#the price of flesh x gender neutral reader

[gvtted-ratz]

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THOMAS

Tom/Thomas x Hacker!GN!Reader

Last Edited: 11/07/2024

TW: mocking, drugging, imprisonment, kidnapping, illegal auctioning, human trafficking

Requested: No.

Word Count: 3,721

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes from gvtted-ratz (writer/creator): Tom, our beloved. There isn’t much, if any, info on him, so we did our best. If you don’t enjoy the headcanons we’ve established here, we don’t mind you clicking off the fic. We do suggest looking up Nazca and its culture. It was pretty interesting to read about.

Notes from @rppik (editor/co-writer): a quote from when I was editing: “Rat, you self-indulgent meta-ass whore, PLEASE”

“I assume this is everything?” You can hear Blue and Red getting shifty at your words. They, as well as you, have been waiting for the introduction to cease to start your biddings.

“That it is, yes! Would my esteemed customers like to let this lowly auctioneer know what goods you wish to purchase?”

Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Who will you be bidding on to take with you?

》YOU HAVE SELECTED THOMAS 《

“Blue window? Which do you wish to take with you? I’ll make sure to have it all written down!” The Auctioneer asks, motioning towards a metal door. Behind it, you’re sure there’s someone there to take notes of what items are purchased, they will be shipped to, as well as who wasn’t bought.

“Oh! I’d love to have that Thomas boy! I’ll do 140 for him! And perhaps Mason for 250?” Blue’s window lights up. She sounds excited to go first with her purchases. Then again, she always complained when she didn’t get to go before everyone else; better she goes now than later.

“Very well. How about the red window? Whom will you be taking?” The Auctioneer's  facial expression is unable to be seen behind her bandage-like mask, though the way she talks with such joy only highlights how well she is at her job.

“200 on Machete, 340 each for the Goffard boys,” Red says, window lighting up.

“What the fuck! Fuck you!” Derek says, Matt looking just as livid as his brother. Machete doesn’t look to be phased at being chosen by Red; his face stays calm despite this very unlucky situation he’s found himself in.

Those that haven’t been chosen appear to be less tense, relieved to not be bought. On the other hand, of Blue’s selected prizes, Mason looks ready to kill; his eyes looking this way and that, body tensed like a large predator ready to pounce. Tom's widened eyes, however, are shiny with fearful, unshed tears.

It appears Blue wants to have someone she can “put in their place” while also having somewhat of an obedient mutt.

“Green window? Would you kindly tell this lowly Auctioneer your choice?”

“150 for Tom,” your warbled voice makes said man flinch at your words. You can see his clasped hands shaking.

“What! But, Green! I want him,” Blue whines, making a distorted sigh spill from your lips. A few of the products’ eyes have that “oh God, now what” look to them. “200!”

“Nearing your budget. 300,” you retort, no hesitation in your tone. You hear a few huffs from her window, the blue glow only highlighting how spoiled she acts despite her age.

“Fine! I’ll take that dirty cop for 150 then!” You can mentally hear the ‘humph!’ after her words, leading to you to sigh once more. Blue is probably the Bidder you like the least, due to her spoiled tone paired with the inability to actually fight for items she deems worthy of her money. You already know she can’t afford the things she wants, compared to you or Red, that is. How she acts only adds fuel to that raging fire.

“‘Dirty cop!? Who the fuck do you think you are, you stupid bitch!” Said dirty cop is now making a fuss, making you smash your hand into your window to silence him. The rattling directs his gaze to your area while others try to look anywhere but.

“Auctioneer, the bidding is done. I will send you the money as agreed upon, including the extra,” you declare, the modulator only making your voice sound emotionless.

“Oh, yes! Of course! Thank you for joining us here today! As ordered, those who were not purchased will be dropped off in or near their respective towns!” A high-pitched whine rings out as a clear mist fills the room, falling from the spouts attached to its ceiling.

The Auctioneer stands away from the shackled group, seemingly watching on as they yell at everyone around them; cornered animals always tend to lash out when there’s no escape. While they proceed to collapse in heaps on the metal ground below, you, The Auctioneer, and your fellow buyers remain standing; you’re not sure if The Auctioneer has a resistance or a built-in filter to keep out the gas used to put the products to sleep. You do know that the buyers’ rooms have a separate system from the main room, holding its own spouts for the gas in case there happens to be a violent mishap.

Just as quickly as the gas started, it clears just as fast; the spouts no longer whine from releasing the unknown chemicals in the air. Dressed similarly to The Auctioneer, employees of hers enter through the only metal door leading into the room. They grab both the purchased and the unsold, hauling them out for shipment; those that have not been chosen will be carted off as The Auctioneer had stated previously, able to be bought again at a later date. Each of the merchandise will be connected to a drip, keeping them under as they’re delivered to their respective drop-off locations.

You feel a small amount of glee at seeing your chosen target being placed in a wheelchair, IV hooked into the meat of his espresso-brown arm. While he doesn’t know it, he’ll be awaiting your arrival as is per policy; there must be a positive identification of the commodity before the Auction House's job is labeled as complete, with this being a precaution in the case of the delivery being in the wrong area.

“All has been settled, yes?” The Auctioneer’s polite speech forces you to stop staring after your new companion. “Would you kindly wire your payments at this time?” Her customer-service tone hasn’t dialed down nor increased during the entirety of the show’s presentation; it simply remains as prim as possible without grating on your nerves.

“The amount should arrive shortly. Exactly as agreed upon.” You present your burner, clicking the keys to gain access to an offshore account you’ve set up prior to this visit. If one were to try tracking it, somehow getting past your secured firewalls and the encryptions you spent days installing, the trail would only lead to some sap who has a very disturbing interest in illegal images containing unsavoury depictions of people’s mutilated bodies. No skin off your back– literally or figuratively, in this case.

Your distorted-sounding words hold true, as some device beyond the metal door The Auctioneer is standing beside lets out a ding . Hearing it, she glances over at it before nodding, deeming your actions acceptable.

“Thank you, Green. I have hope from the bottom of my heart that your lovely purchase with bear the ripest of fruit for your taking!” You only give her a nod from the glass, knowing she cannot see into it unless you were to talk, forcing the light to shine on your form. You don’t bother to stay any longer, deciding to leave the little boxed room. Likewise, you’d rather not listen to any concerns nor issues the other buyers may have; such instances usually end up in heated arguments or death of said buyer, and you're not particularly interested either way.

