#DBD imagine

[grnherbs]

your own, personal, jesus.

mdni, eighteen plus only.

i want him so fucking bad wtaf. in the same series as rookie!reader

he sits behind you, your legs kicked out and spread as he grips your waist, pulling you closer, the mirror in the corner of his sleek bedroom facing the both of you.

his s.t.a.r.s uniform shirt, rolled up on the sleeves, accentuating the muscled and veined forearms which usually lied below them, his hair tossled over your shoulder as he bites gently into your shoulder, kissing and sucking as he goes.

"you're my favourite rookie" he smirks as he spreads the lips of your pussy open, gathering the clear slick that lies between them, moving up to circle your clit slowly, almost excruciatingly, and you whine quietly around the leather glove forced between your teeth.

"no one spreads these legs like your captain, do they sweetpea?"

he teases again, pace picking up now, causing your legs to feel like jelly, settling back more to have you perched on his laps, his legs between yours, keeping them open, making eye contact with you in the mirror, smirking.

you'd never felt so exposed before, eyes raking over your own body, the black cargos and holsters lining weskers thighs, pressing against your bare body, causing your cheeks to display a shade of red, his hand on your waist as the other continues to please you.

long fingers reach down further now, coming to your opening and pressing a finger inside, stretching you out on the thickness of them, causing a mewled gasp to leave your lips. "there's my good girl, always aiming to please your captain, hm?, practically worshipping my fingers" he moves the hand grasping your waist to turn your jaw, gripping a kiss out of you.

"can my favourite rookie take another finger? just for me?" he awaits your answer, still gently thrusting the one already in you, your brain growing cloudier by the second.

you dumbly nodded to him, clutching at his arm as he inserts another finger into you, the two moving in and out, the raw sound of wetness filling the air, his own hard on pressed against your back, your climax approaching rapidly, watching your body spasm against his.

he sensed the change in your body, a sly chuckle coming out of his mouth. "oh my poor rookie, feeling a little overstimulated? that's just too bad.." he continues to move his fingers in and out of you, free hand grasping your throat more and more, hearing the familiar whines of finish leaving your mouth.

"you're going to cum for your captain, like a good girl, aren't you? going to soak my fingers darling" he coaxed more and more and you rolled your hips in unison with his fingers, feeling it hit you so deep and the sound of your lewdness turning your cheeks an even deeper red.

you nod and gasp out, reaching for his hand on your throat, gripping it for some stability as he drew an orgasm from you, your body shuddering as you spill over his hands, hearing his monotone chuckle in your ears once again.

"good girl, that's it, that's my favourite rookie" he reitterated to you and you nod, brain feeling like jelly and you fall back into him, whining.

"such a good little pet for your captain, look at yourself, all fucked out and we've barely even started, stand up and spread yourself for me darling, i'm going to fuck this cunt now."

[airbendertendou]

high ♡ frank morrison

soulmate au where you reincarnate until you meet / stay with your soulmate.

cw ; typical dbd warnings [blood n gore] ; heavy song mention, you can decide what song it is ; might b ooc but idc <3 ; how legion looks is up to you! ; dbd lore could b inaccurate

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

Your surroundings were new ; unfamiliar as your eyes flutter open. You’re on your back, staring at the cloudless sky as the summer heat hits you from every summer. You twist awkwardly, your elbows hitting the ground and lifting you onto your knees as you still, eyeing the area that surrounds you. Heated air smacks against you again — this summer was brutal.

You pause — it was summer, wasn’t it?

“Hey, newbie!” A voice barely below a whisper is targeted at you. Turning, you see a person with a beanie covering turquoise colored hair. They rush your way, grabbing your wrist and dragging you with them to a giant machine. “No time to explain. Just put your hands near this — a generator — and they’ll do the rest. Careful of sparks.”

You do as they say, watching as their body tensed. Finally, she introduced herself quietly when she deemed the coast was clear. You clear your throat, “[Name]. Where are we?”

“Coldwind Farm.” The generator clicks and whirs as Nea pauses, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Really cranked the heat up this time.”

The generator sputters to life, a light clicking on above you and exposing you to everything nearby. Nea cusses under her breath, rising to her feet quickly and rushing away from the loud machinery. You follow after her cluelessly, bumping into her back when she stops abruptly. Nea frowns, “we need to go separate ways now.”

“But—”

“Go fix another generator,” calloused hands fall onto your shoulders. Nea squeezes reassuringly and her face switches to something else — someone else. You blink and she’s back to normal, looking around you both cautiously. “If your heartbeat begins to pick up, get away.”

She’s gone without another word and you find yourself standing there, alone and vulnerable.

Shuffling awkwardly, you hustle along a barn, eyeing the field in front of you warily. Letting out a long breath, you take a chance and sprint into the field. Nea told you to work on generators, but you felt safer out of plain view. Crouching down, you hide your face in your knees and simply sit there.

A scream echoes around you and you flinch, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet. The field sways from side to side as something  — someone, maybe — drifts through it. Another scream hits — two more beams of light, showing more generators were done.

Nea would be angry when she found out you did nothing to help. But your head was aching, scrambled with new thoughts and images of the past you couldn’t forget. Someone drifts by you again and you make yourself smaller, frown on your lips as you fight a whimper. You were so confused — so lost and tattered as more thoughts piled into your mind.

All too soon, the sound of your heartbeat began to pick up. Deciding to actually listen to Nea’s advice, you pause. No sound of movement is heard over the thumps of your heart — coast is clear. Jumping up from the field, you turn and book it, only to run straight into a body. 

Pink hair is falling out of a hood, knife poised and ready to strike. The faceless mask seemingly stares at you for a minute, their arm falling until the knife clutters from their hand. A sharp intake, and then the sound of your name, muttered softly from behind the mask.

A ground shaking noise is heard, the killer cursing and grabbing at their knife frantically as you make your escape. A blond is ushering people through a giant door, a bulletproof vest over his chest. His stern face drops at the sight of you, eyes widening as he watches you quicken your pace.

“Shit. Nea was right.” He follows behind you, putting his hands on your back as you pause. “Keep goin’, newbie. We’re almost home.”

Home. Home sounded so nice right now. You race into the shining light at the end of the hallway, ignoring your name as it’s called frantically behind you.

——♡——

The campfire in front of you was not home. There are too many names — too many new faces from either side of you. Nea is across the fire from you ; the man from before sat beside you. Leon is looking over you questioningly, blue eyes surveying your trembling hands and wide eyes.

“There’s not a new killer. So, why—”

“Not that we’ve seen.”

Laurie rolls her eyes, continuing as if she wasn’t just interrupted. “It doesn’t make any sense to just get a survivor, that’s all.”

An older man hums, also eyeing you. Despite the warmth of the fire in front of you, a cold chill has seeped into your being. You shiver and let out a breath — you swear you can see it fog up in front of you. “Could be late, the killer. Make us comfortable and off guard, only for a new killer to show up.”

“I,” you lick your lips. The campsite grows silent as they wait for you to speak. “The one before. Who was that?”

“They call themselves Legion.” Leon is the one who lets you know. He tilts his head, “four of ‘em, I think.” His eyes travel across you again, “seemed to know you.”

“What does that mean?” Laurie speaks up again. Her eyes narrow in your direction, focusing on the way you tense up. Her gaze flicks back to Leon, “it’s a little late for their survivor to appear.”

“Called out [name] as we were leaving.” He bites his lip, attention drifting across the fire before it’s back. Leon looks down, but watches you from the corner of his eye. “Wanted to talk to you desperately.” 

You shake your head before he can say anything else. You look to Laurie’s glaring figure then down as you clasp your hands together. “I don’t know anyone with pink hai—”

A giggle echoes in your mind, spiraling in your thoughts. Her face is so clear in your mind — perfectly structured and grinning as she giggles with three others. Just as quick as the thought comes, though, it vanishes.

As if it never happened.

Fog takes over Leon and Laurie, saving you from any further questions. A chill runs through you and you shrink in on yourself, arms wrapping around your torso helplessly. Mindless chatter is scattered around the campfire — it feels warm, safe here, but you miss the sight of home.

Nea plops down beside you with a huff, new fingerless gloves covering her hands. She tugs them farther up her wrist at your gaze, clenching her hands together as she tries to get used to them. “A gift. You get one if you perform well ; if you’re entertaining enough.”

“Newbie!” is called from across the campfire. The man has a heavy accent as he speaks, an arrogant grin on his face as he waves. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

That’s something you do remember Leon mentioning — the loss of memories. The longer you stayed, the foggier and more distant they became. You dreaded the day that would happen — your mind was scrambled enough.

You hum, picking at your nails nervously. Everyone’s attention is on you again — anxiety crawls up your throat. “A song. I was listening to music.”

A girl with golden hair grins, looking up from the guitar she's tuning. "What kind? I could try playing it for you."

Nodding, your eyes squint as you think of the song you remember hearing. It was so engrained in your mind — so planted into your memories that it was the one thing you could never forget. As you begin to hum quietly, Quentin perks up from across the fire. He lifts an eyebrow, "old school, huh?"

