came out with a giggle as his lips pressed gently into your neck. “You smell incredible. Did you get a new perfume.”

You perked up at this, leaning away just enough to get a good look at his face. Well, the part of his face that showed. His mask remained halfway on, only his bitten lips and sharp fangs present, while the lenses of his mask remained narrowed. You were a bit taken aback but his observation, sure, you typically never wore any new sprays. But recently you had purchased a little bottle of perfume that smelled absolutely heavenly. Miguel, from the looks of it, was thinking the same thing.

“Yeah actually. I just got it, you like?”

He only released a sigh in response, his lips coming back down to press into your shoulder. He inhaled, your scent flooding senses. Slowly the hands on your hips attempted to inch lower, squeezing at your bottom as he continued his advances. This went on, the night sky being lit by the city lights. The quiet blare of horns and chattering from below being blocked out as you melted in his touch. Lips pressing against your skin, hands firm on your body, the almost nip of his fangs. You felt your breathing grow heavier, uneven as you found yourself bucking your hips for more.

“Yoo! Is Spider-Man making out with the other spider chick outside my window? Cool!” And the moment was over like that. Miguel’s mask was now hiding his pretty lips, and you were left a hot and bothered mess. You groaned uncomfortably, shifting in Miguel’s arms as he began to pull you closer. He shot the nosy neighbor a nasty glare, and mumbled something incoherent. Though you assumed it wasn’t very nice. You soon found Miguel hoisting you into one arm and using the other to make his way up the side of the building. Although the moment had been ruined, you still found his sudden touchiness sweet.

Once the two of you found seclusion on the roof, he gave your hand a light tap.

“Sorry about that. Guy was being nosy.” The corners of his lenses creased, his cheeks raising beneath his mask as he gave what you assumed was a smile. “It’s fine, wasn’t your fault miggy.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before he leaned in closer, his mask brushing against your ear. “You should wear that again, and next time I’ll make sure we’re somewhere private.”

#x reader #fluff #Spider-Man #Spider-Man 2099 #miguel ohara #Miguel O’Hara x reader

3K notes · View notes

nsharks · 3 months

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths.

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all."

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away.

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago.

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom.

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down.

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant.

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully.

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone.

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering.

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense.

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away.

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning."

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you.

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while."

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides.

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls.

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck.

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out.

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills."

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you.

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head.

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #fanfiction #ghost #zombie apocolypse au

1K notes · View notes

fvsm4x · 5 months

Note

Hii! Can I request any jjk men with a best friend! reader who wears a mask to hide their face bcs they think its ugly? (its up to u if u want sfw or not!)

#PRETTIEST [Gojo S. and Geto S.]

SUMMARY: Since you were a child, you‘ve always hated the way you look, so- you started wearing a mask.

— C.W: Gojo Satoru x female reader x Geto Suguru , hurt with comfort , insecurity , fluff.

— WORD COUNT: 1.3k+

— TAGLIST: @starlightanyaaa

— A/N: AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST I HAD TO WRITE IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER I FINISHED WRITING MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE!! SORRY IF ITS SHORT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

Since you were a small child, you always hated the way you looked. Your nose, cheeks, and moles were constant sources of self-consciousness, and you despised the way you appeared in general. It was as if a dark cloud of insecurity constantly loomed over you, casting a shadow on your self-esteem.

Around the age of 7, it all began. You were just an innocent child, excited to go to school like any other kid. You possessed a unique ability that set you apart from your classmates - you could see curses, dark entities that others couldn’t perceive.

Every day, as you walked past your classmates, you were subjected to relentless torment. They would push you into the ground, snatch away your books, spill your lunch onto your head, and even steal your clothes during PE. You became a victim of bullying, and the reason behind it was painfully clear - you were deemed ugly.

At that tender age, you couldn’t comprehend the cruelty that surrounded you. You naively believed that this was their way of noticing you or playing with you. But as time went on, the truth slowly revealed itself - they targeted you because of your appearance, because you were considered ugly in their eyes.

It was during this dark period that you began to wear a mask, hoping that it would shield you from the relentless bullying. The mask became your armor, a tangible barrier that protected you from the perceived flaws you couldn’t bear to face. It became a part of your identity, an integral aspect of who you were. With the mask on, you felt a sense of safety, as if you were hiding your true self from the scrutinizing eyes of the world.

There wasn’t a single moment when you ventured outside without your mask. But despite the mask’s protective facade, deep down, you longed to be accepted for who you truly were.

It was during this challenging time that you crossed paths with your best friends, Geto and Gojo. Fate brought the three of you together on a fateful day as you were walking home from school. They witnessed your ability to kill a low-grade curse, and in that moment, they knew that you were like them - you could see curses just as they could.

This serendipitous encounter changed the course of your life. You made the decision to leave your previous school and join the same school as Geto and Gojo, hoping that this new environment would provide a fresh start, free from the torment of your past.

In the same class as Geto and Gojo, there was another girl who exuded beauty effortlessly. Her flawless skin, perfect facial structures, and the charming mole beneath her eye made her the epitome of perfection. Secretly, you couldn’t help but feel jealous of her. You longed to possess the same level of beauty and radiance, but you kept your jealousy hidden beneath a facade of indifference.

As the months passed, your bond with Geto and Gojo grew stronger. You began to address them by their first names, just as they did with you. It seemed like everything was going well, until one fateful day when a simple request shattered the fragile equilibrium you had created.

The three of you were gathered in Geto’s dorm, engrossed in a movie, when Gojo’s curious gaze fell upon your mask. His innocent question pierced through your defenses, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“Say, y/n… could we see your face?” he inquired, his finger pointing towards the mask that concealed your true self.

In that moment, the smile that had adorned your face behind the mask vanished, replaced by a mixture of apprehension and fear. You locked eyes with Gojo, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

“We’ve been friends for quite some time now, and I can’t recall a single moment where you haven’t worn that mask. You even wear it while you sleep!” he continued,

Your gaze dropped, unable to meet their expectant eyes. It was true - you had never once removed the mask in their presence. You only allowed it to come off when you brushed your teeth or washed your face. The thought of revealing your true face to them filled you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You feared that they would be repulsed by your appearance, that they would abandon you once they saw the real you, the one you believed to be ugly.

“That’s true, y/n. If you have a larger injury or something, we won’t judge. We just want to see how pretty you look behind the mask,” Geto chimed in,

Pretty.

The word echoed in your mind, taunting you with its expectations. They anticipated beauty, but what if you took off your mask and shattered their illusions? What if they saw the imperfections that plagued your self-image? The mere thought of their potential rejection was unbearable.

But why do you care so much about their opinion?

The reason was because you had fallen in love with both Geto and Gojo. Despite knowing that you were seemingly out of their league, your heart couldn’t help but beat faster whenever you were around them. You had tried to suppress these feelings, but they persisted, refusing to be ignored.

“I promise, Y/N, whatever you’re hiding won’t change a thing between us,” Gojo spoke, his voice filled with sincerity as he positioned himself in front of you. Geto, too, reached out and gently took your hands in his larger ones.

“Please, trust us,” Geto pleaded,

You found it difficult to resist their pleading gazes. Taking a deep breath, you finally relented, “Fine, but I warn you, it’s not what you expect.”

As the mask slipped away, revealing your face, you closed your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable disappointment and rejection. You didn’t want to hear the people you loved utter the same hurtful words that had haunted you in the past.

But then, to your astonishment, Gojo’s voice broke the silence, filled with genuine awe, “Unbelievable! This is beyond stunning; it’s mesmerizing.”

Did you hear correctly? Mesmerizing? He didn’t say the word “ugly”? You cautiously opened your eyes, only to be met with Gojo’s intense gaze. He was staring at your face, his cheeks flushed with a deep blush. In that moment, you realized that he found you stunning, not repulsive. He was captivated by your appearance.

“I knew you were hiding a masterpiece under there, but this… it’s like you walked out of a dream,” Geto spoke, his hands tightening around yours,

Confusion and disbelief washed over you as you struggled to comprehend their reactions. “I don’t understand… why aren’t you saying I look ugly?” you murmured, your eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Ugly?” Gojo scoffed, his voice filled with disbelief. “That’s impossible. You’re the epitome of beauty, and we’re lucky to witness it.”

“Whoever said that you’re ugly clearly is blind,” Geto chimed in, removing his hands from yours and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. “Because you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you widened them in shock. The tears began streaming down your face as a genuine smile spread across your lips. You were overwhelmed by their words and the overwhelming surge of emotions that flooded your heart.

Suddenly, a hand crept around your waist, and you looked down to see Gojo smiling up at you, resting his head on your lap.

“You guys…” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as more tears continued to flow down your cheeks, landing on Gojo’s face beneath you.

A hand gently cradled your jaw, turning your head to the side, and you found yourself meeting Geto’s intense gaze. He brought his lips to your face, tenderly kissing away the tears that cascaded down your cheeks.

“Beautiful,” he murmured,

671 notes · View notes

mistyresolve · 9 months

Note

Could you do a part 2 of "Takedown" with actual smut please? it was so good 💗

| Close Quarters

Word Count - 2.2k

Summary - It's Friday, which means you'll be busy later today helping out Ghost with his training. Only, you didn't expect to see him as early as 4 am. Nor did you expect him to leave you breathless and on the verge of begging for more.