With the door closing behind you, another figure dressed like one of the many previously seen employees steps out in front to guide you. There are no words exchanged, the only sounds you hear being that of your own footsteps, paired with your guide’s own muffled breathing through the gauzy wrappings around their head.

Nearing the end of the hallways, the guide opens the dark-wooden door before you, stepping aside to allow you to walk through. Your pace stays consistent, neither slowing nor speeding up. Brick steps turn into a worn gravel path under your shoes as you approach your vehicle. The keys are pressed into your awaiting hand by another member of staff, dressed like the others before them. The rental is easy to gain access to, the engine starting with ease now that you’ve put the key in the ignition. As you drive off, you don’t look back, looking forward to approaching your place of work. You’re sure that by the time you arrive, your chosen prize will be there waiting for you, unknowingly in his sleeping state, of course.

-------------------------------------

The black van parked in front of the dilapidated garage you call your workplace almost makes you chuckle. It’s hardly inconspicuous though the van is needed to transport goods like the one you’ve purchased; it only makes the image of a kidnapping, or even a body dumping event, brighter in your mind’s eye. Maybe if it was part of some sort of amateur fanfiction made by a sleep-deprived author, you’d have thought more about the vehicle’s design or the fact that you’re at a very odd location after visiting a human trafficking auction to purchase someone. As it were, you had better things to preoccupy your mind with.

You park the rental close to the van, exiting it to approach the back of the dark car. The back doors swing open, an employee of the auction house opening them from the inside. They gesture at the incapacitated man, allowing your hidden eyes to glance over his form.

The IV is still inserted in his median antebrachial vein, or the superficial vein of the forearm; it’s one of the most common places one inserts an IV. He’s been strapped down on a gurney, keeping him in place during the entire ride here; if he were to wake up during transportation, he wouldn’t have been able to escape with all the leather straps keeping him held down. The man hasn’t been changed out of the white tank top or blue shorts, glasses still on his face.

With a quick nod at the worker to signal your approval, they start the process of getting him prepped for you. They remove all the bonds, drip taken out afterwards, and have one of the bulkier employees carry him over their shoulder like a sack of grains.

You step to the side, allowing them to exit their van, just to lead them into the dilapidated garage. Rubbish, dust piles, as well as weeds decorate the ground before you. While there is a house attached to this abandoned hole, you don’t use it. The house has more damage to it than the garage itself, all thanks to some squatters; there may have been a few drunk, teenage party animals who pitched in too, though that remains unproven. There’s no use in trying to clean up the rest of the place, the garage being the most stable despite its looks; there’s still electricity running through the place, leading to your computer set-up, including a portable heater for when the nights get a little too chilling.

You motion towards a spot in the corner of the room with a dog bed on the floor to have some cushion against the concrete ground. A few blankets are thrown haphazardly near it, the portable heater pointing towards the corner. Along the wall, there are some old pipes, carrying water to the shower a few feet away.

To you, the place looks more like a basement than some abandoned garage, and you can’t help but think you got lucky when nabbing this place. With it purchased under one of your many aliases, the trespassing has been cut down greatly; a few shots from a hidden gun does wonders on chasing them away too.

The business-casual dressed worker sets your merchandise on the dog bed as you gesture towards said spot, being careful as to not cause any damages. Those who aren’t careful with purchased goods tend to disappear, as is stated in The Auctioneer’s policy; only the best is expected, after all.

With your new companion disposed of in his respective spot, you give the worker a dismissive wave. You don’t have to watch them leave, hearing their footsteps retreat. You approach your desk, pulling open the bottom drawer to find your desired items. Shoving aside a few snacks, you pull out a pair of handcuffs, and a chain hook connected to a heavy-duty chain; the chain gives two feet of length if used correctly. With your items acquired, you kick the drawer closed.

You approach the unconscious man, knowing he won’t be that way for long. You loop the chain around the pipe, using the hook to lock it in place. With the chain secured, you put one of the chain loops in one of the handcuffs, tightening the cuff until you can’t click the metal any farther. With everything now set up, you lock the cuff around your prize’s wrist; it isn’t tight enough to cut into the meat of his wrist, but it will cause bruising if he yanks on it.

Now that your possession is secured, you throw one of the discarded blankets over him in some semblance of care for the man. A ping from your computer notifies you of a possible correspondence. Leaving the man to continue with his rest, you instead place your focus on work. The office chair is pulled out, creaking with your weight as you plop down in it. A click of your mouse causes the multitude of monitors to light up. Your helmet provides cover from the bright lights, the tinted lens serving its purpose well.

The clacking of your keycaps fills the rotting room, replying to messages from clients about any delays or issues they may be concerned about. Other responses are to those like you, sending out warnings on which clients to avoid and what people to not try messing with when it comes to their valuable privacy. A familiar last name comes up in those encryptions, leading to you sending one to those you’ve worked with: Goffard. Auction. Bought. Both. Location Unknown . You knew the moment you heard that last name, it wouldn’t be long before there would be reports in the hidden parts of the web about it.

Father. Killings. Watch out. Another code says, the word of caution making a warbled hum leave you.

Other Buyers. Not User. Safe. That’s your last response, seemingly making the others let up. Perhaps they thought you had bought the men, but with your short messages, their worries are put at ease. You’re sure these correspondences will be sent to the men’s father, only leading him down another path, as two of his heirs are missing. That is none of your concern, however, as people like you are highly sought after. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asks for aid from one of you; he may or may not care for his sons, but he certainly will care for his business and image.

A gasp not far from you alerts you to your captive. You turn to look towards your right, hands not leaving the keyboard. Tom has huddled up close to the pipes, staring at you with wide brown eyes; his pupils seem contracted, merely pinpricks with how he shakes in terror. To see such small pupils almost makes you proud of your apparent ability to intimidate without even trying, though you usually see dilated ones for those in fear. Maybe it truly does just vary from person to person.

“Rise and shine, Sweetheart,” you adopt a mocking tone despite the modulator forcing it to sound monotone.

“How long was I..?” He asks, though it’s more hesitant than anything. You find it cute that he thinks there’ll be some sort of repercussions for possessing curiosity.