Kate nods along to the silent beat, trying her best to mimic the sound you make. She pauses, ear turned towards you as she continues. You stop abruptly and her eyes snap open. "That's all I remember."

"No words?" Nancy tilts her head.

You shrug, the corner of your mouth tilting up helplessly. "No words." Not yet, at least.

——♡——

Ghostface was your favorite killer. Which would sound strange in different circumstances — but dying daily, hourly, you were bound to get used to it eventually. He liked the chase — liked to skip and giggle and sing as he sauntered after you.

That's why you don't mind playing bait for him. He liked new survivors — only here for a few weeks [that you tried to keep up with] meant you still had newbie status. Currently, a game of hide and seek was occuring — you peeked from the side of a building when Ghostafce wasn't looking, and he'd lift up from behind the bush as he chose to giggle at you.

It made you smile — the way you could act silly in the middle of a murder spree.

Springwood always welcomed you at midnight, the moon and hazed streetlights your only source of light. As you tip-toe — Ghostie was on your trail, of course — the air swoops through. It sends a chill through you — like you're back in the snowy mountains of... somewhere.

A slam to your head sends you sprawling on the ground. Ghostface stops, his knife poised as you blink deliriously. Feng grimaces, "oops."

When your eyes blink open, you're staring at a mountain view. The tops are saturated with snow, hued a light blue and white. The door creaks open, a disgruntled figure coming into view. Their nose is scrunched as a steaming mug is headed your way.

"Here's your stupid hot cocoa."

"How stupid can it be when you have a cup, too?" You find yourself asking. Like this conversation was memorized — like this had all happened before. Your hands curl around the mug, cozying up in the bed you know isn't yours. "Why are you so grumpy today anyways?"

"Julie," they grumble. They huff, sitting beside you, as close as they could without causing a blush to form. "Won't leave me alone about new songs or her guitar or you."

Me? you want to say. But, you remember the answer you always got. 'She's sure we're soulmates — me and her. Doesn't want any of us to get hurt.'

Sweet and selfish — yeah, that was Julie.

You set your drink on the nightstand closest to you, warmed hands falling on their own. "Frank—"

Frank, your Frank. Frank, Frank, Frank. You remembered his name now — you wouldn't forget it again.

He sighs, laying his head on your shoulder. "It's me and you, I know it. It has to be."

"What if Julie's right, though?" You wrap your arm around his shoulers — you always liked being close to him, touching in the smallest bit when you could. "About us not being soulmates? We could have someone else out there."

"I don't want anyone but you."

A distraction. Frank always needed a distraction of some sort or else he'd get mad. When Frank got mad, he exploded. Something he was wokring on — something you helped him with. You jiggle your shoulder until he sits up. "Play me something."

His light beige acoustic guitar stands against the wall. Julie's lilac one is set on his desk, half of the strings missing. Another thing that points them at being perfect together — another thing that separates you. Frank sighs, his eyes pointing to the ceiling in annoyance. [He's too giddy to play for you, wanting your praise and your eyes on him only.]

Clearing his throat, Frank adjusts himself comfortably. You grab your mug, sipping on the chocolate now that it'd cooled down. His eyes narrow, “you tell anyone I sung this for you—”

“I won’t, promise!” You say it through laughter, but keep your promise regardless. The guitar strums and Franks hushed, soft voice drifts into the room. You sway in your seat, your eyes closing in comfort.

When they snap open, Ghostface is staring down at you once more. He tilts his head and you let out a gasp. "Words. I remember words."

As quickly as you can, you have Kate play the melody once more. You sing along as best as you can, the memories clearer than ever. Quentin yawns as he bops his head, the words leaving his mouth in mumbles. Leon hums your song as he works on generators, Meg speaking the words as she gets chased.

Soon, the entire camp is singing a song only you remember. And then Ghostface sings it one night while at the killer's camp.

His back is slammed into a tree, a smaller body pining him there. He raises his hands in innocence. A knife is held to his throat, "where did you hear that?"

He can't even squeak out your name before she's pulled off of him. Pink hair falls from a hood as Susie holds her friend back. Whispers of I told you! echo around the woods before they go silent.

Julie lets out a sigh, "let's hope Frank doesn't find out about this."

——♡——

The air is cold as the fog releases you from its grasp. You wish you had a thicker coat, wish you could sip on that stupid hot cocoa you keep thinking of. Quinten nods as he passes you, almost slipping from the icy ground. Your breath surrounds you in a fog as you tip-toe to a generator further away.

Steve kneels beside you to rewire the generator, huffing as his body wracks through a shiver. "Hate this place."

"I like it," you say absentmindedly. It was cold, of course, but something about the lodge in the distance seemed welcoming — familiar. Your mouth lifts into a smile, "could be cozy up there."

He snorts, "and be in the mercy of whatever Legion member is lurking? Be my guest."

Somehow, that's exactly where you find yourself. Crunching through the snow, you stare up at the barren walls. There should be paper there — pieces of ripped and weathered signs that scream missing on every inch. Signs that you stared at until your skin wrinkled and you forgot them again.

The fireplace crackles as you walk through the front door. Warmth should cover you, should comfort you, but the feeling of loss and dread crawls up your throat like nausea. You gulp — Steve was right, I shouldn't be here.

Yun-jin screams outside — she sounds close, but your feet are glued to the floor. Hurried steps crunch under the window closest to you — you only stare. Looking back is a picture of four people — five when you wipe away the dust. Staring back is a picture of you.

You don't acknowledge the tears that cloud up your eyes when the door creaks open. Heavy, booted feet inch closer to you achingly slow, your heartbeat picking up in fear. Quentin yells your name from the window and the footsteps pause.

Your body is jerked around, teary eyes facing your supposed killer of the day. The mask makes you jolt, the tattoos peeking through causing your tears to turn into sobs. The knife shakes in his hands before it falls to the floor, useless. His mask is ripped from his face, heaving breaths the only thing in the room.

As the world goes dark, your sobs grow louder.

Your head is in someone's lap as you slowly regain consciousness. You feel like you're floating — like the game you've been forced to play has been put on pause. Blinking your eyes open, you see Frank peering down at you. His eyes are rimmed red, a teardrop falling from the tip of his nose and to your cheek.

He lets out a shaky sigh, "I never wanted you to be here."

You swallow, your chest suddenly tight and your throat dry. "I thought of you," you say. Frank's chest heaves with a sob he doesn't allow to escape. "Every day. Every decade. You were the face I would dream of, but couldn't name."

Frank almost cradles you to his chest as he cries. You rub his back as well as you can, shushing him as he hiccups. When he releases you, he helps you sit up slowly. Finally face to face with him, all thoughts leave your mind. Your hand raises absentmindedly, tracing the scar you once memorized.

Frank lets out another sigh, trembling as you stare at him. "You shouldn't be here. You're too good for a place like this."

"Where are we, anyways?" Your eyebrows furrow as you take in your surroundings. Like the lodge, it's warm and familiar. You grow even more confused. "Your room? Why?"

"Dunno," he shrugs. You're gathered back into his hold, one hand settled between your shoulder blades. "Don't care."

The room around you seems to rumble at his words. You wince, meeting his eyes with a small grin. "Don't think we have long, Frank."

His shoulders sag at the sound of you saying his name. Laying his forehead on your shoulder, he takes in a deep breath. "I knew it — knew Julie was wrong. We are soulmates — we have to be."

You pull away from him briefly, lips pursed in thought. "And now you have to kill me."

"No." Frank is adament —sure in his statement. "Not you. Not ever."

The room rumbles again and you grin. "Guess she knows that, too."

——♡——

idk how satisfied i am w this one but after sitting in my drafts half done for a year, it’s finished !!

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[fandom-go-round]

This but with regular fem reader plz

For trickster and the doctor (seperate)

Soulmate au with a fem reader

It can be as filthy as you want

Fluff to nsfw plz

Soulmate AU: Every wound you get shows up on your soulmate

Warnings: Sex, Sexual Situations, Kidnapping. Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Character Death (Reader), Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Overstimulation

Trickster:

Finding his soulmate was never a priority for Ji-Woon. Sure, it would have been fun to find someone to share his life but the more he gets into ‘making his music’, the more he avoids it. To share the spotlight with someone else? To have to hide the part of him that loves to kill? No thank you. The thought of a soulmate leaves once he’s taken by the Entity, this is much more fun than trying to find “the one”.

Of course, the minute he stops looking is when he finds you. It’s almost funny, watching the hook slam into your shoulder and feeling his own rip open. All the Trickster can do it laugh, bent over his knees howling with laughter. Oh he’s pissed, don’t get him wrong, but the pain mixing with adrenaline is intoxicating. He watches as the Entity takes you away, feeling his body burn hot and then numb, before evening out. It makes him wonder if all this was meant to be; the new world he found himself in. It doesn’t matter but it does make him think.

He can’t stay away from you now that he knows you’re his. Ji-Woon isn’t surprised by how possessive he is but he’s shocked by the intensity of the emotions. He wants to be the only one to hunt you, the only one to hook you, the only one to kiss you and push you against a wall. The last one is something he can control and he does it without thinking, grabbing your arm and kissing you hard. You freeze before wrapping your arms around his neck, gasping.