Tags/Warnings - 18+ Smut, Dirty talk, Heavy petting, slight Voyeurism, Grinding, and Edging?

A/N - I could take him...just not in a fight

Takedown

Masterlist ❤︎ Tag List Form

It was 4 a.m. by the time you got to the training room; most of the lights still turned off for the night. Leaving only the front half of the room illuminated, the back half was visible but still shadowed. Which was fine, it was the reason you came here at this hour. There was never anyone else to worry about or share equipment with. It allowed you time to think. Focus. Work through the stresses of the week without interruptions.

That was how your days normally started.

Unless there was someone else lurking in the shadows of the gym. Like there was today.

A large dark form was hanging from the pull-up bars, their ankles crossed over each other. Hammering out pull-ups like they were nothing. They hadn’t noticed you come in, their attention on their reflection in the mirror to monitor their form and technique. They were wearing a hoodie, large enough to conceal what muscle might be hiding beneath it. The hood up.

You squinted at the reflection in the mirror to try and catch a glimpse of who it might be. Only their face was half covered.

If the male wasn’t wearing shorts you might have just shrugged it off and started on your own workout. For if it weren’t for said shorts you would have missed the familiar tattoos on his right leg. A patchwork of art that descended past his sock and disappeared under his shorts. He explained some of them to you once. Your eyes fell to one in particular. A statue of a female body. Her wings outstretched behind her and curving around his thigh. Her strength was still perceptible despite her head and arms being missing, those pieces of her departed her during sometimes of the statue's lifetime.

A hauntingly beautiful depiction of The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

When you asked him to explain that tattoo, Simon shrugged and stated that he “simply liked it”.

He lowered himself back to the ground, noiseless aside from the soft tap of his shoes hitting the floor. He rested his hands on his hips, his wide shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath.

You debated slipping out of the training room before he saw you. Turned in your direction before you could make up your mind. He was reaching for the towel hanging on the bench behind his when he froze. His eyes find yours in the dark. The was no shock or surprise in his expression.

Then you realized you could see his expression.

He was still wearing a mask, just not the one he normally wore. This one was an altitude mask. Designed to mimic the effects of high-altitude environments and restrict airflow to the user, forcing the lungs to work harder. Commonly used for conditioning.

You tried it once. Nearly died.

Simon was doing a better job at handling the effects of the mask than you did, but he was still heaving for breath.

You raised a hand to him in “hello”, offering him a small smile.

He pulled earbuds from his ears, the sound of his music audible from where you stood. Well, there’s the reason as to why he didn’t hear you come in.

“What are you doing up?” his voice was muffled slightly from the mask.

You dropped your gym bag on the floor next to a bench of your own, “Same reason as you, I suppose,” you took a seat, kicking off your slides, “You sleep well?”

He shook his head as he made his way over to you, “Didn’t sleep at all. You?” He definitely looked tired, something you could see even in the dark. His accent always gets a little thicker when he is nearing his limit. His words slurred together, a verbal representation of what his thoughts felt like.

As he neared, you could make out more of his face. He looked younger than you had imagined. Softer, even. He still looked like a battle-hardened male, with strong edges and chiselled features. Just…less pirate-esque.

He was handsome. From what you could see.

You had to force yourself to look away from him. This was the most of his face you’d seen and it felt like you were seeing him naked. It felt personal.

“Just an early bird. Did you just get here?” you toed into your shoes, leaning down to tighten the laces. You felt flurry butterflies in your stomach when his own shoes came into your line of vision. His proximity had you reminding yourself to behave. You’d had boyfriends and lovers before, but none of them made your toes curl like Simon Riley did. None of them made you dizzy with a mere look your way.

“Got here a little while ago,” it was strange to see him outside of the usual military garb. It was stranger that it was strange. You’ve been working with the 141 for almost a year now and don’t know any more about him now than you did when you met him. You understood his personality and the complexity of him. His mannerisms have also become familiar to you, but you didn’t know very much about his civilian life. Or his life before the army.

He leaned his shoulder into the wall next to you, his arms crossed over his chest, “What are you working on?”

“Just cardio today, I’m still a little sore from you throwing me around the other day,” that and later today you’d be back to helping him with his training, “How much longer do you plan on being here?”

“Sick of me already?”

“No. Not at all,” you breathed out a laugh and looked up at him from your seat. His eyes were heavy as he looked down at you. You didn’t allow yourself to decipher whether it was from exhaustion or something a little more carnal. He was close enough to you that if you slid off the bench and onto your knees you’d be at just the right height to—

“I’m meeting up with Price in an hour,” his rumbling voice snapped you out of your fantasy.

You stood up from the bench, turning to face him fully. He watched your every move with fervored intent, his gaze dragging down your body, “Why? What do you need?” he drawled.

The air in the room turned heavy as the two of you exchanged desperate, wordless pleas. This wasn’t the first time you and him found yourselves in this situation. Both of you fighting the urge to devour the other. Neither was brave enough to take the first step.

He had an hour…

You took a step closer, close enough that if you lifted a finger you’d touch him. He stilled attention wholly on you now. With chilled fingers you lifted the hem of his sweater, running them up his still sweat-covered skin. You could feel his muscles retract at your cold touch, but he leaned into this feeling rather than pull away. He hissed and his eyes squeezed shut, his expression wanton. You dragged your nails across his chest, and one of his hands shot out to grasp yours, “What do you need?” he asked again, this time his voice dripped with honey.

…You could work with an hour.

“You,” you breathed, the hand he left free sliding down to his waistband. You stopped before going further, head tilting to the side. You weren’t going to go any further until he said it was okay.

He began to nod his head, “Take what—”

The doors to the training room creaked open and entered a soldier. His head was down, bobbing to whatever music was playing in his earbuds. The room was too dark for him to see you two clearly back here, but panic still exploded in your chest. You jumped back from Ghost like his skin burned you, your gazes locked onto each other. His eyes were wide. Wild with excitement and shock. You had a feeling your expression matched his.

The soldier walked into the bathroom, blissfully unaware of the two shadows at the back of the room. Who were mere moments away from heavy petting and grinding.

Your mood deflated, but when you turned back to Ghost, his breaths were coming in fast.

Oh.

He had been eager for you to touch him. The heavy bulge outlining his shorts was evidence enough. You feared your blush was bright enough that it was glowing.

“Ghost,” you started but he was already reaching for you, pulling you until you were flush with him. Where you could feel his hard length for yourself, feel it press into your abdomen. He made an experimental roll of his hips, searching for any time of friction.

“How quiet can you be?” he huffed, his hands sliding from your arm to your ass, lifting you to your tippy toes so your core was closer to his.

You stifled your moan with a hand, which should have been answer enough, “Not very.”

Then he was moving, “Grab your stuff,” he was already moving to grab yours when his phone rang. The noise was offensive, and he swore when he took it out of his pocket. He shot you an apologetic look before answering, “Captain,” the heat in between your legs studdered and annoyance took its place. You could see his own frustrations at the situation, and at whatever Price had to say, “Sounds like a shitshow.”

You plopped back down on the bench, defeated. Price would be whisking Ghost away now. When Ghost turned around to you one more time, you saw your opportunity. You quickly lifted the front of your shirt, flashing him.

First, there was shock, but it was quickly followed by a cheeky grin. Not that you could see it, but you could tell it was hiding beneath that mask. He reached out a hand, his fingers dancing across your exposed skin. You shuddered underneath him as he rubbed a thumb across your hardening nipple. You bit down on your lip to keep the moan from spilling from your mouth.

“Yeah,” he spoke into the phone, but his eyes were on you, analyzing your every action and reaction to him. You arched into him, and he immediately understood. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your hands dropped to between your legs, pressing your fingers into your weeping cunt through your pants. A wet spot already appearing. Your other hand covered his cock, using your whole hand to rub at him.

He groaned but quickly covered it by clearing his throat, his brows knit together, “Understood,” he promptly hung up the phone. He jerked his chin at you, and ordered “Let me see.”

You spread your legs apart, fingers still making slow circles. He grabbed at both your wrists, holding them away from both yours and his body.

“You have no idea how bad I want you right now,” he growled.

“But you have to go,” you taunted.

If Price called him at this time of day, it was probably urgent. Especially if they were going to meet in an hour anyway.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to know you were right, “You’re not to touch yourself until we’re alone again.”

He had every intention of finishing this off. He just needed to go deal with whatever Price was needing him for. And he wanted you to be desperate for it when it happened. He wanted you to be thinking about him all day. He wanted you to be a mess for him.

“How long will that take?” you twisted your hips, bringing yourself to the edge of the seat, using it you grind yourself on. He yanked you up off the chair. He wasn’t going to allow you to have any sort of pleasure.

“I’ll be back for the training this afternoon,” he maneuvered you both so you were standing in front of the mirror, your arms now pinned behind your back, shirt still hiked up. Your chest, fully exposed. He towered over you from behind, his presence remained domineering. You watched yourself in the mirror. The position was entirely submissive. Vulnerable. He had barely done anything and you already looked fucked out.

He pulled your arms tighter so your back bowed, his free hand coming to cup a breast, squeezing hard, “Say it,” he ran his hand to your inner thigh, this thumb grazing your now throbbing pussy.

“I won’t touch myself,” you were about to start begging him.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred.

The soldier from before walked back out of the bathroom having changed into his workout clothes.