“A few hours, give or take. Nearly the entire day, maybe. Then again, it’s hard to tell considering I haven’t kept track of the time,” your insincere chagrin is coated in the surgery sweetness of falsehood; if it had been an actual treat, it would have rotted your teeth out. 

“What do you want from me?” Tom sounds a little more confident with this question; it’s not by much, if you’re being honest.

“Companionship, a pet, someone to complain to, and whatever else I want you to be,” you’re blunt with the answer, no use sugar-coating why you purchased him. “Believe it or not, Tom , it tends to get very quiet here. Unless I’m dealing with a very crass client. Then there’s screaming from them and shit-talking from me.” You put emphasis on his name, showing that you do, in fact, know it. He likely doesn’t even know the half of how much you know about him; the summary The Auctioneer gave you couldn’t cover the array of other things you’ve found out about him.

With some digging, you knew his parents came all the way from the city of Nazca, stationed on the southern coast of Peru, leaving before he was conceived. Following their trail further, you found that his parents now reside in Eatonia, Saskatchewan of Canada. Looking a bit more into Tom himself, you saw that he was born and raised there, only moving to a more university based town after his high school graduation. You did have someone take a few pictures of his dorm in your place; at first, you were unsure if Thomas practiced anything relating to Nazca culture, but the few hand-made pottery and ceramic items placed around show he still has a connection. You also spied a few small plants in his dorm, grown by his own hands, if the dates on the hand-made plant pots said anything about that; there were even care instructions next to each one.

From your own research into Nazca culture, you knew there was an emphasis placed on agriculture as well as an array of crafts like pottery, ceramics, and textiles. Even as a full-time college student pursuing media development centered around sound design, he still has time to stay connected to those before him.

“You won’t be letting me go, will you?” Tom sounds devastated at this revelation, his words rousing you from your silent recollection of your findings on him. At least he caught on quick enough without you having to spell it out for him.

“I wouldn’t buy you just to throw you out. What a waste of money,” your scoff can be heard through the helmet. He looks to be cowed at the sound, making that small bit of pride nestle close to your heart. You look back over at him, watching his shaking form. A loud sigh spills from your lips, catching his attention. “Behave and your little spot will be upgraded. I’ll even let you continue your college courses. Online, of course, and monitored carefully. I don’t need you running off the moment you think you taste freedom.”

Your words seem to be enough to comfort Tom, his eyes shining at the idea of having some semblance of normalcy despite the circumstances, seeming to recognize that this is a far better fate than he might have received otherwise as an unwilling captive.

“I’ll- I can behave! I promise I will!” His eager words make you nod.

“I’ll hold you to those words, Thomas. Remember, I have eyes and ears everywhere . So long as you behave, you’ll get whatever you want.” His nod seals the deal, leading you to go back towards your work. If everything works out, he’ll be more than some glorified pet in this run-down shit-hole.

-------------------------------------

“How was your day out?” Tom sits on your couch, laptop in hand, with notebooks spread across your coffee-table.

“You know how I always complain about my clients, yeah?” You flop down next to him, spreading out on the couch. Ever since you bought him from that auction, he’s kept his word; no running, no sending SOS messages through his email to family or college, or screaming for help when you do take him out of your flat. In fact, you never even had to hurt or manhandle him in any way to keep him from fleeing. Due to this, you’ve kept your word. Instead of that shit-hole of a garage, he’s been moved to your own apartment. From some pet to a possible friend, he’s been living with you for nearly a year now. You buy him whatever he wants, giving him anything he asks for. All he has to do, in return, is stay.

“You did mention this specific one two days ago. Is she complaining again?” He asks, writing some notes down. Your scoff makes him glance at you for a second before continuing with his work.

“More like trying to get me to redo the entire 143-page document I created after saying they wanted every little piece of info I could gather on her target. She says it’s too much, but won’t pay me to cut down and summarize the information.” You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against his side, watching him work. Tom doesn’t even react to your touch as you keep talking. “Like, what do you mean you want me to do more work without being paid for it? That’s not happening. You can find someone else to redo my work if you’re that upset with it.”

“As you said, she can find someone else if she won’t pay you. You did what she asked, so that's on her for giving you the wrong instructions.” There’s a pause as he stops his note-taking. You watch him collect himself as he tries to find the words to express what he wants. “Can I… Go out later today?”

“Take your phone with you,” it’s more of a demand than anything, and Tom knows it. You can’t risk losing him if he does leave. 

“Of course! I… I wouldn’t leave it behind. You told me you have eyes everywhere…” There’s acceptance in his words, knowing that you’d find him no matter what.

“Good. Then you can go out. Make sure to be careful. Worse comes to worst, you’re hurt, and I have to get my hands dirty to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Your hands twitch at the thought of having to take another life to ensure Tom is off limits. You’ve already made it clear within your informant group through a series of warnings and threats.

“And if I’m dead?” It’s asked casually, almost like he expects to die on one of his trips.

“The only way that happens is if I allow it.”

》START OVER?《

[rxmye]

" 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇, 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 "

𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 — he let his dove soar a little too high for comfort, and now they pay the price . .

nsfw(?) / sixteen + content / gender neutral reader / dead dove do not eat / yandere content / age gap (Soleus is reader's caregiver since they were young, reader is currently an adult) / possessive yandere / body mutilation / caregiver x reader / huge size difference (like his wings are already like 2-3x yours, let that sink in) / manipulation . . . you've been warned.

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: read the warnings, half completed his intro but I might redo it . . dead dove do not eat, he will only get worse from here !!!

It was cruel, he knew it was cruel . . His fingers touch your featherless wings, now only bone and flesh, he reached out plucking a stray feather off, as he watches you wince in pain . . He hopes that you know, that he didn't intend to do this . .

He loved watching you fly, his little dove . . watching you soar up in the perfect blue sky, that smile that had him enamored . . He loved watching you, he let you be free. You were an uncaged bird, a perfect angel.

Everything about you was perfect, after all, he raised you to be perfect.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes trailing over you, as you cling to him—a voice in the back of your head screamed at you for doing so, yet he was warm, comforting, despite his actions . . he was all you knew, you deserved this and he'd never hurt you without reason . . he surely wouldn't . .—sobs left your throat—he couldn't tell if it was of pain or the feeling of loss—his wings wrapping around you protectively, trapping you in a cocoon, a sweet embrace.