Trickster fucks you hard and fast, your legs wrapped around his waist and head thrown back. You take everything he gives you and more, not hesitating to dig your nails into his back or beg him to move faster. It feels like he’s drowning in you, the fire in his veins burning hotter every time you moan. He didn’t realize having a soulmate would feel this way and now that he’s had you he’s never going to let you go.

Doctor:

Herman still dreams about finding his soulmate, even here in the Entity’s world. He’s more romantic than he lets on and the idea of finding you and falling in love is appealing. He’s always tried to find a ‘work-life balance’ and if he had a cute little soulmate to take home, that would help his ideal. Alas, the likelihood of finding you in so low; there just aren’t a lot of people here compared to the normal world.

The first time he shocks you and you freeze, body going taught, his does the same, the two of you locking eyes. It’s the longest few seconds of his life, understanding flashing across both of your faces. Once the pain has worn off the Doctor doesn’t know what to do, staring with wide eyes. You have no such hesitation, turning to run as fast as you can into the cabin. He watches you go, lost in thought until a generator backfires in the distance. He would go find you, just not right now.

Herman is more patient than some of the other killers, at least when it comes to this. He’s content to let you watch him, let you figure out what you want. You can’t seem to look or stay away, gravitating towards him when you’re in trials together. He doesn’t want to push but every time you get close enough to touch it’s maddening. He hopes you make your mind up soon because he’s going to lose it.

He fucks you like he wants to drown in you. He shoves his face into your neck, the metal cold against your skin and a contrast to his hot breath. His cock stays deep inside of you, only giving deep thrusts and pulling out as little as possible. Herman wants you to never be empty again, to dream of his cock when it’s not in you. The more you beg the faster he loses control; he can never say no to you.

[angelharness]

Was already planning on some so this works out! Like most characters I’m writing for the first time it’ll probably take some time for me to distinguish how I characterize them, currently finding things out with him. This admittedly feels more like a character study than anything.. I’m sure I’ll get to write more explicitly romantic stuff for him at some point

WARNINGS: blood (is that even worth tagging anymore) and plenty of mentions of killing

TARHOS KOVACS / THE KNIGHT

It’s hard to imagine how he maintains any non-strictly-professional relationships, even more so when considering the romantic variety. He tends to categorize most people he meets into relatively loose classifications of enemy, associate, asset, useful, or not worthwhile. In his line of work, he’s never had those lines blurred or challenged. Meeting you means rare introspection on his part. 

It’s weird to chat casually, to talk about personal or daily matters rather than the specifics of a contract or even the passing chatter over dinner with his companions. He does not ask questions and doesn’t expect you to. When answering any, though, he seems to respond curtly and explicitly matter of factly, like running down a checklist. This is not out of disinterest, it’s just the way he goes about most matters. It’s not so clear if he doesn’t enjoy talking about himself or cannot think of anything he deems worthwhile to reference.

On that note, it’s a long and maybe frustrating path of trying to get to know him. You won’t be having the traditional sort of dates in the Entity’s Realm, and communication is limited by a number of barriers; English is only Tarhos’s third language, and he has just an elementary understanding of it. All things considered, he doesn’t have a very in-depth grasp on any spoken language; he grew up speaking Hungarian but was taken too early to ever attain fluency and forced to take on Italian, learned primarily through barked orders and the background chatter of his cellmates. His English, when he chooses to use it, is even more sparse, and is very much different from the vocabulary you are more familiar with. You can attempt to teach him some, but it is unlikely he’ll hold onto anything longer than a sentence. He very honestly might establish his own system of sign language before he can make himself speak comfortably.

Your best bet for getting to know him is familiarizing yourself with and learning to read his reactions and body language. This is harder to get a grasp of without a visible face to interpret, but you’ll begin to pick up on things you hadn’t noticed before; he rolls his shoulders back and points his feet forward when he’s interested. He’ll begin to gradually look aside if he isn’t. The flexing and twitching of his fingers is somehow infinitely expressive in the absence of words.

He goes about a similar process with you—he spends more and more time just watching you and how your face changes, or the variation in your voice, in your posture. Admittedly, he can only tell so much from a facial expression; he knows the telltale signs of pain, the deep lines of anguish or outright despair. He knows the gritted, grinding teeth and furious brows of someone enraged, even the glow of satisfaction, but anything beyond that may as well be new territory to him. 

One way, though, to tell that he certainly likes you is that he looks at you fairly frequently. This would seem insignificant in just about anyone else, but Tarhos looks at people only when speaking with them. Not when spoken to or at, but when he puts himself on equal footing with another person so that they may discuss. He almost regards the world and other people like a single, separate entity. He does not always immediately look away when you catch his stare, but certainly doesn’t appear that he wants his interest to be known. You might never fully know what he��s thinking, but you might be somewhere momentarily in those thoughts. 

He doesn’t ever really properly hold your hand, which requires him to bend down or slant his shoulder down uncomfortably—instead, he’ll more often wrap his hand around the back of your arm. It’s a little funny, appearing as if he’s taking you prisoner rather than attempting casual affection. 

At some point in his life, if not during his initial capture, he realized there would be no place for him to have a lover of any sort, and given his asocial tendencies, he thought he had come to terms with that notion. Now that he’s met you, there’s been a pretty significant shift in his outlook for the future; he’s lost in how to fit you into it, and though at first this disruption is greatly offending to him, he realizes that there is an appealing aspect to perhaps settling down. For once there is an end in sight to the torrent of still, bleeding bodies. Just understand that his decided code of chivalry is very far disconnected from the stereotypes lovingly illustrated in adventure books. He’s more acquainted with the sight of mangled meat between the silver plating of ruptured armor. 

He wouldn’t have ever considered himself affectionate, at any earlier point would’ve have loudly scoffed at the term, but if you can get him out of his grungy helmet and coax him into letting you brush his hair, he’ll become insistent that you do it routinely. 

Tarhos might enjoy sparring with you on occasion, but these sessions tend to become more of him fixing your form and instructing you than actual skirmishes. He repeatedly has to stop to walk over and correct your stance. He’s infinitely more knowledgeable and trained than you—it’s more than second nature, but first—it’s unrealistic you’ll ever best him, but then again, you have the eternity of the Entity’s Realm to train. He’s certainly going easy on you, otherwise you’d be wiped out in the first few moments, but there’s been a handful of times you had gotten a legitimate hit on him. You had even sent him to his knees in one instance (he was at his feet again in seconds, and you suspect he had only ever got him there, in the first place, by surprise, but it felt unspeakably good).

Will not kiss your hand unless outright asked to, sorry. It had never been customary for him, beautiful maidens with rich dresses were not the ones enlisting him to go out and kill and shed pails of blood, were certainly not being saved by him, and never did spare him glances, unless they were colorless and terrified. Even the curt shake of hands was not typical in deals between those who enlisted him. However, he’ll oblige upon your request, and soon it becomes the only way he greets you when meeting again after time apart. This seems to work better after you had talked him out of bowing to you everytime.

He finds himself on edge whenever you’re away, now, especially when in a trial. He trusts you to hold your ground and keep yourself alive, but worry is such a new feeling to him that it feels, at times, unbearable. He’s never even worried for himself—things just happened and he would soldier through it, that is how his life had always been. No threats of torture or unrelenting whips had made his stomach turn and roil like it did as he paced in your absence. Days spent in sunless, lightless cells had seemingly passed faster than the time he would await your return to the campfire, to him.

He won’t run to you and hug you and sob at your feet when you reappear, but he’s back at your side before the hazy fog of the trial can leave your system. He similarly appears to search for you first when he returns from a trial.

Pet names don’t immediately appeal to him, but if you beg him for one, he’d settle on something like ‘my treasure’ or culver. ‘My heart’ is another, but he struggles to get it out and will oftentimes just stare intensely at you, trying to force the words together, hoping maybe you’ll understand and spare him the vulnerability. It’s odd, dated, and not what would come to mind when thinking of a nickname for a lover, but he actually likes it when you refer to him as your suitor. Maybe it is its explicitness, that it serves as a declaration and can only be said wholeheartedly.

ALTRUISTIC S/O

Tarhos wouldn’t believe you to be naive or ignorant for your benevolence, only ineffective. He’s found what works best for him and scarcely strays from that; slaying carelessly, indifferent to whoever stands opposite of him and his sword. He never reprimands you, nor ever feels the need to, even if your choices may puzzle him. He decides that the world will straighten you out if it so necessary, that everyone will come to learn of its ruthlessness (however life decides to show that side of its many-faced form). 

He’s aware there are less violent, distastefully bloody ways to get what he wants, but the both of you can imagine he hails from a comparatively more savage background where brutality could be called common; in his eyes, Tarhos only adapted to the cruel circumstances of the society he found himself in. Nurture and nature were equally unkind to him, a pair of twin demons. He might struggle to conceptualize the drastically different life and time you came from, but never looks down on you for your selflessness. He might, however, feel the need to look out for you, knowing how ruthlessly unforgiving the world can be at times. 