Ghost made no move to cover you back up. The soldier still had yet to notice you two at the back but your heart still hammered against your chest. Adrenaline flooded your bloodstream once more.

Finally, he pulled down the front of your shirt for you before letting go of your wrists. You nearly collapsed to the floor, your knees threatening to betray you. He guided you back to the bench, “Get out of here before I change my mind and I end up being late.”

Hand to Hand

A/N - I have every intention of making a third part to this. But I want to make this as immersive as possible so you guys are going to have to wait just like the reader 😈

Taglist - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎ @shuttlelauncher81 ❤︎ @lostinsideourminds ❤︎ @v1naco ❤︎ @konig-breedme ❤︎ @wolfyland07 ❤︎ @cumbersome-robes ❤︎ @adelaidai ❤︎ @ddioriez ❤︎ @johfaam0 ❤︎ @purplefishingline ❤︎ @dog55teeth ❤︎ @meaganjean ❤︎ @mymommmy ❤︎ @xheera ❤︎ @lockleywife ❤︎ @crunchlite ❤︎ @ryethebrokengae ❤︎ @mychrysanthemums

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #cod x reader #mw2 #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #ghost smut #cod smut #mw smut #mw x reader #mw ghost

603 notes · View notes

spicyicetea · 11 months

Text

My Forest spirit

A legend of Zelda BOTW/TOTK Yandere x Reader. This is obviously cannon divergent. Fem!Y/N is short and Curvy in this, and is often described with long hair. This story will contain NSFW!scenes, violence and profanity. MDNI

Next Chapter

Chapter 1: My knight in shinning armour

“Yahaha you found me!” A little Korok laughed as I stared down at him.

My ears twitched excitedly as it jumped up into my arms. The little forest spirits loved me. They always have. I grew up in this forest after my mother left me here. The clothes on my back are woven from fronds the Koroks brought me and I just ran around barefoot. I’ve only ever seen anyone like me once. He wore a cloak and was muttering about stopping the “princess” whatever that means.

A group of Koroks ran past my legs as the shaking of maracas grew closer. Their behaviour startled me, they shouldn’t fear Hestu… they’re a close friend of all of us.

“Sister Y/N! There are people, we must hide!”

I was dragged behind a tree as Hestu’s humming grew louder. Strange clacking noises grew closer, as well as other voices.

“I can’t believe you of all people will wield the Master Sword!”

“Revali ease up on Link, he’s a wonderful knight to me!” A feminine voice called back.

My eyes widened at the voices! No one ever enters the forest, what are they here for? What is a… Master Sword? I watched from behind the tree and the silent man in the middle of the group glanced in my direction. My large frond mask was still covering my face, so I scurried behind the tree with the other Koroks. They continued further into the forest and I ran between trees to watch them. As they approached the centre of the forest, I realised what they had come for, the strange thing in the ground. So that’s what it’s called, the Master Sword.

The silent one stepped forward and grabbed the hilt of the ancient blade. He grunted in pain as he pulled it up out of the ground and held it above his head proudly. I watched him from atop a tree, eyes wide and excited. Based off of Hestu’s cheers, this must be an amazing accomplishment. I should cheer too.

I clapped excitedly as the Koroks beside me seemed confused but then joined me in celebration. The group gasped and looked up to where we were, drawing these strange objects from their backs. Hestu gasped and ran in front of them.

“NO NO! Weapons down, you can’t hurt Sister Y/N!”

Weapons? My eyes widened beneath the mask as I slid to be hidden by the leaves. One of the women step forward, her tan skin and deep crimson hair complimented by the deep green of the Forrest. She placed her curved blade on the floor and held her hands up beside her head.

“Please don’t run dear, we had no idea you were friend not foe. The war has everyone incredibly stressed.”

“War?” I mutter, poking my head out of the leaves.

Hestu looks up at me and laughs gesturing for me to jump down. I slid off of the tree and landed on the stone beside Hestu. They shake their maracas happily as I smile at them beneath my mask. The woman who had spoken to me seemed shocked, I’m unsure why though.

“Ah… my apologies for staring, that was rude. My name is Urbosa, I’m assuming you’re Y/N.”

I nod as a few Koroks come and stand beside my legs, watching the group closely and protectively.

“This is Sister Y/N! She’s a spirit of the forest like the Koroks and I!” Hestu happily said.

“Sister? She’s clearly not anything like you all! She looks like your average Hylian!” The strange bird person yelled.

The large man behind him slapped him on the back. He winced but stayed quiet as the blonde woman stepped forward.

“I’m so sorry for us startling you Y/N. We had to retrieve the Master Sword to help win the war against Ganon. Do you… live here? What are you wearing?”

“Fronds.”

“Ah, so you do speak. I suppose you’re like Link then, he only speaks around his friends.”

“Link?”

“Yes, he’s my knight, the one with the Master Sword.”

“Master… I used to..”

“Did you guard the sword?” She asked.

“No, I used to use the zappies it made to start my campfires! How am I meant to start fires now?” I frown, jabbing the man beside her.

He just pulled a strange rock from his pocket and place it in my hand. I raised a brow and he pulled out a second, striking it against the stone on the floor and lighting a stick on fire nearby.

“Whoa! Pocket campfire! Fair trade fair trade!” I hold the rock in my hand in wonder, removing my mask to get a better look at it.

The man before me just stared straight at my face before grabbing my wrist.

“Huh? You can’t have it back, it was a trade!”

He just grunted and pulled me up off the ground and held me over his shoulder. One hand held the Master Sword while the other rested on the bump of my behind. The breeze ran right through me as his hand rhythmically squeezed. Is this how people interact? The Koroks don’t really have hands… maybe it’s to make sure I wouldn’t fall.

“Link! That’s inappropriate!”

“Hyaa!” He began to run, his grip becoming tighter as began to slip and held him in fear.

“LINK!”

“SISTER Y/N! Awww, maybe it’s good she sees the outside world, look after her.” Hestu sighed.

“Of course, we will,” Urbosa answered. Running to catch up with the others who were chasing Link.

New Yandere gained, Link.

Hey look at you, you managed to capture the knights heart! Now time for some facts about your new Yandere. (basically head cannons)

It's no surprise that Link is incredibly protective over you, he would let Zelda die if it meant he could ensure your safety.

He's also very physically affectionate. He must always have at least one hand on you and when he hasn't for a long time... He tends to get very handsy.

He gives you plenty of kisses the moment that people stop looking. If he feels like someone is moving in on his “territory” he will just begin groping you from behind until they get the message.

775 notes · View notes

pochipop · 10 months

Text

＃MYSTIC MESSENGER !! ♡ — BEING VULNERABLE WITH YOU.

#. synopsis! — how they show their trust .

#. characters! — jumin, zen (hyun), yoosung, saeyoung (707), saeran (ray), jihyun (v) .

#. warnings! — slight angst.

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — come join my discord server? it's newly opened with a fantasy bakery theme! we have emojis from genshin impact, honkai star rail, sanrio, overwatch, pokemon, mystic messenger, and more! a collection of funny stickers, channels to promote yourself, meet new friends, share your writing/art, + lots more! plus, our staff is very chill and friendly! we'd love to see you there! <;33

＃ JUMIN !! ♡

Jumin, who never really thought himself to be the romantic type, but loses himself so easily in his relationship with you that he’d do anything imaginable just to see you smile for him. This sophisticated, pressed-suit wearing, stone-faced man who just crumbles when it comes to you, —who once thought love was some sick ruse made to rope people in and keep them hostage to their feelings, suddenly realizing that this rush is marvelous, and he can’t quite clearly remember a time before his heart seemed to beat for you. This man who swore he’d never love someone enough to put aside everything else on his mind and just live in the moment who sheds that dry cleaned business attire at the end of every workday and lets himself come undone for you. His walls come down and he welcomes you inside, and for once, he’s not scared of what will happen when you see the parts of him that perhaps aren’t as pretty as others. He lets you see the beautiful mess he’s made of himself over the years, and it’s then that he begins to pick up all these tattered pieces, finally preparing to put himself back together again. And recognizing you’ll help him do so is the sweetest comfort he’s ever known.

＃ HYUN (ZEN) !! ♡

Hyun, who stops pretending to be perfect over time and lets you see him in all the stages of healing. This man who often shields himself from the world, hiding behind a mask of narcissistic confidence, who finally lets his imperfections seep through to the surface and breathes another sigh of relief every single time you stay in the aftermath. He lets you in on the insecurities that lap at his ankles much more often than he'd ever had liked to have admitted before. He lets you hold him when he shatters instead of pushing you away, —dulls all his rigid edges to feel your warmth surround him, as if lowering all his defenses for the very first time. The world can be a cruel place to those that have made mistakes, but Hyun feels like he's finally found someone who can look at him for more than just the pretty, well-kempt face he maintains for the public. There's no sense of shame he feels the need to drown in when you let him fall apart in your arms. There's no crushing feeling of disappointment or suffocating feeling of disdain. He's more human than he fears he's ever been when your thumbs wipe the tears from beneath his eyes and you whisper to him that everything will be okay.