He wrapped his large arms around you, his hand reaching to rub small comforting circles on the small of your back, a chorus of "i'm sorry" 's left your mouth, a plethora of pleas for forgiveness leaving your lips in harmony.

He gently lifts your chin, watching as the wingless bones of your wings twitch nervously at his actions—he didn't pick the act apart though—instead he shushed you, his voice soft, nurturing as he spoke, "shh . . my lovely dove, it'll be fine, we'll work this through together . . ", his voice numbed the pain, the agony, the feeling of loss, he caused you for a brief moment, and you listened . . your words melting in your throat.

"It's okay . . I'm sorry, you know I'd never hurt you without a reason right?", his words laced with honey, as he plucked the last feather from what's left of your wings, this time, you didn't feel the pain, only a etching feeling of numbness . . as a burning sensation grew in the lower pit of your stomach, any thoughts of protest, bargaining, or running away melting upon hearing his honeyed tone.

"We'll get through this together, my dear . . You made a mistake, mistakes can be corrected, just as flaws can be fixed . . Right?", he asks, and you mumble out a soft 'yes' almost instantly, as he presses your head to his chest, you could feel the soft thumps of his heartbeat, as he kissed your forehead, "Sleep now my dove, we'll fix everything in the morning, like we've always done . . "

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[owlcomics101]

”Clever Y/N…” Task force 141 x Velociraptor hybrid!reader Head cannons

Warnings: SFW (I am a minor), fluff, blood, language (cussing), mentions of animal abuse/violence (I do not condone), reader is gender neutral

gif credits: @Deshi Basara

Writers note: If this gets 100 notes I’ll make a series out of this like my fox hybrid one

Context/backstory: Jurassic world AU; The park had been long lost abandoned for over a decade now. What was once a park full of creatures of old was now the ruins to a new world. You were an experiment. A human with the qualities and characteristics of a Raptor. You had the raptor feet, legs, tail. Claws, eyes, and teeth. The task force was sent to Isla Nublar. Back to the old run down park to retrieve a weapon, but little did they know that the weapon was you.

Price: You see Price as your Alpha. The moment you two met you knew who was in control. Price. He’s the only man you will ever willingly take orders to. The only man you’re afraid of. A muzzle was a common occurrence for you. You were notorious for biting and teething anything you could get your jaws upon. Especially the task force members. Price is the most patient with you about this but this is a problem that needs to be fixed. He either muzzles you or distracts you with a bone like you would do for dogs.

“Ay!” Price pulls you away from his arm sleeve.

“What did we say about biting Y/N?” He glares at you. You immediately stop what you were doing and turn your attention to something else. “No biting ya muppet.”

Soap:

Soap was the one to break through to you. He never saw you as a weapon, you were just someone trying to survive. Find your place in the food chain. Soap always kept you calm and grounded even in times of danger or a threat to you and the others. Not even Price could calm you like Soap can. He was pretty laid back with you and let you do about whatever you wanted. He didn’t mind the nipping and teething as long as you were gentle. He was the one to help clean you after missions, including your teeth.

“Oi let’s see those pearly white’s.” Soap says as he gestures for you to open your mouth. You do as asked and he rests his hands on his hip proud of his work.

“Now there’s a smile!”

Gaz: Gaz is your trainer. Price thought it would be good practice for Gaz if he was your trainer. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two about teaching and be in Price’s shoes for once. You obeyed, but only when food was involved, otherwise Price would have to come down to motivate you to listen to Gaz. The training did well, you were a massive help on the field, but Gaz can’t help but feel bad about it all. You being a ‘weapon’ of massive destruction that he was in trusted to train. It held quite the pressure on him. He’s afraid he’ll turn you into the monster everyone thought you were.

Gaz watches you tear into one of the punching bags, he couldn’t help but picture the stuffing as intestines and flesh being tore out. He could see the cotton stuck in your teeth as blood dripping down and running off your chins

“Y/N! I think that’s enough for today…”

Ghost: You see Ghost as a beta. You sometimes take orders from him but only if you feel like it. The more irritated he gets with you and more and more you resist his commands and his attempts of control over you. You always snuck up behind him and he didn’t even need to call out to you because you were always there…He wasn’t sure what Gaz has been teaching you but the cold look in your eyes tells him that Gaz wasn’t the first to train you…You wear a head set around your head and neck so he could see out of you and see what your doing. Soap likes to call it Ghost’s “Nanny Cam.”

Price walks into the common room. “Has anyone seen Y/N? I told you all Y/N is not aloud outside unaccompanied!”

Ghost looks over to Price. “Y/N is eating Soap’s cookie stash.”

Soap jumps up wide eyed. “My cookie stash!? Ghost why didn’t you look at your nanny can sooner!?

“ITS NOT A NANNY CAM JONHHY-“

[doves-masterlist]

WOUNDEDOVES MASTERLIST

Multi-Fandom(ALL Gender Neutral Readers)

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your boss who always seems to have it out for you

yandere!bully part1 part 2

Male Loser Creep Yan! x GN!NSFW Streamer Reader (NSFW) (Multifandom)

Yan!Playboy(OC) x GN!Reader

Catboy!yandere x Bottom GN!Catperson!Reader(NSFW)

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Genshin Impact:

Random Sex Scenes With: Lyney, Wriothesley, Gaming and Tighnari X Bottom Male Reader (AMAB)

Supernatural Neuvillette, Wriothesley and Arlecchino x bottom GN!reader (NSFW)

teacher al haitham & kaveh x bottom gn!student reader(NSFW)

al haitham x bottom gn!reader + body worship (NSFW)

Childe & Scaramouche x Bottom AFAB!GN!Reader + sex while injured (NSFW)

Neuvillete x Bottom M!Reader Miscellaneous Sex Scenarios (NSFW)

A/B/O (Alpha) Supernatural Arlecchino, Neuvillette and Wriothesley x Omega Bottom GN!Reader (NSFW)

Eremites (Clearwater, Sunfrost & Daythunder) x Bottom GN!Reader (NSFW)

Xiao x Bottom GN!Reader x Wanderer (NSFW)