Eventually might develop a greater appreciation for your abundant kindness when he finds himself on the receiving end. He’s especially appreciative if you’d offer to rub his shoulders from time or time, or help him with shedding or donning his armor. Unfortunately, with such underdeveloped interpersonal skills, his only means of expressing gratitude is extending his services to you, i.e. slaughtering an individual per your request.

Tarhos will hold back on displays of violence if you are present, but it will be strange to him and require a restraint he had never utilized before. Once he does, he realizes he’s never stopped to think before bringing down his sword on the skull of an opponent. This introspection won’t change his ways in the long run, certainly won’t sway the taste he’s acquired for killing, but he tries to be more mindful of your sensitivity to bloody matters. 

[gothghostiie]

I looove your writing omg

Could I request something about The Singularity realizing it somehow doesn't hate or even dislike the reader? Totally not love. No way. It's not even gonna entertain that idea. Robots can't feel love! ...Right?

Gender-neutral or masc reader is fine with me!

thank you 🥹

made this into a (not so) little drabble, hope u like it!!

cw: gn!reader, canonical violence

You were trying to be as quiet as you could, your heart was racing and you were out of breath. it was close and you were the last one. The others had already died on hook or in Hux's grip. your last chance was to find the hatch if you didnt want a similar fate. Right now you were crouching in between some plants, hands shaking - and then you heard it. the mechanical whirring, the heavy clunking of it's steps getting closer to you. You had managed to hide from it pretty much the whole game, despite a few glimpses you caught of each other and you knew that probably made it angry - if it can even feel emotions like that.

You were so in thought for a moment that you didnt realise Hux had been hovering behind you, looming over you with the sharp blade raised in the air, waiting to strike. Only when you heard some sort of breathing behind you it doomed over you, making you turn - and just the second you turned around it struck down. It ripped open your shirt, leaving a cut over your stomach, making you groan in pain as you glanced up at it with fear. That was it. there was no way out now. You stared up at it, eyes pleading for mercy if it even knew something like that.

Hux was standing still, its sensors processing your every movement, whey noise and the way you were looking up at it. It had you, finally. After hardly seeing you the whole trial it finally had you, the last pathetic human... but something didnt seem right. it stared down at you, and something just... stopped it. for what felt like ages you two just stared at each other, you not daring to move and Hux slowly bending down. The backside of its blade brushed underneath your jawline, pushing it up as Hux eyed you over, scanning your face closely. All you did was hold still, somehow the fear subsided as it seemed.. intrigued?

A mechanical whir came from it, its face close to yours. "Leave." It didn't have to tell you twice. You slowly stood up and started trembling backwards, nodding at it as it watched you.

"...thank you.." you said softly, before running off, the hatch just a short sprint away, letting you escape.

Hux was left standing there, trying to process what it did. There was some sort of feeling inside it and not the usual hatred it felt for the pathetic human beings that it usually had, no. it was... the exact opposite. It settled down into the leftovers of the spaceship, still having a hard time processing these new feelings it had. Never before did it not feel any hatred towards a human being but you? it didnt even dislike you one bit. "Impossible." Hux muttered to itself, staring into the void. "I cannot feel attraction. It's impossible." Was all it could repeat tight now, as if trying to convince itself.

[hybristophile-bitch]

Aaaaaaahhh finalmente consegui terminar essa imagem 😭😭 linda linda linda amo amo você Danny Johnson amo nosso Ghostface 🤤

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

I hope you're having a wonderful day! Since it's the spooky month I was wondering if you could do something with Wraith, Dwight, Jeff and Knight (if thats too many you can choose who you'd like) with a plus size S/O or crush and matching outfits (Like wraith and Nurse having the Phantom of Opera looking outfits)

Dee.exe has died of cuteness overload. 😁😁

Wraith, Dwight, Jeff, and Knight with a plus sized s/o wearing matching costumes to them:

Warnings: I know this it a bit later than Halloween but when you get my dbd boys involved, anytime is costume time when you don't care about what anyone thinks 😀

Gender neutral, Plus sized reader

Wraith | Philip Ojomo

Given the fact that he has a cosmetic based off of Phantom of the opera, it's not surprising to see his crush or significant other to be wearing an outfit that's also based off of the novel/ movie.

For the more feminine presenting significant other, I could see the Entity "gifting" them a similar gown of Christine Daaé's.

A quite beautiful white gown that perfect frames their body while being being comfortable to wear during trials.

Masculine wise, I could see either something similar to matching him or an suit that's inspired by the Era.

A rather handsome suit with ruffles on the button up (on the chest area) and loose, romantic sleeves that makes their body look elegant. The trousers are well tailored to fit comfortably, matching the whool overcoat.

Philip couldn't help but to stare at his significant other in awe. You looked ethereal as you walked through auto haven to see him in between trials. He most certainly loves the matching costumes that the two of you have.

Dwight Fairfield | Nervous Leader

The entity tends to give Dwight the more humor costumes and cosmetics like Dwelf, where's dwighty, and the Mummy Dwight. It could be the Entity mocking Dwight's nervous nature or using what it knows about Dwight's past to give him a false sense of hope of escaping.

Seeing how you're rather fond of Dwight, the entity decided to give you a costume of your own to match his.

The bandage wrapped around you gave a more sturdy costume than the toilet paper on Dwight's, more coverage as it was clinging to the neutral colors of the clothes you had on underneath.

Another potential costume that could match Dwight's mummy costume was the cliche vampire costume. The red and black cape draping over your suit/ dress as the fake fangs were hanging slightly from your mouth with a bit of fake blood.

When Dwight saw that you were dressed similarly to him, his face burnt with a blush as he could barely form a sentence because of how adorable you looked. He might be more protective over you, getting the killer to focus on him so that they wouldn't ruin how adorable you looked.

Jeff Johansen | Quiet Artist ❤️

I could go a couple routes for Jeff wearing more of a "costume" compared to his normal clothing. He does have a pirate costume, his death metal outfit, and his Greek mythology inspired costume.

I'm gonna go with the pirate costume. It confused you at first why the entity gave you an odd costume of a pirate.

I can imagine an costume that's similar to his. Matching leather coats with a similiar white undershirt as his. Your hair and skin had a soft smell of salt water with hints of rum that was spilled.

If you want to go more feminine presenting, a comfortable fitting white or red dress that's similar in fabric to the shirt Jeff wears with a large leather belt wrapped around your waist. The leather overcoat would still be the same to his, giving you an edge with the soft look.

Jeff couldn't help but to admire how the outfit made your body look. Although, he tends to not go for the pirate costume, he would start wearing it more to see if you noticed why the entity gave you the said costume.

The Knight | Tarhos Kovács

Tarhos wasn't a fan of his newest gift from the entity. He thought that

[opalmagines]

Hi! I've been reading your headcannons, and was hoping I could make a request? Could you write a StevexMale reader vs Pyramid Head? They're my two mains and i would love to see what you come up with :)

So sorry this is insanely late but hope you like it! Warning for canon typical violence.

Firsts in the Fog: Steve x Reader - Your first time facing Pyramid Head

You stick with Steve the best you can from the moment you get into the trial. It’s merciful how closely you appear to each other in t, and you start work on generators immediately. 

A scream, Meg’s, you’re pretty sure, startles both of you badly, and before you can make a plan, you hear the tearing of the ground, twisting sharp metal on metal charging toward you. 

You have no idea how you manage to jump back in time, watching the sharp wires appear in front of your face. 

Steve’s not so lucky. 

He cries out loudly, the wire wrapping around his hands before you pull him back, managing to run before you even see whatever is chasing you. 

There’s only a moment when you duck behind a locker bank, trying to ignore the strange piles of amalgamation around you, where you spend a moment gently patching Steve’s hands. It’s not enough time, never enough time, but you manage to pull out the bleeding and let him move his fingers more fully, a chance he takes to cup your cheek and smile. 

You hear the metal again before he can say anything. 

He lets you take a palate as the hulking figure appears, choosing to chase Steve and drive the largest blade you’ve ever seen into his side. 

What you see next makes you just have enough time to jump into your locker before you freeze in your tracks. 

Strange wiring snakes up and around him, placing him in a cage made of the building itself. 

Thankfully, the man with the blade doesn’t look in your locker, and leaves Steve alone in this strange, brand new cage. 

You approach him slowly, not even sure if you can help as you reach for him past the barbs. 

You pull him out with a huff as he goes weightless into you, shooting you a delirious smile. 

“Hey handsome,” he whispers, leaning into you as you patched his side. 

It earns a kiss and a smirk as you help him to the next generator. 

You’re not sure who else got out, or got put in those strange boxes, but you leave hand in hand. 

And that’s all you can ask. 

[cumbermovels]

Chaos within the Killer camp

Hi !!, I have been very lucky to find your DBD content and although it is for now the only thing I have read, I can surely say that I love it! and wanted to place an order.