＃ YOOSUNG !! ♡

Yoosung, who learns over time how to not let things fester until they’ve built up so much he can’t keep them in any longer. For all he is and might not ever be, he’s come to realize that it’s okay to express his emotions before they reach a boiling point. He comes to you at the onset of upsetedness, —allows himself to feel frustrated without stuffing it down and pretending the problem doesn’t exist until it explodes. He finds that it’s so much easier to be earnest when you never talk down to him or make him feel like he’s any less of a person in your eyes because of it. Sometimes he needs advice, and other times, he just needs someone to talk to. No matter the case, he seeks you out before anyone else, knowing that you care enough about him to value his thoughts and opinions without qualifiers or regulations. He holds grudges sometimes that aren’t good for his own sake, and being shut down when he tries to address them only adds fuel to the fire. Having someone who truly listens and tells him that it’s okay to feel the way he does goes such a long way, —perhaps longer than you’ll ever know.

＃ SAEYOUNG (707) !! ♡

Saeyoung, who lets himself be honest eventually, —who lets himself chip away and then lets you smooth him over. He’s done a lot of things he’s not proud of, and he doesn’t need anyone to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Whether it was or wasn’t doesn’t matter as much as what he knows he has to do going forward, and the last thing he really wants is to be coddled out of pity. He just wants to be heard, no sympathy necessary, no fawning over the way he sheds the skin he used to wear when he felt like happiness was millions of miles away. He just wants to be listened to. To Saeyoung, it’s the ultimate show of trust to admit to all the things he regrets, let them spill out like word vomit and not have to worry about the consequences. He doesn’t need you to understand, and knows you likely can’t given the specifics of his life’s course thus far, but knowing that you’re keen on carrying the burden with him is such an insurmountable feeling of relief. Finally, someone knows every grimy little corner of his soul and they still love him, still hold him, still want him. . . There’s nothing quite like it.

＃ SAERAN (RAY) !! ♡

Saeran, who lets little things slip as time goes on, —stares a little longer when he passes twin popsicles in grocery stores because he knows you won’t ask why. As much as he likes to pretend that he can fix things by pretending they never hurt him in the first place, there are always scars that linger just below the surface, ready to burst at the first sight of mint-colored liquids or at the first sound of deceptively sweet voices offering commands from the shadows. He carries a lot around with him wherever he goes, and just loving him until the sun dies isn’t a cure-all. You can’t turn back time and shield him from all the things in his life that have left him feeling like a shattered stain glass window. All the love in the world can’t fix the past. But there’s nothing that means more to him than knowing he can lean on you, —even if he doesn’t always do it. There’s such a sweet comfort in knowing he can turn to you when he feels like he’s drowning. And if sometimes that manifests only in letting himself shed a few tears while he eats an ice cream cone outside next to you in the sunshine, then so be it.

＃ JIHYUN (V) !! ♡

Jihyun, who talks about it all a little at a time, —about the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful; because it wasn’t always bad. There were times before you came in which he’d been so in love that he’d have done anything to stay exactly where he was, to freeze those moments up and keep them in a capsule that could never be shaken. And it’s important for Jihyun to tell you about those things every now and again, to let you in and reminisce on the way he’d once been so sure of it all, so ready to settle down and stay exactly where he was. But it’s equally as important for him to bare the remnants of the betrayal for you to kiss, and hold, and make peace with. He likes to think you understand him better in the wake of it, —that you’ve seen him in a new light every time he sits with you and tells you of the loss, the desire, the yearning, and all the ways he wishes things could have been different for everyone. In the end, he’s here, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

728 notes · View notes

ragingbookdragon · 10 months

Text

There’s not much to see in between the minute slits of the burlap sack thrown over her head, but she still strains to see anything and everything that she possibly can. The men holding onto her arms dig their fingers into her arm, a bruising grip that is in part her fault as continually digs her feet into the ground and struggles with something fierce. Ghost is behind her, can feel it, even if he hasn’t said a single word. She on the other hand hasn’t stopped spitting fire every chance she gets, venomous threats and cold warnings.

It’s only until she’s shoved down onto a seat, arms tied behind her back with her legs bound too that the hood is harshly yanked off and she shuts her eyes at the bright light above her, much like driving on the road at night and being blinded by powerful LEDs. As her vision clears, she sees the captors who’d managed to get the jump on her and in turn, capture Ghost as well, and he’s in the same position as she is, but there’s definitely more rope around him than there is her. She snarls at them when they come close, baring her teeth in a way that says, “touch me and lose a finger.”

“What do you want from us?” she gripes, voice devoid of any emotion but annoyance.

“Answers,” the leader asks. “You know where the resistance is hiding out.”

The second one crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell us where their headquarters are.”

She spits down at their feet. “Suck my dick.” A moment, a pause before a backhand sends her careening to the side, chair tipping slightly and she growls, turning back to face him with blood dripping down her split lip; she licks it, the wound stings but it burns in a way she likes. “Your dad hit me harder than that last night,” she cracks back, and the man grabs at her chin, hauling her upright until they’re nose to nose.

“I will make you scream in ways you’ve never imagined.”

“That’s what I told your mom before I—”

His other hand reaches for her combat vest, and she thrashes as he undoes it and yanks it open; he’s centimeters from the thin tank top she wears and only then does Ghost make a single noise, the scraping of a chair, fingers clenching white on the arm rest as he snarls, “Touch her and I’ll fucking smear the goddamn walls with you.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a fucking warning. One not to be ignored.

The man pauses, looks to the side, sees Ghost’s golden eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His breathing isn’t labored. It’s calm. Deadly calm. And the man, taking in the sunken nose of Ghost’s full-face mask, the raised skeletal plates, decides perhaps this isn’t a fight he really wants neither then nor later.

He lets her go and she sinks back into her chair, but Ghost’s eyes don’t leave the man even as he slinks behind his commander. The ropes at his wrists strain under Ghost’s flexing forearms and she hums low in her throat.

“Easy,” she murmurs. “Not here.”

This time Ghost eyes both of the enemy captors, and he answers, a barely-contained, seething rage in his chest and out of his throat, “I’ll fucking kill any bastard that touches what’s mine.” He snarls beneath the mask, and she feels it deep in her chest, the sound reverberating through her. “I’ll fucking rip your guts out through your back. Touch her again. I dare you.”

This time, even the commander shifts nervously on his feet, and he clears his throat in an exaggerated fashion to ease whatever fear is ebbing in his stomach as he turns to the second and says, “We’ll come back with more questions.”

“Don’t keep us waiting long,” she retorts, watching them leave and as the door shuts and locks, she reaches out, brushing her fingers against Ghost’s knuckle and all at once, he relaxes his grip. “Easy, Simon,” she calms, and he lets out a single deep breath.

“I don’t like people touching you.”

“You can’t kill everyone who does,” she jokes, and he looks over at her, his eyes glinting in the light, a solid ring of gold around a deep pit of a void; her throat dries up at the beastly hunger in them, but no fear is in her heart, in fact, quite the opposite.

“I’m the only one allowed to fucking touch you.” He looks down at the silver necklace on her chest. “You’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.”

She swallows thickly, the S dangling at the apex of her throat feeling like a branding, but it doesn’t hurt, she loves the burn, craves it, wants to drown in it—in him. “Yeah, Simon,” she breathes, heart pounding in her chest. “I’m all yours.”

447 notes · View notes

just-a-creep-babe · 1 year

Text

A Demon’s Ache — Part 8

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss thank youuuuuuu I appreciate it so so much 💖🫶💖

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Things between you and Jack return to normal after that night at the campfire

There’s less awkwardness, less lingering tension when you find yourselves in the same place at the same time

It seems like your friendship, for the most part, has been salvaged—like nothing even happened in the first place

Like you don’t know his heart still aches whenever he looks at you

Really, he’s just happy to have you back in his life

Knowing you aren’t upset helps ease the heartache

He even gets better at hiding his jealousy whenever anyone—specifically Jeff—gets too close to you

Who knew he could be so good at pretending he’s not madly in love with you?

He manages to convince himself that it’s better this way; this is what you want from him—you want him at a distance, and that’s alright

It’s fucking killing him on the inside, but if it means you’re happy, he won’t go against your wishes

He’s finally accepted the situation when you show up at his door late one night

And you can just imagine his surprise when he notices how obviously turned on you are

Your face is visibly flushed, there’s a perfectly desperate look in your eyes, and you keep squeezing your thighs together, like you need some kind of friction between them

And your scent

It knocks the breath from his lungs, and he nearly stumbles at the sheer intensity of it all

Blood rushes to his junk, his head spinning with a dizzying headrush

“J-Jack—”

You whimper his name, your voice all breathy and needy, and when you look up at him, like he’s the one thing you need right now, he nearly loses it

He opens the door without saying anything, his body operating purely on instinct

And as soon as you’re in his room, as soon as the door is properly closed behind him, he can’t keep his hands off you

Your skin is perfectly warm and soft beneath his touch

He doesn’t know what’s gotten you so riled up, or why you’ve come to him instead of Jeff, but he doesn’t really care about the reasoning behind it

All he cares about is that you’re here, and you want him, and he wants to show you how good he can make you feel

Your fingers fumble at the hem of your shirt, and it’s all the confirmation he needs to tug the clothes off of you

His mouth practically salivates when he notices that you’re not wearing a bra

You’re so fucking pretty

And you smell so, so fucking good

It’s almost too good to be true—after all that time, all that back and forth, you’ve ended up in his room, moaning his name as he pulls you flush against him

He leans in, pressing his mask to your neck so that he can breathe you in, and fuck, if he wasn’t wearing that damn thing, his teeth could be scraping against your throat right now