How They Would Suck Your Blood: Vampires (Arlecchino, Neuvillette, Blade, Aventurine x GN!Reader) Headcanons Part 1 (NSFW)

How They Would Suck Your Blood: Vampires (Argenti, Caelus, Kaveh, Childe x Bottom GN!Reader) Headcanons Part 3 (NSFW)

Wriothesley, Neuvillette x Singer!Fem!Reader(NSFW)

General Relationship & Sex Headcanons pt.1 with Neuvillette, Diluc, Wanderer (including Kunikuzushi) x Bottom GN!Reader

Kinich Sex, aftercare & Appearance HC’s

Honkai Star Rail

Aventurine x AMAB!Reader

Dr. Ratio x Bottom GN!Reader x Aventurine (NSFW)

Dr. Ratio x Bottom GN!Reader (NSFW)

How Your HSR Alpha Fucks You During Their Ruts (Alpha Jing Yuan, Blade, Jingliu x Omega AFAB!GN!Reader) (NSFW)

Sensitive Wings (Robin, Sunday x Switch GN!Reader) (NSFW)

NSFW Alphabet: K (kink) & D (dirty secret) with Lingsha, Jiaoqiu x Bottom GN!Reader

NSFW Alphabet: B, I, O, V, W + Blade x Bottom GN!Reader

How They Would Suck Your Blood: Vampires (Arlecchino, Neuvillette, Blade, Aventurine x GN!Reader) Headcanons Part 1 (NSFW)

How They Would Suck Your Blood: Vampires (Argenti, Caelus, Kaveh, Childe x Bottom GN!Reader) Headcanons Part 3 (NSFW)

How They Would Suck Your Blood: Vampires (Sunday, Dr Ratio x Bottom GN!Reader) Headcanons Part 2 (NSFW)

Zenless Zone Zero

Lycaon x Wise x Bottom M!Victiorian Housekeeping Member! Reader (NSFW)

The Price Of Flesh

Mason + Clothed x Stark Naked x Bottom GN!Reader (NSFW)

Degrees of Lewdity

M!Eden x Bottom GN!Reader + Clothed Sex

[waffles-art-writing]

Hey um can you do platonic task force 141 with a gender neutral child reader who is like Six from little nightmare

The team find the child eating fresh meat in the old basement(first meet)

Child reader can only said a few words

Summary: The team find you in a dusty basement under stranger circumstances. Price comes to find out you love causing chaos back at base.

Proofread: kinda

Pairing: Task Force 141 ! Platonic x Child!Reader

WordCount: SHORT ASF SO SO SORRY

Age Rating:

Codename:

KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name.

Warning/Info: I have writer's block - apologies! Gore, COD STUFF, descriptive eating & smell and other heavy described behaviours and scene, cursing, (IDK Little Nightmares too well so bare with me on this one)

Request?: YES

————

Soap detonates the breach on the door, the hinge’s getting ripped from the frame. The heavy bolts falling to the ground with a clack, the dust fills the air, darkness shrouding the staircase down to the basement of the building. Ghost’s eyes scan his surroundings through the night vision, the power went out just as they breached the front door of the building. “Basement breached” Soap states over the comms, Price’s voices crackles to life acknowledging them.

The stench from the basement makes all the mens spines shiver, the smell of something rotting urges the bile to bubble in their throats. Ghost is beyond thankful he’s wearing a balaclava to help limit the smell, yet the acid and musky smell still makes it to his nose. “Steamin’ jesus. What the hell is that smell” Soap mumbles, attempting to cover his nose with his shoulder, keeping his gun raised. “I have no clue but it makes me wanna be sick” Gaz states, his eyes watering. Both him and Price just met up with Ghost and Soap as they started descending the stairs. “Get this over and done with so we can get air boys” Price grumbles, following behind his team.

Ghost steps onto the floor quietly, his eyes peeled for any movement. He checks the doorway before entering a room off to the side, Gaz and Price at the other door to the other room. Soap taps Ghost’s shoulder, his eyes locked onto something in the dark corner of the room. “The hell is that” the Scotsman questions, his eyes not moving away from the small being hunched over in the corner. The yellow jacket adorning its back is stained with god knows what, clearly dirty, the small tears can be seen. The wet crunching sounds can be heard from the corner, the sound of flesh tearing and snuffles. Almost sounds like a dog got into the meat locker and going crazy m, eating the meat as fast as it can. “Price, you might wanna come over here” Ghost states, Price walks over asking what’s going on. Gaz behind him.

“The bloody hell is that” the older man questions, his brows furrowed as he steps forward. He’s not sure what to do, from this angle it looks like a child. But that’s what they are all hoping for, and not some kind estranged person that’s gone psychotic in the dark basement over a long period of time. Which could possibly be true as well, highly likely in reality. All the men jump backwards when the small being turns around, their wide eyes staring at them like beady little bugs in the night. “Mother of god” Soap curses as he watches the sickening red blood drip from the child’s mouth, his stomach twisting as he realises it’s eating raw meat. Fresh, raw meat. Everyone in the room wants to gag and leave, but Price picks up the courage and approaches the kid.

Soap watches their captain with disgust, Gaz has his hand covering his mouth as Ghost just stares. His brows furrowed behind his mask, his own stomach churning like a raging storm. By the time Price manages to pick the child up, they have only said very few words. The words were very mumbled with the likes of not knowing English and how to speak too well. “Where take me?” Was the main thing they were saying, questions where the team was taking them when they made their way out of the damp and rotting basement.

The team settles down on the plane, they keep a good distance between themselves and the child as they are not too sure what exactly is up with the kid. Gaz managed to clean their face, as the smell of blood and the look of deep red dripping to the floor was not helping his stomach one bit. The kids' yellow raincoat was something they all kinda looked at with curiosity, why were they in a yellow raincoat if they were in a basement? By the time they got to base, everyone got comfortable seeing the kid staring at them with curiosity, like every child. The one that piqued the kids interest the most was Ghost, of course, the skull mask and quiet, brooding demeanour and cold eyes always seemed to gain the attention of anyone. Especially a kid no matter what they were doing beforehand.