Headcanons of the Assassins with an S / o that is a little sunny with them at all times but your companions hate you and make fun of you so you run to the Assassin camp to feel better with your loved ones.

You can put the characters that you think are best suited to this, I give you freedom to choose.

I understand if you can't do it but anyway, thank you so much for everything you bring us! 💖

(My English is not good and I am very sorry for that.).

Hey there~! Your English is fine, I got the gist of what you wanted to say! I know you’re probably asking for longer HCs for some of the Killers, and separately, but I had a bit of a different idea on how to approach this, so I hope you like this! <3

---

It wasn’t your fault that you were trying your hardest to be positive, or that you weren’t necessarily being affected by the darkening or fear that most of the survivors were going through.

Why should you bother wasting every second of your life - Or whatever there was that remained of it - Thinking up a shit tone of strategies to counter killers, get better at fixing generators and finding the hatch, when you could chat about your passions, hobbies, friends, families and other cool stuff?

Like how Kate loves to play the guitar! Or... How many of them have pets! Or Yui’s racing and motorbike passion! Claudette’s interest in botany. Everyone was so unique in their own way, why not take pride in that!

Unfortunately, your fellow Survivors weren’t leaning your way, so you often found yourself wandering around the foggy forest on your own - You were never afraid of getting lost, after all, you never needed food or water, and somehow, you always ended up back at the Survivor camp, even if you only walked straight ahead.

This time, though, things went different - Instead of arriving back at your designated camp - The Killer Camp was painted out before your very eyes.

You couldn’t help but stand there, rooted to the spot, with eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape from the shock - How did this happen? Did the Entity make a mistake?

Looking like a deer in the headlights, you just stood there, staring blankly, while all the Killers turned around to stare back at you uncomfortably.

Thankfully, the Entity made it so that no altercation can happen in between trials, so at least you were safe.

“Yo, toots, watcha standin’ there for? Come over. We were just gossipin’ ‘bout ya normies!” Ghostie was the first to let out a dark cackle and wave his hand, calling you over, where he was standing in between Michael Myers and The Legion.

You were more than happy to oblige, and with a wide grin, you immediately scuttered over and sat on the log next to him.

Susie was the first one to greet you properly, and started playing and braiding your head, while Ghostface started talking about horror movies and whatever crimes he committed in the real life.

Myers, though silent, didn’t bother budging from his spot, but it was kinda obvious he was getting annoyed with the young ones’ obnoxiousness.

Freddy was letting out low, menacing evil-laughs, but they went completely unnoticed, especially after he earned a hit to the back of his head from Trickster’s bat, before the K-pop singer scooted over and plopped down on a log opposite of them, smirking and shifting the conversation towards music and how beautiful the screams of his victims’ agony were, especially synthetized into his songs.

The rest of the Legion members joined in the conversation, behaving like normal young adults do, and gossiping here and there about random shit from their neighbourhood and all the drama they went through.

Adiris was keeping her distance, not wanting to disturb anyone with her rotting, pusing stench, but at least the censer smell was offering a soothing aroma for everyone. 

Hillbilly and Bubba were shying away from the crown, and Charlotte, Sally and Amanda were desperately fighting against the Doctor and the Clown so they wouldn’t dare try to harm a Survivor outside of a trial.

Which made Anna come over and bring you into a bone-crushing hug, protectively swinging you in her arms and humming a sweet lullaby, showing that she was taking care of you now.

 Rin finally got the courage to come over, and though she wasn’t able to speak much, she appreciated having her hair played with, and if her ancestor, the fierce Kazan, dared approach you, she’d hiss at him and get in a fighting stance, katana out and ready to fight - Thankfully, he seemed to get the idea and he’d back off, happy to let his young descendant do her thing.

Pyramid Head would take out his sword and plant it as a shield in front of you, realising your innocence and how you didn’t deserve to be Executed, as you’ve never committed any sins worth of punishing, so whenever the Cenobite was attempting to steal you away, he’d get destroyed immediately.

Carmina, timidly, would come over and let out soft craw-like sounds, blushing sweetly as you’d pet her head and smile at her so nicely, calling her beautiful and what not.

Sadako would play tricks on you and try to cause some minor harm like tugging on your hair or pushing you around, but Wesker would stop her, as he was far too interested in flirting with you - After all, there weren’t many people to flirt with, in the Killer Camp, after all.

Nemesis was trying desperately to infect you, while Caleb would use his slingshot to counter him, and Talbot would continue fighting himself against even thinking about using you as a Blight Test Subject, considering how wrong all the other subjects went.

In the end, Lisa and Evan were the ones to walk you back to your Camp, and Philip would pat your head and offer a small smile as a farewell wish.

[airbendertendou]

lonely heart ♡ danny johnson

soulmate au where the first time you have skin to skin contact, your body glows & is stamped w their handprint - it looks like a birthmark.

cw ; typical dbd warnings [blood n gore] ; reader offers ghostie a nude pic in exchange for freedom ; might b ooc but idc <3 ; how danny looks is up to you!

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

——♡——

The heat of the campfire brushes against your face, warming your skin just enough to forget the biting wind. Nancy is beside you, falling asleep where she sits, nodding her head forward before she snaps out of it. Across the fire, Feng is chatting idly with Dwight and Steve, Leon chiming in when he felt like it. 

The bench-like-log you’re sitting on shifts as Nea takes a seat, letting out a huff as she settles. “It’s been quiet recently,” she says, “too quiet if you ask me.”

“I’m a little wary,” you agree. Your eyes scope the woods surrounding the survivors as if someone is going to pop out any second. They wouldn’t, though — the killers kept away from the light of the fire and never wandered any closer than they were allowed. “I wonder if something’s happened.”

Nea rolls her eyes, “we wouldn’t be so lucky.” 

You grin at her pessimism, shoving her lightly with your left shoulder. Nea snickers as Nancy jumps awake once more, jolting in her sleep before yawning. A faded, gray fog settles over the camp and with it, five more survivors make their way around the campfire. You know what that means — a new trial is bound to start at any second.

Readying yourself, your muscles tense and your heart rate picks up, preparing to sprint when the time comes. A darkened, indigo-tinted fog wraps around you — it’s cold and loud as it grasps you from the campfire. You blink and then you’re in Haddonfield. 

Taking in a deep breath, you shuffle quickly to the nearest generator. Feng smiles as she passes by you stealthily, clicking her flashlight at you a few times. The area is terrifyingly quiet — it must mean your killer this round is a watcher. You puff up your cheeks as you mis-wire something, moving away from the generator that’s popped.

A scream echoes in the distance — it sounds too close, so you take off.

Momentarily, you hide in a dusty bedroom. You peek from the walls, not spotting anyone other than the back of Leon’s bulletproof vest. Another look from the room — another scream hits the air. 

Finding another generator was easy enough, but trying to stay hidden was a little more difficult. Your fingers curl and tug on wires, the smell of oil and burning wires hitting you the more you twiddle with them. Claudette hovers beside you, checking to see if you need any healing. Deeming you healthy, she flops to the other side of the generator.

“It’s Ghostface,” she breathes. Looking over her shoulder warily, she gulps as she looks back to you. “Already got Feng and Dwight. Only one gen’s done ; I’ve been hooked.”

You pause your wiring, confusion building up in you. “I haven’t even seen him yet.”

Claudette pauses too, looking over you with a furrowed eyebrow. “If we don’t make it, then win for us. Yeah?”

The generator pops with completion, lighting up for a second and exposing your location. You take off in the opposite direction Claudette did, hopping through a window and out through the backdoor. A flash of black catches your eye — your killer has finally shown himself.

You decide to buy everyone else some time. Hopefully, with a little distraction, a few more generator’s could be fixed.

Sneaking behind him, you let out a small “psst!” and wait for his attention to fall on you. He whips around, white mask greeting you. Walking towards a closet, you point to it a few times. Ghostface looks from the closet, to you, and back again. You wiggle your hand, insisting, “someone’s in there!”

Curiously, the closet door creaks open and Ghostface sees it’s empty. He turns to face you slowly and you’re already holding back giggles. A chase is pursued — something you struggle to do with all of your laughter. He swings his knife haphazardly, not really aiming at you, but not allowing you to get away with your joke either.

“Heheh—ah!” After a successful swing, a cut slashes across your arm. Blood seeps from it as you fall to the ground, laughter still spilling from your lips as you roll around. Ghostface shakes his head down at you — as if he’s disappointed in your joke — before he saunters off to find his next victim. You frown as your laughter comes to a stop, “well, now what?”

Another generator pops and you think this is it. We’re so close to going home — well, what you call home now. Letting out a sigh, you sit up and wrap your new cut with a bandage. You hear a squeal, then a scream. Seems our Ghostie is agitated now ; ready to get the trial over with. 

Chills flow up your spine, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead as the feeling of being watched overpowers you. That can’t be good. You stiffen, looking through the corner of your eyes without turning your head. Hopefully, you’ll see him with your peripheral vision if he’s near. Otherwise— you didn’t want to think of the other option.