His hands reach up to cup your tits, fingers lightly teasing your nipples, and the way you whine and shudder has him feeling ravenous

He huffs out a grunt, then his hands are at your pants, working to undo the buttons, and he's trying his damnedest to control himself and not shred them off of you

“Jack~” you whine his name again, and it sets off his demonic instincts like nothing else

His hands are shaking with something dark, something carnal and dangerous as he finally yanks your pants open

He tugs the material all the way down the expanse of your legs, fanning his hands over your thighs because he so badly wants to touch every inch of you

He just wants to take a bite out of you

“On the bed,” he orders, and he feels his cock twitch in his pants at the way your eyes widen at the command, so wonderfully eager to please him

So perfectly submissive

“Panties. Off,” he groans, and with a bite of your lips, you do as he says

You’re left completely bare in front of him, and it’s the first time he gets to witness such a mouthwatering sight

You’re a goddess

He wants to worship you

He wants to make you scream, wants to fuck the shape of his dick into that cute little cunt of yours until it's ruined for anyone else

He wants his cock to be the only one you crave

He moves up to you, his larger form towering over your smaller one on the bed

And he’s about to pin you down and have his way with you when he’s suddenly reminded of your conversation at the fire

He thinks about how happy he is now that you’re on good terms again

And he realizes that even though you’ve come to hook up, he doesn’t actually know if you’re interested in being more than friends

He doesn’t know where he stands, and he’s way too drunk with lust to figure that out right now

He swallows thickly

You’re already naked on his bed, and he’s too fucking horny to back out now

He wants this

You reach out to touch him, reach out to grab fistfuls of his hoodie and tug on it

“Wanna see you,” you murmur, and you somehow sound both pleading and bashful, and it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever heard

He doesn’t think twice before giving you what you want, pulling the material over his head, and in return, you waste no time allowing your hands to wander

He watches as you marvel at his skin, as your touch traces over the curves and edges of his muscles, almost like you’re amazed at the way his body looks, at the way it feels

God, he wants to kiss you

He wants to take his mask off, tangle his fingers into your hair and press his lips against yours until neither of you can breathe

He wants to sink his teeth into your skin, wants to scar you with his mark so that everyone knows you’re his

But he doesn’t want to jeopardize your friendship, so instead of doing any of that, he gets onto the bed next to you, tugs at your legs so that you’re straddling him, and lies on his back

If he focuses on you, if he just makes you feel good, he won’t need to worry about losing control or accidentally mating you and scaring you off again

You seem flustered on top of him, so he’s extra gentle as he coaxes you up further, placing your thighs on either side of his head with your sex inches from his masked mouth

His name drips from your tongue again, the sound downright sinful, and it has a fresh wave of adrenaline rushing to his hard-on

He pushes his mask halfway up his face, and with his mouth exposed, he can just barely resist nipping at the inside of your thighs

You gasp as his fingers dig into plush flesh, and he can feel you squirming from his breath fanning over your drenched cunt

You look down at him, anxiously biting at your lip, but he can tell by the look in your eyes that you want this—maybe almost as much as he does

One long, slow stroke of his tongue up your slit is all it takes to have you moaning

You release a breathy, shaky sigh, bringing your hands down to his hair, steadying yourself as your head falls back and your back arches up

The view he’s getting at this angle is nothing short of divine

What he wouldn’t do to have you sit on his face every day of his life

Another lap of his tongue up your sex, and the sheer amount of arousal he gathers from the simple motion has him groaning

Do you even know how absolutely insane you drive him?

He wants to devour you, wants to reduce you to a pretty little mess on top of him

But he also wants this to last for as long as possible

Which is why he starts off by working his tongue in slow, calculated movements up and down your dripping folds

You squirm and whimper on top of him, grinding your cunt down against his mouth

And it’s pure bliss

He flicks his tongue at your clit, circling around it, and when he wraps his lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, he can feel your empty walls clenching around nothing

Fuck, he really, really wants to screw you open on his cock

He wants to flip you over, fold you in half and abuse that perfect little cunt until you’re a gushing mess around him

It’s taking every ounce of his self-restraint to not fuck you senseless

But he wants to treat you right, wants to treat you the way you deserve to be treated

So he forces himself to be as patient as possible despite his instincts urging him to claim you

He pushes his tongue at your entrance, and you almost immediately shudder as you clench around him

"F-fuck, Jack~"

He's addicted, he's completely obsessed with you

He can't get enough

You all but mewl for him, your hips stuttering against him, and he hums again, holding you tighter so you’ve no choice but to accept every ounce of pleasure he’s tongue-fucking into you

Your thighs start shaking in his grip, body squirming and wriggling as your breathing gets faster between sweet moans and desperate little whimpers

He wants to praise you

He wants to praise you so bad

He wants to tell you how gorgeous you look, how fucking delicious you taste

He wants to tell you that you’re such a good girl, and you’ve such a perfect cunt, and your body is absolutely flawless

But his mouth is too busy lapping up at your arousal, flickering between your folds and giving your clit as much attention as it could possibly need for him to vocalize his thoughts

He feels your fingers tightening in his hair, feels the way your body is responding to him, and he knows you’re getting wonderfully close

But just as you’re on the cusp of your peak, he pulls away to instead litter kisses along the inside of your thighs

You whine, trying to rub yourself against him, but he doesn’t give you the release you need

He’s being selfish, he knows he is

But he just wants to drag this out for as long as possible because who knows when he'll get another chance to do this to you

The flesh of your thighs is plush and soft as he grazes his teeth against them

You've made a mess between them, but it just makes your skin all the sweeter for him to kiss and suck on

It's impossibly difficult to resist marking you, to resist sinking his teeth inside you and bruising your skin

But he somehow manages to hold himself back

And then once your breathing becomes steadier, his tongue returns to your dripping slit

Another long stroke up your folds, and you squirm and curse above him

His hands abandon your hips to wander up your chest, and he squeezes two handfuls of your tits while you ride his face

You whine his name again, your hips stuttering once more, and he’s most certainly not complaining at the way your thighs keep cinching around him

He lets you use him, lets you ride his face to your heart's content, all while his fingers toy with your nipples

Your walls keep fluttering, trying to squeeze around his tongue, and he thinks he might just be in heaven

It isn't long for your orgasm to build up all over again

Your moans get louder, your muscles tensing above him, and you keep shuddering, like the pleasure he's forcing into you is becoming too much

He considers edging you again, but fuck, his head is all clouded, and you just taste so good, and you're body's reactions are way too perfect for him to pull away

So instead of doing that, his hands return to your hips, and he locks you down against his mouth so that he can abuse your cunt without holding anything back

You nearly scream, your back arching, fingers pulling at his hair while he lavishes your desperate sex with attention

You're loud and shameless and so fucking gorgeous when you cum on top of him

He feels your sex fluttering, feels you clenching and unclenching as waves of your arousal gush into his eager mouth

He laps up every drop, his tongue not leaving a single inch of you unexplored

You're whimpering and trembling in his hold, and he can tell you're starting to get overstimulated, but it's so, so hard for him to stop

He knows his grip is bruising, he knows it's too much, but you've been such a good girl for him, surely you can take a few more seconds for him, can't you?

"J-Jack, fuck~"

God, the way you whine his name has him feeling weak

His fingers loosen their hold around you, and it's just enough leverage for you to lift yourself off of his mouth

But then a punishing smack! to your ass brings you back down against him

He wants more

He's insatiable when it comes to you

"Fuck!~ Jack, I-I can't---I'm gonna---"

He's so lost in the feeling of you riding out your orgasm on his face that it hardly registers he's about to make you cum from the overstimulation

Your second orgasm crashes into you, and you sound utterly breathless as you cry out for him again

He doesn't stop---he can't

He laps up your arousal, cleaning all the slick you've produced for him like a man starved

It's only when your body slumps, only when the sheer amount of pleasure has exhausted you, overwhelmed you, do his senses return to him

He lets you go, releasing you from his hold, and you're all shaky and breathless as you lift yourself off of him and collapse next to him

There's a wonderfully dazed, fucked-out look in your eyes

And he honestly doesn't know if this was just a hook-up or if you plan on staying over the night

But fuck, he really, really hopes you're going to fall asleep in his arms tonight

He can only pray you won't leave him this time

#creepypasta #eyeless Jack #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless Jack x reader smut #creepypasta smut

573 notes · View notes

randybutternubber · 2 months

Text

BABY HUNTER @local-gemstone-lover @teastarfall since I know you’ll want to see this and @keikoyume since my design was inspired from yours. He’s supposed to be wearing his raccoon skin cap but I FORGORRR

Basically, the hunter was a child soldier. This was inspired from a few theories that the hunter was a war veteran, the much older theory that LN is a post WWII world, and an old piece of fan art of six hiding beneath a trench wall with a soldier right above her. Outside of LN, he’s also inspired by the boy from a manwha called The Horizion and Atari from Isle Of Dogs

Most stories and characters in LN tend to involve themes of things that scare children. I chose war- it’s indiscriminately violent, near impossible to control, and often impacts children.