*Random interactions at base*

The sound of small feet sprinting down the corridor and lightly giggles gained Price’s attention from his office, the door was open slightly. The room was stuffy after a hot day so he wanted to air it out, which went through the windows and the door was open. “YOU WEE ANKLEBITER C’MERE!” A scottish accent yells out, thunderous boots hitting the cement floor. Price is looking at his door, contemplating if he should go out to check on them. “Not my circus, not my monkeys” he repeats, his words getting cut off by the yelling of another voice. “JOHNNY! WHERE IS MY MASK!” This time it’s a Manchester accent, more specifically Ghost’s. “My circus my monkeys” Price repeats quickly as he gets up from his desk quickly, pushing his door open to see a very much pissedoff Simon Riley stalking down the corridor. You could practically see the fire behind the man's eyes. “You’re a dead man Soap!” The Brit yells, passing Price quickly. Price pinches his brow as he follows after the raging man, concerned for Soap’s safety more so over yours. Knowing full well that Ghost wouldn't lay a finger on you, but would gladly give Soap a new bruise to add to his plentiful collection of colours.

Price turns the corner to see you, perched on a shelf, Ghost’s mask tucked in hands with a large cheeky grin spread across your face. Your eyes covered by the mop of hair, you screamed when they tried to cut it. Your yellow coat overtop one of the boy’s old shirts and some basketball shorts they took from a rookie. Price glances over to the other side of the room, Ghost has Soap cornered, he looks like he is watching all his life flash before his eyes in one go. “Kid…. Please. Just give his mask back before someone gets hurt” you look at Price your head tilts to the side in question.

Price just sighs as he watches the team yell at eachother, and you just fuel the raging chaos.

————

So sorry it’s so short! I just couldn’t think of anything!! ;-;

[mackjlee9]

Hey!! I'm very glad that you enjoyed my requests!! Male reader is part of the 141 team and is Soap's boyfriend. The team was on a mission, and when they finally finished it, they all reconvend at the heli. They noticed that Reader was not with them. They tried to reach him through coms, but no answer, Soap went out to look for him. he found the reader laying wounded blood pooled around him, and his face turned to the side as if to hide something. when Reader finally turned his face to look at Soap, Soap was greeted with a horrific sight, someone or something had ripped up half his face, leaving large strips cheek hanging, unattached from his face. His upper teeth, as well as part of his right jawbone, were exposed. maybe with how Soap reacts? the others' reactions? how reader lives with it? idk, this was just something i came up with on a whim and wanted to share. Do with it as you please :) 

I tried :]

John 'Soap' MacTavish x Gender-Neutral!Reader [Angst&Fluff]

2nd person narration.

Warning; body horror, reader is referred to by their code name 'night'.

Masterlist.

"We're going home, boys!" Price announced as they arrived at the extraction point.

The 141 team had finished a pretty risky mission, and they were leaving with minimal injuries. They watched the helicopter landing but before they got in, Soap noticed one thing.

You weren't with them.

"Guys, has anyone heard from Night?" Ghost, Price, and Gaz looked at each other in silence, and before they could respond, Soap attempted to communicate with you through the radio, "Night? Night?!"

All of them with greeted with radio silence from your side of the radio, and Soap cursed as he holster his pistol, running away from the helicopter to try and find you. Knowing Soap wouldn't be able to find you by himself, the rest of the team ran after him to help him.

Running through falling buildings and stepping over enemy corpses, Soap sprinted while calling for you, his voice almost cracking as he felt a knot growing in his throat, blinking away the tears he was desperately trying to fight back at the thought of having lost you.

But right when he stopped to take a breath for a moment, he caught movement on his right out of the corner of his eye, and turning around, he saw you.

You were sitting on the ground surrounded by debris, laying in a pool of your own blood. Carefully, Soap approached you, he wasn't sure if it was you or not, but upon closer inspection he realized that, in fact, it was you. He rushed toward you when he saw you rest raising and lowering from your slow breathing, shifting around ever so slightly.

That was enough to cause a few tears to fall down his face, relieved that you were still alive, although barely.

"Darling, I found you! What-?" You turned your face further away from him when Soap tried to get closer to you, and he frowned, slightly hurt by your action, "Sweetie?" Soap gently touched your shoulder, watching you flinch and recoil from his touch.

"Don't... look at me, Johnny," Soap felt his chest hurting, his mind running a hundred miles an hour to try and figure out what could've possibly happened to you, and his eyes caught sight of a dead dog nearby. Its neck was broken, and its lifeless body lay a few feet from you, and looking back at you, he saw the blood dripping down your neck.

"You're hurt, please, come with me," you took a deep breath while feeling his hand trailing down your arm to hold your hand tightly. You swallowed difficultly, grimacing at the taste of blood in your mouth, and taking a deep breath, you slowly turned your head to look at Soap.

Soap was left speechless, his eyes opened wide as he stared at your face. Or well, what was left of it at least.

The right sight of your face was ripped apart, leaving big strips of skin and flesh hanging off. Your upper teeth and bits of your jawbone were left exposed, blood gushing out, leaving you dizzy and sweating from the amount of blood you lost. Soap guessed that the dog you had killed was the culprit for hurting you in such a way, and he couldn't hold back the tears anymore, hating himself for not checking up on you earlier as he told you he would.

Now he had to live with the knowledge that you getting hurt and almost killed was his fault.

Without saying anything, Soap picked you from the ground, not caring one bit that he got covered in your blood as well. He gritted his teeth whenever he heard you wincing as the cold air hit your face, but pressing you against him was only gonna hurt you more.

He took you to the helicopter and on the way, he met up with the rest of the team who hadn't been able to receive any response from Soap, he hadn't even realized they were calling for his status, too worried about you and whether you were gonna make it or not.

Price was the first one who saw you, and he informed the medic on the helicopter about your situation. Ghost gritted his teeth when he noticed the state you were in, but he silently helped Ghost take you to the helicopter as quickly as they could. Gaz was slightly scared, he hadn't ever seen something like that, but he quickly snapped back to reality when he realized you needed all the help and support you could get from your best friends.

//////

Reconstructive surgery was needed, and now the skin on the right side of your face was sewed tight, leaving obvious scars where there used to be flesh. Most of your face had been surgically restored, but there were things that they couldn't do anything about.

Your upper lip had a slit up to your nose, leaving your teeth exposed. But the bottom half was in worse conditions.

Due to muscle loss, you had issues moving the right side of your face, but some facial workouts should work to regain some of that muscle back, but you were warned, your face will never look or move the same as before.