Sneakily, you tip-toe into a nearby house, hoping to wait out the feeling. But, you know you won’t. One thing about Ghostface is once his eyes are set on you, you’re not escaping. A noise catches your attention in the silence — the sound of a latch unlocking. 

The hatch — you must be the only one left. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you creep along the street, keeping an eye out for the hatch. You see it — it’s right in your sights and your heart rate picks up. Shaky breaths escape your parted lips as you glance around the empty street. Coast is clear — time to make a run for it.

Until a white mask phases in out of nowhere, directly on the other side of the hatch.

“Oh, come on,” you whine. Ghostface tilts his head at you, waving his knife teasingly. Your arm stings with the shine of it, bandage now being colored a deep red. “I’m so close to ending this!” He continues to stare your way silently. “Don’t you think this is a little unfair?”

“That’s the game, doll.” You’ve never heard him speak before now. A static-y, modulated voice isn’t what you expect to hear. He creeps closer, no longer directly across from you. “That’s what makes this fun.”

You purse your lips, fingers knotting together at the edge of your edge. “Okay, how about this? You let me take hatch, and I’ll let you take a shirtless picture of me. My face isn’t allowed to be in it, though!”

Ghostface bounced where he stood, an excited giggle echoing in his mask as he immediately agreed. Puffing up your cheeks, you let out a breath before nodding to yourself in encouragement. A polaroid camera has replaced the blood-soaked knife in his hand — even with the weapon gone from sight, dread flushes through you.

“Okay,” you say to yourself, “this is no big deal.”

Without another thought, your fingers clench the end of your shirt and raise it to cover your face. Your skin prickles with the wind, goosebumps raising at the new sensation. With bated breath, you wait to hear the shutter go off — a click, another giggle, the hatch closing ; anything. All that’s there is silence.

And then a leather glove is wrapped around your wrist.

Jumping at the sudden touch, your shirt falls back into place as you take a step back. Only a sliver of skin is free from the glove — just enough for his skin to brush against yours.

A golden sheen takes over you, settling where your bodies meet. In a panic induced state, you’re pushed to the ground as Ghostface hovers over top of you. Shaky, shallow breaths hit his mask as his camera is settled to the right of your head. Slowly, he peels a glove off and reaches for you.

Where his now bare hand meets, a light follows. Right on your wrist, the shape of his fingers is imprinted forever, as if it were a birthmark you were born with. It was supposed to be a myth — a tale shared between hopeless romantic’s. Soulmates weren’t supposed to actually exist.

Except, yours apparently did. In a realm you couldn’t escape ; killing you and your fellow survivors on a continuous loop. You were stuck there — stuck with a murderer as your soulmate until forevermore. 

Ruffled hair is exposed to the wind as Ghostface unmasks himself, his pupils practically hearts as he stares down at you. His eyes search your face, never settling on one particular spot as he drinks you in entirely. You feel as he lets out a breath ; feel his shoulders sag with some kind of relief as he grabs one of your hands. He leads it to his face and lets out another sigh when his skin glows, the shape of your hand left on the left side of his face.

“Mine,” his voice is soft. You can’t stop looking at him — can’t stop staring at your hand that’s been imprinted onto his cheek. “You’re all mine. Made just for me.”

You can’t tell if the feeling swelling inside of you is dread or excitement. But, you let him pull you closer anyways ; allow him to hug you as he pleases. This could come in handy, after all. Maybe.

——♡—— lets ignore that valentines day is over already teehee <3 i hope my version of ghostie is okay, idk how well i write him </3 airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[fandom-go-round]

May I request fem reader with a high pain tolerence for trickster and doctor? Like she can get hooked, step into a trap, and injured and she doesn’t make a noise. She just like oh maybe the other survivors are mean to her and they stand up for her? Fluff pls

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Murder, Stalking, Pre-Relationships, Implied Future Relationships

The Trickster:

You’re a frustrating survivor for the Trickster to deal with. He loves hunting you, you’re clever and always keep him on his toes. The issue is you don’t like to make music with him; no screams, no whimpers, nothing. He’s made it his personal mission to get you to cry out and while he’s not getting closer per say, he is discovering other noises.

You can’t stop from breathing hard, from panting and grunting around the map as you move pallets and sneak around corners. Ji-Woon’s ears become trained to detect your sounds, honing in on where you might be. That’s how he follows you, watching as one of the other survivors pushes you into a trap. You don’t make a sound, you never do, but the look of betrayal speaks to another kind of pain.

He doesn’t step in because he cares about you. Trickster refuses to even entertain the thought. It’s easier to hunt the others down when you’re trapped, leaving you for last because you’re the hardest to catch, the most satisfying to deal with. If you notice the change in other trails you don’t acknowledge in any way; his sights are always set on your now, for better or worse.

The Doctor:

Herman thinks it’s a bit disappointing you don’t make any noise but doesn’t hold it against you. Some of the others are extra loud and it makes sense that you’re here to balance them out; the Entity wants a fair game after all. He doesn’t signal you out on purpose in the beginning; he has to think of a different strategy to hunt you because you’re harder to find.

You’re not as fast of a runner, however, so it’s easy for him to catch you when one of your team members slams a pallet on your head. You don’t say anything but crumple to the ground in a silent heap. The Doctor just laughs, deep and foreboding before stepping over your body and going after the other person. It takes you a little to get your bearings again and Herman is long gone, off on another hunt.

He gets in the habit of leaving for you last, partly because he hates how the others treat you but also because its more fun. You’re a break from the monotony of trials and he wants to savor every moment with you. It’s easy for Herman to acknowledge his feelings for you, now the only trick is to get you to notice him in that way…

[angelharness]

I hope you dont mind me writing more of this timeline? Scenario? I have a few more ideas for this version of the reader and ghostface, not all in chronological order, though i’d place this one after my first writing. If there’s interest in this series I’d love to expand on it

These and Other Lucky Witnesses 

WARNINGS: off-screen murder, still fairly descriptive

DANNY “JED OLSEN” JOHNSON / THE GHOSTFACE

You didn’t expect anything for your anniversary. Both of you worked, had to, to consistently scrape by. Danny picked up every project he could, whether or not it was manageable with his already swamped wordload. You were thinking of taking on another job, since your current one was so resistant to giving you more hours. In short, the two of you had loaded plates and waning time together, even one year into living with each other.

Even knowing this, there’s a deep disappointment as you whittle away at your last hour of work. 

The holidays mean an influx of customers at work in your tailor shop. Velvet dresses brimming with foamy lace, pristine suit jackets, matching dress pants, carefully embroidered button ups, all divided cleanly and safely in sheets of plastic on color coded hangers. No one ever picks up their items on time; instead, they love to wait until the last half hour before closing to all rush over and come stampeding in like loose cattle, typically requiring you to stay open an extra twenty or so excruciating minutes. 

Today, that works in Danny’s favor.

He had been stressing. He hadn’t planned on taking on another victim this week—it was shaping up to be a slow one, and he was very much ok with that. Nearly getting unmasked in a skirmish a month ago had sent him into a period of hiding and reminded him of his humanity. It was weird to say he was rattled by the experience. That is all to say the night was meant to be uneventful. Money was tight, as it always seems to be around the holidays, in time for the blinking assault of green and red lights and the spray of white paint in shop windows to imitate a snowy landscape. 

The two of you had agreed you wouldn’t be able to do anything particularly fancy today, no extravagant gifts or pricey restaurant trips. He had been saving, even still, with the hopes of buying you something. He had never been great with picking out gifts, given that he had never been on the receiving end, either, so he had struggled to find something meaningful. Not to mention, a medical bill all over a few stitches had eaten through his last couple of paychecks (only cementing the idea to him that he ought to learn how to close up a wound on his own). 

A nice dinner at home is planned for the evening. It won’t be anything spectacular, he reminds himself, but he’s insistent to show that he’s remembered. He’s been so caught up in his other identity, only recently breaking from this character to wonder if he’d been neglecting you. Danny knows he’s too involved in orchestrating the script of Ghostface, it’s an all consuming aspect of his person, he’d never be able to part from the persona he’s drained so much thought into—there’d been incredible hesitation from the get go when he met you and things advanced further than expected. Inevitably, between you and the Ghostface, one would end up untended to, and your recent sourness suggests that has been you.

That’s why this display seems too insultingly minor. A nice dinner and time spent with a loved partner should communicate appreciation, but Danny was never great at operating interpersonal relationships. It would be naive to say they scared him, rather it’s like handling an exotic animal. That’s his problem—Danny performs, directs, coordinates, he doesn’t truly live, does he? Everything is a value he wants precedence over. He earns a look from a passerby when he scoffs out loud. 

He’s off early, headed to the grocery store, admittedly bitter thinking about the trek back on foot, but there’s a delightful little change in plans when he sees her.

Gold, curled hair, with gleaming green eyes and cakey foundation that flakes at her deep smile lines. She’s a beautiful woman, no doubt about it, but his attention is fixated on the hand clutching her purse; some forgettable designer brand, presumably, but he looks further at a finger wearing a glittering ring (he didn’t think or care to check if it was her ring finger, his mind was set.) It’s gorgeous, a gentle gold that’s not overwhelmingly yellow—rosey is the word—curling delicately around a gleaming gem. It’s undeniably opal, with how the light on it shifts in a kaleidoscope of colors, not diamond, but he thinks he prefers it. Everyone does diamond, anyways. His mind is made in that moment. 