Edit: I forgot to mention, there is also a song that plays from the TVs in the pale city called “scout whistle” which has a very military march type vibe while also still having a very playful like tune to it, which was also an inspiration- plus the raccoon skin cap is referred to as the “scout cap”

(Note: none of this is intended to demonize amputees or people with facial disfigurements. It’s inspired off of WWII facial prosthetics and limbs which were very unique and a huge step in helping veterans)

Basically, the hunter was taken to the nowhere at a young age. He spent a few years at a military training school. Older children at the school tended to have a lot of mannequin and porcelain doll/bully like parts to help with missing limbs and disfigurement/injury, although they weren’t really given any choice.

He tried to escape with a few other kids. While running through a field, the child next to him stepped on a land mine, instantly killing them and severely injuring the hunter, who’s left side was basically screwed. He was taken back to the school after. (let’s just pretend it lines up with his burlap eye hole, I forgot what side it was on 😭)

He got a prosthetic arm, although it was quite uncomfortable and pretty stiff along with being very heavy (very different from actual prosthetics as he can actually control quite a bit of it since it’s more similar to whatever animates the mannequins)

Once he recovered somewhat, he escaped and ended up in the wilderness where he kind of went a bit nutty because of the lack of people and used taxidermy and alcohol as a way to cope. Imagine waking up every day to noise and other people next to you, not having a moment to yourself for YEARS and then all the sudden, that’s all gone. It’s so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat when before you could barely hear yourself talk. That was incredibly hard for him to adjust to, although he grew to prefer solitude and sees things like TVS and most other people as intruders who are encroaching onto his home.

Years later, the doctor would give him a new prosthetic arm (since the old one would obviously be too small) and do facial reconstruction surgery on him as the initial treatment and the way that the hunter was taking care of that side of his face wasn’t a long term solution. Without the mask, he basically looks like Keikoyume’s hunter.

As an adult, quite a few parts of him are taxidermy. He only started wearing the bag over his head once he started to make his… “family” out of people he shot and stuffed.

Poor guy

I wrote this on mobile multiple times because of accidentally deleted it so that’s why the grammar is ass

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #little nightmares comics #little nightmares 3 #the hunter little nightmares #little nightmares the hunter #my art #the hunter #little nightmares fanart #tw facial injury #tw child death

137 notes · View notes

ithaquakisser · 1 year

Note

if i can do a headcanon request could make ithaqua jealous of another hunter with you being survivor, in a two hunter match

please, if it's not in the way❤

— Jealous Ithaqua in a Duo Match...

Synopsis; Ithaqua finds himself in a pack hunter match with another masked hunter, The Ripper. The two of them agree on a friendly match. However, Ithaqua doesn't seem to appreciate your lack of attention on him.

CW; N/A

WC; ≈520

Note; This was actually on my mind for a bit! Just the other day I spoke with a mutual about Ithaqua trying to seek out the reader's attention, what a coincidence you brought this idea to mind! I also had a situation a bit similar to this in a duos match... Everyone kept crowding around the other hunter so I had to take matters into my own hands, hehe. /j

♡ Ithaqua could never bring himself to say it aloud, but he gets jealous quite easily. If he’s not wearing his mask, you could see how he’d visibly pout or grimace. He does not do well with hiding his jealousy, and often at times his actions already does the talking for him. Ask him, and he’ll never say it himself. “Me? Jealous? What makes you think that?”

♡ It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, he does not trust others to behave well with you. Despite the reassurance you’d give him, you cannot seem to tame the green-eyed demon inside of him that’d leave him in disquietude when your eyes are on someone else. His actions are subtle, but speak paragraphs upon paragraphs of words.

♡ When it came to a particular pack hunter match, he found it hard to contain himself. Being paired with another masked hunter, Jack, the two of them agreed on a friendly match for the sake of sparring themselves the trouble. Survivors would crowd the two of them with beaming smiles, yet only yours caught his eyes. Your grin was enough to make his heart jump in place, albeit seeing you pan your attention to the other hunter only shattered his aspirations. He’d hide his discontentment beneath his mask, biting the inside of his cheek.

♡ His mask shielded the moue on his face. Despite all the other survivors that’d crowd him, he still only wanted you to look at him. He made it his goal to gain your attention. Even if it were a mere glimpse of your face. Heart pounding against his chest, he’d use his ability to pull you away from Jack. His face heating up when you’d bump into him with a perplexed expression. Ithaqua would pick you up and carry you away from the hunter and the other survivors, carefully dropping you off at a cipher.

♡ He would not leave you alone, and he’d remain by your side for the rest of the match. He’d follow behind you whilst you tried to finish the remaining ciphers. Occasionally he’d jest, pulling you away from the cipher with his ability. Ithaqua would even use abnormal to reset the cipher’s progress to impede the match’s completion, all just to have some spare time with you. He knew very well what he was doing, even if he was pestering you, he at least still had your attention.

♡ He’d refuse to let you go, carrying you from cipher to cipher. Leaving the survivors tilting their heads in confusion, questioning the relationship between you two. If no one had known of your relationship prior, they’d certainly know subsequent to this match. The moment Jack would waltz close to you, he’d pull you away. The hunter heeded the message with no further questions, simply nodding his head and proceeded to go about with the other survivors.

♡ After the pack hunter match you’d definitely ask him about the events of said match. His face was flushed, he’d simply turn his head away and deny each word you spoke. “Jealous? I was not jealous.” In the end, you’d always find yourself holding his mask in hand, peppering his face with kisses. Teasing him in regards to his jealousy, whispering sweet nothings. "You know I am yours, there's no need to fret."

#identity v #idv ithaqua #ithaqua #idv night watch #ithaqua x reader #idv ithaqua x reader #identity v night watch #identityv ithaqua #identity 5 #idv fanfic #identity v headcanons #idv headcanons #headcanons #gender neutral insert #no beta we die like ithaqua's brother #identityv #identityv ithaqua x reader #identity v x reader

776 notes · View notes

eclecticpatrolroadlawyer · 7 months

Text

Illicit affairs (chapter 1)

Summary: Bucky and Y/n are in arranged marriage. Bucky is having an affair. This is all it is about... Let's see where Y/n's fate lies... Should we?

Pairings: Bucky x reader, Bucky x Dot ...

Genre: angst, affair, unrequited love

'Love' The word floats between all of us on a soft gust of air. 'Deep, abiding, unconditional love. You want it so much you're willing to live for it' Most people think the greatest sacrifice they can make is to die for something. They are wrong.

The truest act of love someone can make is to live for something- to allow it to consume you and turn you into a version of yourself you never recognize.

It is a tale of 4 souls twisted and helpless in their love lives. It is a narrative that contains some heartbreaks, the bitter taste of unreciprocated affection, and one that dared not to unveil itself- which takes courage to love for so long from a distance.

This is a story where one soul offered everything at love's altar, a vulnerable sacrifice, while another callously exploited that very vulnerability, sowing discord where passion once blossomed...

Y/n's pov

The room feels colder than usual as I stare out the window, my heart sinking with every passing minute. The anticipation is suffocating, and my patience wears thin. "Again," I whisper, the word heavy with disappointment.

I watch the street below, searching for a familiar figure that is yet to appear. The seconds drag on, and my anxiety intensifies. The lump in my throat grows, making it harder to swallow. A sigh escapes me, a mixture of frustration and hurt.

"He is late again."

I can't help but clench my fists on the curtains, the fabric bunching in my grip. The emptiness in the room echoes the ache in my chest. Tears threaten to spill, and I fight to hold them back. I bite my tongue, tasting the metallic tang of frustration as I try to steady my trembling emotions.

I force myself to look away from the window, taking in shaky breaths to regain composure. Each breath feels like a struggle, a battle against the rising tide of disappointment. I look up, my eyes blurred with unshed tears, and will myself to find strength.

Deep breaths. In and out.

I wrestle with my emotions, fighting the urge to crumble. It's a lonely battle, and the weight of unspoken words hangs heavy in the air. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of my own heartbeat.

half an hour later

The sound of the door knob rattling pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see him entering, supposedly from his so-called 'jogging' session. His disheveled hair and the hickey marks on his neck don't escape my notice, but I keep my gaze down, focusing on chopping the ingredients for breakfast. The rhythmic slicing helps channel my frustration into the task.

Silence hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of disappointment. I clench my jaw, determined not to let the emotions bubbling within me overflow. Why me, I wonder.

I put on a fake smile, a mask to conceal the turmoil beneath the surface. Breaking the tense quiet, I decide to confront the reality before me, choosing words carefully as I break the uneasy silence.

"How was it?"

The question hangs in the air as I continue chopping, my hands steady despite the storm raging inside me. The tension is heavy as I await his response.

He seems startled, caught off guard by the unexpected interruption to your silence. Nervously, he stammers a response.

"Huh? W-What?"

"Jogging... You went jogging, right?" I press, my eyes focused on the task at hand, but my peripheral vision catches his every move. I put down the knife, turning to face him with a fake smile plastered on my face.

"Oh, jogging... Yes, jogging... Yeah, it was good... good," he replies, the words rushed and accompanied by a forced smile. The tension lingers, hanging in the air like an unspoken truth, and I maintain my fake smile, masking the hurt that hides beneath the surface.

The question hangs in the air, a carefully veiled inquiry concealing the knowledge I already possess. "Bucky," I murmur, the weight of the question palpable in the room. "how many years has it been since our arranged union? One or two?" I lock eyes with him, searching for a flicker of guilt, a hint that he might confess to the secrets he thinks are well hidden.