You spend your days with gauze covering pretty much everything exposed, and when the looks on you got too much, you would put a mask over it to hide your wounds.

But, there was something positive about this whole recovery.

Soap was every moment beside you, helping you eat and drying your face whenever you spilled a drink on yourself. He told you every day how you were still you, no matter how you looked, leaving gentle kisses over your scars, careful not to hurt you. He was there to scare away anyone that looked at you disgusted or made fun of you, joking about how a "cute little dog" did that to you.

Let's say, no one ever doubted his scary and lethal military-trained dogs could be.

Ghost would lightly joke around about how you could wear his skull mask better than him, and Gaz always made sure to have your medicines close by just in case you were feeling pain. Price didn't think of you as less than before, he actually seemed to admire your bravery and determination to keep living.

Day by day, walking around without hiding became more recurrent, even feeling as comfortable with it as to joke and mess around with the recruits, doing silly demonstrations of what you could do now with the right side of your face.

You being able to keep living a normal life was thanks to everyone in the 141, and especially, thanks to Soap, who never looked at you with fear or disgust, only love, and adoration.

[isabella-kr]

Just read your reassurance fic and fuckin loved it. Absolutely feral for price rn. Not sure if you're still open for requests, but i am a strong believer that price gives the best hugs, holds you to his chest for comfort, problemsolving kinda hugs, but maybe something happened and now its oc/reader's time to return the favour.

This is the first time I've ever made a request so hope I did it right lol. basically I'm starving for fluff. maybe a bit of hurt/comfort.

Thank you so much for requesting!! I'm so glad you liked it!! I agree, he definitely gives incredible hugs and I would kill to experience them at least once. I hope you don't mind, but I made this an F!reader because you didn't specify and it's what I find easiest; however, if you'd like me to change this to gender neutral, let me know and I will edit this :))

Out of Your Control

Do not repost

Synopsis: After a mission gone awry, Price can't help but blame himself for everything that had gone wrong. Hugs won't solve the problem, but they will definitely help ease his nerves.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Reader (Hints of an established relationship)

Genre: Angst & Fluff / Hurt & Comfort

Warnings: Swearing, self-blame, Price cries, reader cries, use of ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’ 

Word Count: 2k

General Masterlist COD:MWII Masterlist

GIF not mine

The mission was a disaster.

Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. It was as though the enemy was expecting them, and decided to make his defence ten times stronger, quicker, and more ruthless. It was clear that the mission was doomed for failure from the start, but they prevailed nonetheless; eager to complete their task.

The place was swarming with soldiers who were armed with weapons from head to toe. So were they, but no matter how armed their Squad seemed to be, the enemy soldiers had twice as many guns, and twice as many blades. They were like flies on a hot summer’s day, doubling at speeds that didn’t seem humanly possible, and before long, they were surrounded from every corner.  

Their hushed voices rang out through the comms as they considered their next course of action. Yet as Price was about to tell them to retreat - to evacuate because there was no way they would come out if this mission alive – it was already too late. Loud sirens rang out in their ears, and the rapid sounds of stomping boots made the hairs at the back of all their necks stand up. It went south too quickly for them to even attempt to deescalate the situation.  

Bullets rained down like hail, and it didn’t take a genius to know they would not be getting out of this scot-free, and none of them did. Some of their injuries were worse than others, but they all looked equally beat up, as though they were on the brink of death.  

It was barely an hour later that they were sat in the medical bay, with nurses and doctors running around them like headless chickens. Their frantic movements and hushed whispers made her head feel like a balloon ready to be popped, and she could only assume the others felt the same from the way their faces scrunched up with discomfort.  

Price was nowhere to be seen, having ran out the moment the nurses told him he was free to go. The Captain’s injuries weren’t as severe as the others, and that only seemed to worsen the guilt he was already feeling.  

It was Soap who looked the worst out of all of them, like Death himself was about to knock on his door and take him away. Yet somehow, with half of his face turned purple, and his left eye swollen shut, he still managed to send her a sweet smile the moment their eyes locked together.  

She sent him a sympathetic glance in return, hissing and flinching when a bullet was suddenly extracted from the flesh of her thigh. She almost glared at the doctor who pulled the metal out of her, but stopped herself when an anti-septic was wiped over the open wound, and another wave of pain made an anguished groan leave her throat. She could only sigh and wait for this to be over; to finally leave and get some time for herself.  

“Take this,” a nurse spoke with a sweet smile, giving her three small pills and a cup of water. Once she downed the medicine and emptied the small, plastic cup, the nurse nodded, “Good. Now, you get some rest, alright? You need it.”  

“Thank you,” she nodded, plopping down from her bed to leave the stuffy room. She winced with every limped step she took, but decided she would rather suffer than spend the night in the medical room because of a non-fatal injury.  

She wasted no time before making her way over to her room, welcoming the familiar smell with a smile on her face. The material that was soaked with her sweat and blood was pulled off her tired body, and soon replaced with something more comfortable. The new clothes were soft to the touch and didn’t stick to her bruised skin, making her sigh out in relief. She decided to wear something that would cover her up entirely, not out of modesty, but to hide the injuries from the captain’s guilt-filled eyes.  

After leaving her room and making another stop to brew two cups of tea, she began making her way down a long corridor. It didn’t take her too long to arrive at Price’s office, though the wound in her thigh definitely slowed her down somewhat. His door seemed to be locked shut, for when she pressed her elbow against the handle, it didn’t budge.  

With a small sigh, she knocked on the door with the rip of her boot, and waited for the door to be opened. Yet no sound came from inside the room; no gruff voice telling her to piss off; no sound of papers rustling, and no heavy footsteps making their way across the room.  

She exhaled sharply, eyes closing as she kicked the door harder than before. Some of the tea trickled down from the mugs, the steaming hot liquid burning the skin of her finger. She ignored the burning sensation, instead focusing on the man who she knew was on the opposite side of the door.  

“Sir, I need to speak with you,” she spoke out loud, hoping the sound of urgency in her voice would get him to open up. But alas, the silence continued. “Captain-” she looked around her, making sure there was no-one there to hear her next words, “John… please let me in.”  