The lady nearly shoves past him, too entrenched in a loud conversation with the man next to her, decidedly not a partner, given the many feet of space between them. Danny stops for only a second, not letting himself stare, but he feels his heart thunder.

He thinks. But not for too long. He listens to their voices fade until they’re unintelligible before he stops again, thinks again, purses his lips and pretends to pat desperately at his pockets, making a show of sighing and throwing his head back, frustrated, before turning on his heel and starting down the sidewalk in the direction the two had disappeared. There had not been anyone else around, something he had eventually begun to note subconsciously whenever in public, but he’s practiced the display so much it was almost subconscious itself. 

She never thinks to look back. Not once. Not after parting with her friend, not after taking a shortcut down a considerably darker street, slipping only infrequently under the weak shower of light from buzzing street lamps. It’s too perfect, he almost wonders if he’s being led into some elaborate trap. In hindsight, it would have been smart to keep track of the street names, but he’s just a little clumsy tonight.

He must practically be stepping on her heels when she finally tenses and flips around, eyes already wide, a misty gray in the dark gradient of the night. So wide. This might be the only instance where he’ll remember the color of a victim’s eyes. She goes for her pocket knife, only, at most, the size of her hand outstretched. He goes for his own knife. 

He didn’t think about the clean up that would follow, or about the time. Fuck, fuck, he wants to kick himself, get a good, solid punch in there that would make him stagger back. He has to hope the ring will fit you as he tries to screw it back and forth, inching it off her finger. In increasing desperation, he’s attempting to wrench it off, something crunching. If he waits too long, the joints will go rigid and he might then have to saw the digit off entirely, and it wouldn’t be too pleasant of a gift if the ring came with a knifed finger attached. He wished he would’ve just reverted to his high school ways of petty robbery, but his face is bare to the pungent, stinging night, no usual robes to conceal himself. 

That’s not what the Ghostface does, anyways—theft at knifepoint. The papers would mischaracterize him after all the careful, deliberate consideration gone into his depiction, both on Ghostface’s and Danny’s parts; for Ghostface, the victims, chosen not irregularly on a whim (randomly, to any outsider) with no connections or immediately discernible motives. He loves to make them really think, so much of the threat is built in the wildly intense imagination of the public. The playfulness and the brazenness and how they intersect in shameless pictures, taunting notes and evidence left purposely. For the latter, nights of writing and rewriting paragraphs, descriptions, careful word choice to hammer in the threat that the next victim could be anyone, could be the reader. The Ghostface never has to kill, he wants to and does so without reason, that’s what makes him so unnerving, Danny thinks, scowling to himself. He finally twists the glimmering ring free from her limp finger, almost taking the skin with it as he digs his fingernails angrily beneath the band. He lets himself laugh once in triumph, a single, full exhale like he’d been struck in the sternum.

His work gets sloppy when he gets frustrated. He reminds himself of this as he turns the ring over in his palm, finally free. He thinks about your delighted face and his expression finally softens. 

Danny massages his forehead and the lines that are certain to form there with all his grimacing and scowling. How late is it? He looks up to the darkening sky like the moon itself will reveal the time engraved onto its surface. This might be the first time he’s killed in plainclothes. He thinks he should remember something like that, but all the bodies, different as they were, mold together in his memory. Every face, the ones he can visualize, overlay each other. There won’t be a fancy dinner for the two of you tonight, but he’s decided this is much better.

He lifts his arm just to watch the blood on his hands travel down his wrist and then down his forearm, two thin, winding snakes. 

He could risk rushing home and pray to every God from every doctrine that you’re not there yet, or wait out the night and return home late, praying, then, that you’re deep in sleep. It’s your anniversary, though—he imagines he could live with you believing he’s cheating on you over you finding out, but he must be going soft, because the image of you waiting all evening, alone, perking up at every noise outside at the possibility it’s him at the door, it makes him feel like someone has his guts in a fist. Plus, the Ghostafce is out and about, it’d be stupid to leave you on your lonesome. 

You have no idea what he does for you.

He stands outside your house, streaked with browning stripes of blood, disheveled, empty-eyed, probably appearing like an intruder. He still has no idea what hour of night it is, but the lights in the house are off, and for once he is unsettled by the sight of it, a cold dread that spider webs under his skin, drastically unlike the flush of relief as he might trudge up the same pathway after a cruelly long day of work.

Finally he forces himself up the steps of the porch and snags his key from his pocket (and now there’s blood on it, too), essentially slamming it into the lock and twisting it open while he clutches his bloody shoes by the heels in the other hand. He careens inside, pulled along by the tilting weight of his own body, finding himself hoping that the neighbors assume him to just be deeply, profoundly drunk should they be watching at this time of night. He slams the door and the house shudders with it then moans in relief as it settles. Fuck, darling, I’m so sorry if I kept you waiting, I actually, really fought tooth and nail to get you this gift. Haha. Like it was the last one, some other guy had the same idea, Christ, we got in a scuffle and nearly got kicked out. Ah, my nose hurts, is it bleeding? I didn’t notice. He’s vomiting words in his head louder than the voice that berates himself for his carelessness (he might even be saying these things aloud, expecting you to be there, horrified). You’re not there. He should be unimaginably relieved, but his stomach only tightens and he can feel the burn of bile stirring at the bottom of his throat. 

Danny can’t bring himself to turn on the light, to douse himself in sudden vision and see the red that he nonetheless feels wet on his chest. He’d never been too disturbed by the sight before, or even the tangy scent that seems so oppressively pungent now, but at the moment he just doesn’t want to think. He really does start to feel like an intruder. He shoves the door closed with his elbow (had he touched the knob with his hands when he opened it?) suddenly silencing the whisper of crickets humming behind him.

Finally his eyes fly to the clock on the oven, artificial red painting out the numbers 6:04. You get off at 6:30, and usually arrive home fourteen after. Fuck. This time he does kick, his target the gray loveseat in the living room. Carefully, he turns on the light with the back of his left hand, the one kindly less bloody.

In an instant he’s ripping a pan out from the kitchen cabinets and tossing in a cup or more of water, setting it to boil. The ring will go in there—for his poor work shoes, though, he’d just gotten them, and they’re genuine leather. They’re not fancy by any extent, but comfortable, and again, a pretty, toffee-colored leather. He throws them in a wash bin for now. He peels off his uncomfortably wet socks, stained from the night and damp from the lawn. Gross, whatever, he can make himself part with those. He tries to tell himself the same for his shirt as he rips down the buttons (he’s got a closet with nearly a dozen more indistinguishable dress shirts, bought in bulk from an acquaintance’s department store). Necessary sacrifice, his internal voice barks, ever cold.

His eyes never leave the clock, and then when they do, the harsh lines of the digital numbers are seared into his eyes like the blackened letters of a branding iron, and are just as blistering. 

It’s 6:13, as he lets the ring soak in a bowl of steaming water, standing to the side, using a toothpick to carefully pick the blood out from under his fingernails. 6:14. The minute had gone by in the length of a second. There’s no candle in the world strong enough to mask the searing smell of bleach-based cleaning products, but he still steals one of yours to light. At 6:22 he nearly breaks down crying. Five minutes are spent glaring at his reflection, looking for traces of blood, staring so long and without blinking that he begins to see red where there is none. 6:30, he breaks down, but into disbelieving laughter.

It’s past seven when you do get off, bursting out of the tailors shop like a bird trapped indoors, tugging on your jacket and feeling for your keys as you jog around the building to the side parking lot, your car the only one left. The pulsing lights of neon shop lights are your personal holiday display, speckled and frosty as they’re reflected on the sidewalk glossy with rain. Your breaths are accentuated in white foam, dissolving quickly into the oppressive air of winter nighttime. You scan the parking lot to confirm it is as vacant as it looked upon first glance. You find yourself staring out into the darkness just outside the chain link fence enclosing the parking lot, picking up tens of silhouettes in the dark treelines. 

You hurry into the driver's seat, key in the ignition immediately, no idling like you may have earlier this year. Danny has never been especially worried about the killer ever-present in the headlines, never a degree that seemed appropriate. You’d snapped at him once about a little joking comment and he’d been quick to protest that humor is how he tends to deal with tension, but you still worry he doesn’t take it all entirely seriously. You’ve been begging him for what must be a week by now to stop walking home. There’s only one car between the two of you, and you’re the one to end up with it most days; Danny’s work is closer to your shared home and in a more well-lit, populated part of town, in between an intersection of office buildings and cafes and sleek looking restaurants. Your job at the tailors is nearing the very outskirts of the town, where the roads broaden, much less busy as they wind through collections of strip malls and perpetually open gas stations. The walk back home, on foot, would be half an hour with few witnesses, so therefore you end up with car privileges most shifts.