The room feels heavy with the unspoken truth as I press on, my voice carrying a subtle undercurrent of accusation. "You would never hurt me, right?" I ask, knowing the answer even before the words leave my lips. His eyes betray a hint of unease, a fleeting glimpse of a man caught in his own web of betrayal.

I turn my attention to the task at hand, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter as I continue, "It's just, sometimes I wonder about our arranged marriage. Do you?" My words linger in the air, a calculated challenge, as I maintain a facade of innocence, masking the storm of emotions that swirl within me.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably under the weight of my penetrating gaze, his eyes momentarily faltering before regaining composure. "Uh, yeah, it's been two years," he answers, attempting to sound nonchalant. His attempt at a casual demeanor betrays a hint of unease, a subtle acknowledgment that he senses the underlying tension.

I maintain my facade, the corners of my lips twitching into a semblance of a smile. "And you'd never hurt me, right?" I press further, watching for any subtle changes in his expression. Bucky hesitates, a fleeting moment where the truth seems to hang in the air. "Of course not," he replies, the words lacking the conviction they once held.

As I turn back to my task, the air between us crackles with unspoken truths and concealed betrayals, creating a rift that neither of us dares to bridge.

Bucky's POV

Bucky's response hangs in the air, a weight on his conscience that he can't shake off. As I turn away, the guilt tightens in his stomach. He can't escape the unease, knowing he's betraying not just the arrangement but the person at the center of it.

He sighs, heavy with remorse, as he heads for the bathroom. The sound of running water becomes a feeble attempt to drown out the turmoil in his mind. Bucky leans against the cool tiles, steam clouding the mirror, mirroring the fog in his thoughts.

"What have I done?" he whispers, the weight settling in his stomach. The jog's facade crumbles, revealing the truth of his choices. The affair, the lies—it's a web tightening around him, and he's not sure how to break free without causing irreparable damage.

Under the shower's cold stream, Bucky stands, his hand braced against the tiles. The water pounds against him, a feeble attempt to wash away the guilt. As each droplet falls, he confronts the consequences of his actions. The arranged marriage, once a distant pact, now feels shattered. Bucky closes his eyes, trying to block out the guilt threatening to consume him. In the cascade of water, he faces the mess he's made, uncertain if there's any way to salvage the delicate threads holding their union together.

The cold shower beats against Bucky, a stark contrast to the heat of his thoughts. His hand tightens on the tiles as he battles the storm inside. The water's steady drumming echoes his emotions, a chaotic mix of regret and confusion.

"What am I doing?" he mutters, the words lost in the shower's noise. The images of his mistakes play on a loop in his mind—the marks on the neck, the messed-up sheets. It's a vivid reminder of betrayal.

The truth is undeniable. The affair breaks trust, a breach of the commitment he made, even if reluctantly, in this arranged marriage. As the water rushes over him, Bucky tries to wash away not just the physical traces but the guilt staining his conscience.

The fogged-up mirror reflects a man in conflict. His guilty eyes meet their own gaze, and for a moment, he doesn't recognize himself.

"What have I become?" The question lingers, unanswered, as he stands beneath the unrelenting water. The bathroom isn't a refuge; it amplifies the loneliness. Bucky is stuck in a silent struggle, torn between duty and desire, unsure if he can find a way out without leaving everything shattered behind.

Dot's POV

(girl with whom Bucky is cheating with)

"He is gone again," I murmur to myself, my gaze fixed on the fan dangling from the ceiling. The bed beside me feels emptier than usual, a constant reminder of his absence. The weight of silence settles in the room, and once again, I find myself engulfed in loneliness...

Every day, it's the same struggle. A battle between the promise I make to myself and the undeniable pull he has on me. "Every time... every day. I let him in," I admit in the quiet of my thoughts. The bed, cold and untouched, bears witness to my internal conflict. It's a routine of surrendering to a love that should never have blossomed.

"I can always stop," I tell myself daily, a mantra of resistance that crumbles with each passing moment. The realization hits hard — I'm ruining myself for him. The weight of guilt presses down as I acknowledge the gravity of my actions.

"I am so bad," I confess silently, my heart heavy with self-loathing. I'm entangled in an affair with a married man who has a loving wife. The reality of my choices echoes in the hollow spaces of the room. "I'm so sorry," I whisper to no one but myself, a futile apology to the shadows that witness my moral descent.

"I hate myself... I hate it," the thought echoes, a painful admission of the self-destructive path I tread. Love, tangled with regret, becomes a poison that seeps into every corner of my being. Yet, despite the self-flagellation, the ache for him lingers, a bittersweet melody that refuses to be silenced.

The room, my safe place, now shows the mess inside me. I turn from the fan's spin, lost in the shadows. The secret love has left marks, stains that no apology can wipe away. As I try to understand this mess of feelings, I wonder if I can ever fix the pieces of my self-respect that have shattered.

The words slip out in a hushed murmur, barely audible in the quiet room. "I am sorry." The weight of the apology hangs in the air, a fragile attempt to mend the fractures that linger between us. It's a simple phrase, but it carries the echoes of regret and a longing for forgiveness. The weight of regret settles in, and I can't help but wonder if these simple words will ever be enough to mend the fractures I've created.

The illicit affair has left its mark, a stain that no amount of whispered apologies can erase. As I search through the wreckage of my emotions, I'm left to wonder if the fragments of my self-respect can ever be pieced back together.

Not everyone gets the same version of me.

One person might tell you I'm an amazing beautiful soul.

Another person will say I'm a coldhearted bitch.

Believe them both, I act accordingly.

-love

Chapter 2

Note: Hey guys! Hope you like it. English is actually my second language so if there's any mistake you can inform me by messaging me privately. And PLEASE REBLOG AND DON'T STEAL MY WORK. Please like and comment too so, that I can know your views. Thank you for reading guys! Have a nice day and please comment if you wanna be tagged in.

Taglist: @angstysebfan @cjand10 @learisa @themorningsunshine @binkszamsstuff @dreamerglassesgirl @winterslove1917 @perfectpieslimeprune @nikkivillar @bethexo07

175 notes · View notes

cod-z · 1 month

Text

Behind that Mask

| One-shots |

I want to know who you were behind that mask.

Everyday I would make it a mission to see a sign, whether it was twitch from your brows or watching your jaw clench, it didn’t matter if you were mad at me or you were scolding me. No. It didn’t matter at all, as long I get to see behind that mask of yours.

No. I’m not talking about the one you wear. The one you deem as your alter ego, not that mask.

The mask that you wear as Ghost, the one that hides that fragile, scared, little boy that was broken by this world and who grew up too early.

The one that faced abuse of a family member with no one to hide behind, the one that had to watch his family suffer under the use of temporary euphoria that comes from powdered substances, the one that couldn’t cry alone because even the shadows laughed at him.

The mask that was deserted the moment you had to crawl out of your own grave without a hand to help or to hold you.

I can see it in your eyes, L.T. That longing.

You want to be loved but be hated.

You want touch but shun it.

You want friends but stay alone.

You want a relationship but leave it.

You say you’re not afraid of anything but you’re afraid to love someone else, you’re afraid to let anyone else in, you’re afraid to lose, you’re afraid… of me.

I saw the fear when you first saw me, I saw how your eyes widen with those honey-doe eyes, the realisation when you fell for me when I hadn’t realised I fell for you. You were smitten and I was too, even when I hadn’t noticed.

We bounded so well.

Through the trauma dumps we had, the nights where we found comfort in each other after night terrors and nightmares, the constant gossip between you and I about Price, Soap and Gaz, the late nights where we both just sit underneath the stars and not utter a single word because it was just us and the world.

I remember. I remember you held my hand underneath those stars, the way your hand caressed my cheek as you tilt my head to face you, the way your eyes widen as my own reflects the stars that shone down upon us that night. And yes, I do remember that was the night you’ve shown me your scarred face before you cheekily gave me a sweet, tender kiss as we make a promise under the full moon.

A broken promise.

Now that I sit next to you, my hand over yours as you live with our team in the house we both dreamed to live together in, somewhere in the country in our own land. My favourite flowers sprawled in our garden, birds flying by and the humming of the bees being overlapped by the chatter of Johnny and Gaz in the kitchen bickering while Price scolds them both.

I’ve fulfilled my life purpose to see beneath that mask but I wished I fulfilled my promise to you.

Now I must watch you hold the precious metal that you keep close to your heart while the others come to join you on the porch, their words soothing you as you hold up the necklace that I wish that I didn’t give you. Your words both lifting me and tearing me apart.

“You did it, love. Unmasked and all.”

Your mask thrown into the fire, the crackling and burning sounds like the damned souls that were stuck in there, finally released.

But that wasn’t the mask that I wanted to see to be let go off, no, but you’ve let that mask go when you met me and I couldn’t be more proud of you. And I must now go till we see one another again, my hand sprawling across your blonde locks, chuckling as you shiver as my body ascends.

‘Til next time, Simon Riley.

77 notes · View notes

odditycircus-2002 · 7 months

Text

Medusa!Reader and Shang Tsung MK 1 (Part 2)

SPOILER ALERT FOR MK 1 STORY MODE

Shang Tsung and Syzoth rushed to rinse the elixirs and glass off your body. This was made difficult by how you continued to writhe around, blinded and sensitive to the point that running water felt like glass being rubbed against you. Eventually, your voice would become hoarse and bloody from your screaming, then finally and mercifully, exhaustion would take over. You were unaware of the claw marks you left on Shang and Syzoth in your blind panic.