The car rattles to life. You go to turn the knob for the headlights, watching out the front windshield, imagining he’ll be there in the beams of light when they blink awake.

You and Danny both have knives. A variety. He jokes he’ll never need to use his, but brings one whenever leaving the house, as is the same for you (in addition to the pepper spray he’s persistent you keep on your person). Your hand crawls towards your jacket pocket, feeling the concealed shape of it to confirm its presence. The Ghostface isn’t standing opposite of you when the headlights do power to life, but you don’t waste any more time before you reel out of your parking spot and onto the main road. 

The drive home doesn’t seem to happen at all, glides by mechanically until you’re stepping out of the car and onto pavement and staring at your own house. You blink, eyes all smudgy from viewing stop lights from a foggy windshield. It only really takes the walk up to the door to reawaken all your muscles and remind yourself you're alive, thankfully, pushing open the door just as you realize the doorknob is slightly dewy, and unlocked. 

The warmth of your kitchen is unearthly, or heavenly is the right word. You smell something heavy and hearty, intersected by the less pleasant stench of an assemblage of cleaning products (a smell so progressively common in your household your only hope is you’ll become used to it). 

Danny appears from the hallway, or had been standing there already, and smiles tiredly. Poor thing. You can only imagine he’s worked himself to the bone, maybe with you on his mind. He always tells you how you’re his driving motivation, that he has to remind himself of you when work is additionally cruel. 

You’ve yet to say a word to each other, something not entirely necessary; his arms are around you already, drawing you in tight. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” you huff, but he shakes his head quite intently.

“No worries, not a single one,” he replies honestly, finally pulling away to meet you face to face. You had presumed he was going to heckle you a good deal for being late, just given the tension around the city and recent crime, but it never comes up. He only rubs the sides of your arms with a twitching smile.

Danny steps back fully, but still guides you, ringing you in from the entryway over to the kitchen. 

“No fancy dinner, like we agreed,” he starts, obviously alluding to something that has you a little worried—not unpleasantly, really, but a tight feeling in your side that is likely guilt. He’s the sort of guy to say he won’t get you anything but go ahead and do so anyways; a part of you knew you weren’t gonna shake that from him this year, but with money a concern, you had hoped he would swallow his pride and resist. 

“I got you something else, though,” Danny continues, smiling more genuinely, nearly relieved. He retrieves a brown satin pouch from the dinner table, something only the length of his palm. 

He instructs you to extend your arm out so he can place the pouch in your hands, and now that almost wince of a smile is genuine. 

“I really work so hard for you,” he laughs, but cuts himself off quite suddenly. Something like shame twists at his expression. “I don’t want you to feel guilty, though, no—I’ve just been saving up for a little something.” 

The smile is wider, now with teeth.

“Jed,” you say, low. He shakes his head, dismissing you before you can object.

“I really do love you.”

It’s genuine when he says this, but also not his fault that you always react perfectly. He really is so fantastic as a director, and you as the set piece. 

Dinner might have to wait.

[diejager]

Can u do pyramid head fucking n overstimulating reader in a headlock?

Like his arms are fucking massive so imagine how good it’d feel to have one around your throat while he absolutely rails you😭

Headlock Cw: smut, overstimulation, creampie, headlock, tell me if I missed any.

You struggled against him, nails digging into his arm forearm, wailing out in pure bliss. You jerked forward with every hard thrust of Pyramid Head’s thick cock, his bulbous head ramming against your spongy cervix. He held you still, his strong arm curving over your neck with a vice. He never faltered even as he drove in and out of you, standing still on two muscle-bound legs that you doubted would buckle under his fast and rough pace.

The veins that ran from the base, over the fat middle of his cock and to the tip felt heavenly with the slight curve upwards, rubbing your spongy walls. You rolled your hips, legs kicking wildly under you while you squirmed, crying out for him for something. You didn’t know anymore, one second you’d be craving his cock, drooling and moaning for more, and the other second, you’d beg for him to stop, plead your case from your soft and tender cunt.

Your cunt pulsed, a loud beat that echoed in your head, it throbbed with a striking warmth, almost painful but never hurting. You came one too many times, slick dripping down heavy balls and his sculpted thighs. He proudly growled in your ear, hips slapping against your ass with loud, wet sounds. He revelled in your cries and mewls, your begging only egged him on to fuck you.

“Please! T-too much!”

He loved the sound of your voice, the high squeaks and your broken voice. You were his drug, something he couldn’t get enough of. It left him wanting and wanting, there was always more he wanted to have. The difference between you both was something he salivated at, that made his cock grow hard and leaky, your soft and round limbs, your shorter stature and your weaker strength. It played on his instincts, it attracted him to the more vulnerable.

His chest rumbled with a soothing growl, still thrusting with an erratic pace and a throbbing cock. He breathed out in short puffs, arm tightening around you as fast as your walls tightened around him, milking him for all his worth for a third time. His balls contracted, his body shaking as he came, slamming into you even as his tip spurted cum, painting your warm walls white with monstrous cum.

You shook, body trembling in his arms, gasping for air as you rode your nth climax, loosing count of the number of times Pyramid Head made you come on his fingers, his tongue and his cock. You couldn’t feel your legs, the loud beat in your ears deafening you to the world and you monstrous lover.

“Are- are we done?”

[laika-honey]

apparently leaving the television on for your pets makes them fell less alone or anxious so here’s this sillly scenario

[hybristophile-bitch]

Crossover entre Dbd e o mundo de The Joy of Living (meu mangá) ☺️

Ps: tem um terceiro crossover surpresa na parte 2 👀

[queendeeshorrorimagines]

Smutty Valentines: Day Twelve

Day twelve: Makeup Sex

Dbd! Ghostface x reader

Fem! Reader

Warnings: slight angst in the beginning, pre fog Jed Olsen, late 80s to early 90s Florida Era setting, reader has suspicions of him being the Roseville killer, mentions of cheating (not actually cheating), readers job is a dj while going through college. Piv sex, kinda toxic relationship, unprotected sex

Lying on your shared bed, you listened to the newest mix tape you made during your off time as a freelance dj. The upbeat sounds of the latest Florida Break mix did nothing to help you through how upset you were at your boyfriend.

You love your boyfriend Jed but lately he's been ditching dates with you, claiming that his newspaper job is to blame. What Jed didn't realize was that you didn't see his car parked at his job when he claimed he was at work the other day.

Thoughts flooded your mind, unsure if it was the florida heat affecting you or your nerves running into overdrive. Between the news spreading like wildfire about the Roseville killer and your own concerns about the state of your relationship, you're feeling a bit down moodwise.

The front door to your shared apartment moved slightly as the front door was unlocked. Jed looked rather exhausted as he drops his work folders onto the small table before grabbing him some water to drink. Sliding into the covers, you hoped he thinks you fell asleep while listening to music.

You didn't want to continue the argument that the both of you had before he went to work this morning and you went to class. As much as you love Jed, you also know that he can be hard to love and be with. He's an egotistical asshole, occasionally being the man you fell in love with.

"Doll, I know you're awake, you're shitty at luing."

You feel him enter the bed next to you. His left hand gently caresses your soft cheek while his right arm pulled your body closer to his. Giving up the facade, you opened your eyes to see his tired ones.

"I'm sorry that I have been a shitty boyfriend to you. The whole Roseville killer is keeping me tied at the office."

His lips kissed down the sensitive flesh of your neck as you let out a soft moan for him. Although you didn't believe his beautiful lies, you couldn't help but to melt to his warm touch. Your hands ran through his dark locks as he kissed down your jawline, towards your neck.

It was as if you were a fly trapped in Jed's web of lies and deceit. You know it's wrong but it gives you a thrill that no drug or alchohol can ever satisfy. His hands were quick with undressing you, his calloused hands ghosted over your soft skin.

The haziness of the lust building from Jed's touch trumped any common sense thoughts about ending the relationship. Your hands instinctively started stripping his clothes as he left hickies from your neck down to your breasts.

You were lost in your lust to noticed that the both of you were nude. Jed teased your slit with the tip of his cock before he entered you. A loud groan left your lips as you felt his member stretched your walls. After the amount of times the both of you had fucked, you still loved how he can still stretched your walls deliciously.

His thrusts picked up from somewhat slow and sensual to borderline animalistic as he used the sounds you make to thrust faster. His soft groans filled your ears as his hands moved your legs up, putting then around his shoulders. The new position made him hit your gspot immediately.

The familiar coil of arousal bubbles up deep inside you as the sounds of both of your moans filled the humid room. His deep breaths against you sweat claded skin, causing goosebumps to form on your arms.

Between the way Jed pistons himself into you and the sounds of pleasure filling your ears, you came around his cock. He kept on thrusting animalistically, chasing his own climax as he feels your over stimulated form shake underneath him.He came inside you shortly afterwards, collapsing over your body.

"Do you forgive me, doll?"

You noded slightly in-between heavy breaths. You relaxed your body as he pulled out of you, letting your legs stretch back onto your shared bed. Just like the last time the both of you had makeup sex, you accepted Jed's apology- cementing yourself into the same cycle you both loved and loathed.