You slept for the entire night and most of the next day. When you woke again, you were met with darkness and the feeling of something covering your body. You figured Shang must've bandaged you.

The Sorcerer confirms this and informs you that he's putting you on bed rest for the next few days, given the extensive damage that accident caused your body's nerves and muscles. While you may lose sight, he assured you it shouldn't be likely that it's permanent, much to your relief.

Shang was the one to mostly care for your health. This included tending and disinfecting your wounds, changing your bandages, gently bathing you, having you drink a strong-smelling elixir to supposedly speed up the healing process daily, and even helping you relearn to use your muscles.

You were visited by Syzoth, Mileena, and even Kitana. You weren't surprised to hear from the sisters that Sindel couldn't come in person but sent condolences and flowers from the Hanging Gardens. This made you feel a little better, at least. It was better than the constant smell of disinfecting elixirs. However, your little ember of morale was smothered out when Shang took the bandages off you.

You were blinded by the light after days of nothing but darkness. When your eyes adjusted, you immediately gasped at the figure before you. Her skin was reddened and marred with rough patches that were a completely different color from the rest of her. She had no hair but a head full of hissing and writhing snakes with long fangs jutting from her mouth. Her eyes were snake-like with slit pupils that blinked with a second eyelid. As you touched yourself simultaneously as the stranger before you, you realized that the creature before you was… you!

"By the Elder Gods! What's happened to me?!"

You screamed before hiding your face in your hands with long claws at the ends before starting to weep. Shang Tsung attempted to comfort you as he held you close and petted your head, assuring you he didn't care what your form looked like. He knows it's still you. You both remained like that until you fell asleep from exhaustion.

For the next few days, you remained held up in your room to obsessively look in your mirror to try and imagine what you used to look like. You took up wearing a mask you purchased from the last festival you went to to retain some sense of your old beauty. You didn't allow Shang Tsung or anyone to look at your face, refusing to look any of them in the eye. Yet, during those days, you had time to think without Shang whispering in your ear.

It's unbelievable to think that while you confronted Shang about the floor beneath, you'd happen to have your "accident" right in the middle of it. And how chivalrous the man you've been suspicious of would also nurse you back to health. You concluded that it couldn't be a coincidence; Shang Tsung purposefully caused your accident. Yet, seeing how your last confrontation with him alone went, you weren't going to approach him with your accusations immediately. For all you knew, you were infected with a new form of Tarkat.

It wouldn't stop you from doing your damn job, though. So you gathered the essentials, your belongings, and as many medical supplies as you could carry before slipping from the laboratory in the dead of night to head toward the nearby Tarkatan colony. Syzoth saw you leave but said nothing to Shang Tsung, silently wishing you well.

When you arrived, The colony appeared to be in better condition the last you looked at it, not much, but it wasn't exactly the chaotic cesspool you last remember. As you were "escorted" by other Tarkatans, you soon learned that the credit goes to former tribune and merchant Baraka. Who now led the Tarkat Colony.

At first, the Tarkatan was wary when you claimed to have come out here on order from the Royal family, even when you presented the scroll stamped with the Royal House's seal that proves this claim true. At least, until you showed an ungloved arm with spikes forming where they shouldn't. You understood his paranoia and explained that you and your research partner, Shang Tsung, had a laboratory nearby to study Tarkat; however, you left to continue your research here because of your current affliction and possible infection. As a show of good faith, you present the supplies you took from the lab and offer to share them with the rest of the colony.

Baraka allowed you to stay within the camp and continue your work for a cure as long as you did your part within the colony. You accepted and soon set up shop within one makeshift adobe house. Keeping up your end of the arrangement you made with Baraka, you'd treat the Tarkatans to the best of your abilities with what little you had. Often, you have to patch some of them up when the bloodlust overtakes their mind, and others have to hold them down. You even went as far as to set up regimens to help soothe the Tarkatans and keep morale up.

For months, you worked with Baraka to improve the colony's life to the best of your abilities. Eventually, because of this and your role as an Imperial Healer, you unofficially began to become a second figure of authority among the Tarkatans. It helped that you didn't take bullshit from any of your patients, no matter how difficult they can be( i.e how strong and bloodthirsty they can be). Thanks to your mutations, you can match the strength of most of your patients. You're not above wrestling them into submission to take their medicine, including Baraka.

In fact, you and Baraka would come to appreciate each other for how you can rely on the other for support. Especially since neither of you has anyone else to do so for the positions you found yourselves in. In fact, other colony residents couldn't help but notice the fondness and affection you both began to show one another as moons passed by.

You often could be seen conversing with Baraka, whether or not you are busy with your healing duties. Baraka often would choose to share meals with you. You constantly check on each other's well-being. Once, Baraka gifted you a piece of jewelry from his merchant days that you now constantly wear. Anyone with eyes could see the herculean task for you to not instantly tackle hug Baraka.

Yet, an unspoken agreement between the two of you prevented either of you from furthering your relationship. Baraka knew deep within his soul that he was fated to die from his illness one day long before you or anyone else could find a cure. He only wished to spare you the heartache of loving a dead man walking. You, on the other hand, were reluctant to love again.

You had seen each other at your lowest points. You when Baraka has a rare bout of feral bloodthirst that led you to have to sedate him with a crap ton of tranquilizers with a few minor wounds gained. He was there to just sit by you when you had to euthanize a Tarkatan that eventually lost its mind and asked before being put down when that happened. No one saw you leaving your adobe the next day except for Baraka.

That day, Baraka learned the true nature of your affliction as he caught you looking at your mirror without your mask. You were observing how your mutation was advancing when Baraka caught you, and you spun around in surprise before making direct eye contact with him. Baraka's face became frozen in surprise as he instantly turned into stone on the spot.

It took you hours before you could make a powder to reverse the petrification. You didn't know whether or not Baraka heard you, but that didn't stop you from fervently apologizing to him as you swiftly worked.

When Baraka was unstoned, he immediately asked about the exact nature of your condition. Which is when you gave the full story about how this happened to you and how you confronted Shang Tsung before your accident occurred. You went as far as to show him your body without as much covering to demonstrate the full extent of your condition, including your newly grown wings.

"I never asked to become this! An- and- and yet, he took my body away from me."

That's when you collapsed to your knees and started to weep. The Tarkatan leader could only sit close to you as he spoke calming words. To your surprise, Baraka didn't kick you out of the colony after turning him to stone. In fact, he vowed to keep your true form a secret even from the colony. You were left speechless by his proclamation. This incident didn't cause him to treat you any differently than before.

However, given what you told him, Baraka was immediately on the defense when Shang Tsung came to the colony with an escort of armed Imperial soldiers more than he usually would be. Baraka already doesn't trust Shang Tsung because his presence is similar to a bad omen. A few Tarkatans seemed to "disappear" whenever he came by to gather genetic samples from his colony. However, Shang wasn't just here for blood or skin samples this time. No, this time, he was here for bone marrow, and it seemed he had his eye on Baraka in particular.

You were attending to some children and, unfortunately, struck with Tarkat when you were aroused from your workshop from Baraka's howling in pain. You immediately spot him forced to kneel in front of the man you've been hiding from for months, Shang Tsung. He also brought imperial soldiers, including some that held back the crowds of enraged Tarkatans. Despite the brief fear that gripped you, you were spurned into action when turning your attention to Baraka. You went down to confront the Sorcerer, demanding he release Baraka.

A/N: Sorry again folks that I have to cut it short, but I went over the word limit again. But I do hope you enjoyed this latest installment. Let me know about what y'all think about it and any ideas you have. Stay Weird, my fellow humans.

Taglist: @alastorhazbin, @slowlyfriedkingdom, @blackbunnymayw, @waryvoid, @redviper321, @lesbian-bambi, @evelud, @solareclipse166, @otako5811, @painimpact, @small-tophat-man, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @the-strange-unknown, @gname4, @aliceangel200981, @yaboicayde, @dumbhxeredrose, @tmoney-gay, @snowwhiteabyss, @geeky-trash01, @0000-lover-girl, @helixatomiclaws1799, @livia25leelover, @sarapaprikas-blog, @he-burnt-my-shake, @possibly-gleeful, @pikachupepito2, @miasubzero14, @keenduckzombie, @blackrose-2019, @nobod987, @antichristsbaby, @ariel2897, @iivenussleeping, @bloody546, @amara555555, @ya-sillydilly, @calviyv, @momoko-world, @ihatebitterthings, @sillypissyfroggy, @kpopobsessedellie-blog, @wickedspeak, @helloweebsofgenshin, @technonecromancerderaxus, @undertale-anomaly20, @khaotic-kris, @lonelycupcakelol, @duchessdaisybat, @generousrunawaystranger, @hufflepuff-ef, @ciphershadow, @night-stitch, @eclipsybunnyblogs, @ashleyinky, @corpse-nymph, @a-tiny-frog-with-a-hat, @porfiriea, @greciacat, @bobawitch13, @0000-lover-girl,@undertale-anomaly20, @illyannaaaa, @tired-ninfa, @rayneofthedead96, @queergeologist, @laxbloodstone

#mortal kombat #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader #mk11 #Mk 1 #reptile mk #mk baraka #baraka x reader #mk syzoth #mk reptile #mk1 2023 #tarkatan #mk1 #mk mileena #mk kitana #mk sindel #Oddball writes

260 notes · View notes