That seemed to get him moving, as only a few seconds passed before the door was pulled open. She walked in without waiting for permission, and placed the two hot mugs on his desk. Her eyes were quick to notice the scattered papers on his desk, his handwriting turning frantic on some of them.  

Her eyes soon settled on the bearded man who walked around the desk and sat down in his chair. He had a blank look in his eyes, and she slowly sat down on the chair on the other side of the desk. She moved one of the mugs closer towards him, but he made no attempt to reach for it. His eyes didn’t even glance down to look at it.  

“John,” she spoke slowly. Softly.

He didn’t look at her, and she swore his eyes were avoiding eye contact at all costs. There was a dark bruise forming on the apple of his left cheek, the skin turning a dark purple, mixed with a sickly yellow. A deep gash also decorated his clavicle, the skin red a raw, yet the wound was not deep enough to require stitches.  

She could feel her heart break into a million pieces at the sight of his hopeless state. “John,” she whispered once again, “…sweetheart.”  

This time, his eyes moved to look into hers. They were glazed over, and she could tell he was close to cracking, the guilt eating him up alive.  

“This wasn’t your fault, John,” she told him with a shake of her head.

He let out a humourless laugh. The type of laugh that told her just how deep in despair he was. “Yeah, it was. I should’ve known better.”  

“John, no.” She disagreed, “You couldn’t have predicted this.”  

“No, but I should’ve been ready for it,” he argued, “I should’ve been prepared for things to go wrong.”  

“And you were,” she spoke softly, “But we were all taken by surprise. None of us could have known this was going to happen. No matter how prepared we could have been. No matter what you think you could’ve done, we were simply too outnumbered.”  

With a tilt of his head, he exhaled sharply, “This was supposed to be an easy mission. In and out.”  

She nodded in understanding, “And it would’ve been if the information you were given was correct,” she pointed out. “This one was out of your hands, John.”

He shook his head in disagreement, hie eyes trained on the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. With a small wince, she pushed herself off the chair and walked over towards him. Her fingers curled around his jaw and she moved him so that his eyes were locked with hers.  

“John, what matters is that we’re all alive.” She told him, “You’re fine. The boys are fine. I’m fine. We’re all okay.”  

With a blank stare, his hand moved to her thigh and applied some pressure in the exact spot where the bullet had penetrated her skin. He didn’t do it hard, in fact, he barely touched the area. Yet despite all that, she felt like a thousand needles were stabbed into her sore skin at once.  

She choked at the pain that travelled through her body, and her hand instinctively pulled his away. He stared at her with a look that told her he did not believe a word she just told him. How could he when the soft, and otherwise welcome gesture caused her so much pain.  

“You don’t sound fine to me, love.”  

“John.” She scolded, “This isn’t something that’s never happened to me before. I’ve lost count of how many times I got shot, and I’m sure you have too.”  

He didn’t respond to the accusation, his eyes only closing in shame. With a small, yet deep sigh, she managed to pull him towards her. The non-bruised side of his face was pressed against her chest, and her arms wrapped securely around him. The palm of her left hand cradled the back of his head, whilst the other moved to rub comforting circles on his shoulders.  

“I know you won’t believe me,” she whispered, “But none of us blame you. Not Ghost, not Soap, not Gaz, and most definitely not me”  

Upon hearing her words, he wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her even closer to him than she was before. A small whimper left his lips, and he moved his face so that his nose was pressing against her. She moved down, carefully not to startle him, and kissed the crown of his head. She kept her face there, only tightening her hold around him when his body began to shake; the dam which he had built breaking into pieces as he allowed his emotions to flow freely.  

His tears soaked through her shirt, and the situation made her own eyes well with tears. She didn’t care when they began to roll down her cheeks, or when his fingers clenched around the material of her shirt and pulled on it. She only cared that he finally let himself feel, without shoving his emotions away until they became unbearable.  

“We would never blame you for this. Sometimes things are out of our control, okay?” She hummed against him, “There’s no point in beating ourselves up over it. It’s in the past. We can’t change it, so let it go. Please, just let it go.”  

A sob wrecked through his body, and his fingers let go of her shirt to dig into her skin. He managed to nod against her, and she felt as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She knew the guilt had not fully left him, and that they still had a long way to go, but this was progress. She was just glad he was willing to try and move past it, and no matter how long it would take him, she would remain by his side the entire time.  

She would wrap her arms around him and hold him close as he let the tears flow freely, just as he had done for her so many times before. She would hold him for as long as he needed her to, even if her arms began to ache, she would keep her arms wrapped securely around him.  

“Just please…” she sniffled, “Don’t beat yourself up over this. We’re all going to be fine. Nothing a little rest and some medicine can’t fix.”  

“And some stitches.”

“Yeah,” she let out a small laugh as her lips pressed against his hair once more, “And some stitches.”  

[whirlybirbs]

Ghost x reader for da people (the people is me)

; — controlled burn | simon "ghost" riley

summary: he isn't used to communing with ghosts. pairing: simon "ghost" riley / gender neutral!reader tags: no warnings, but may i offer spiteful ex-lovers anyone? a/n: 1.) lee i am sorry this is bad. 2.) everyone it's been a moment since i have written so i owe you all the biggest sowwies. anyways, who knew in 2022 everything would come full circle with me writing for the first man i ever really wrote fanfiction for, i love this ghost daddy hype moment

Laswell isn't expecting you to say yes, but favors owed are thicker than blood when it comes to this line of work. 

I don't do contract work anymore, Kate, you'd told her adamantly in the quiet of your office, I never liked living in the grey.

And yet, you're here; you're sat beside her in the heli as the bird dips low on the horizon line and begins to kick up plumes of dust in the night air. Sand whips around the spotlights illuminating the landing strip, and as the shroud parts, Kate can see there are gathered men ready to welcome the two of them. 

Your eyes flick across the tarmac. Even here — in the chopper, as you yank your headset free and gather your bag — you can feel eyes pinning you in place. Like a lone rabbit spotted by a waiting wolf. Eyes are watching in the darkness. Something stalks in your peripherals. 

And as eerie as it is, it's familiar. Like coming home.

A dust devil passes as touch down settles, and in the calm stillness of that single moment, you see him:

Ghost.  

You never did like living in the grey — and Simon knew damn well his whole life was bleeding out in shades of it. He's no longer sharply forged in the fires of morality; maybe one day he was, one day when he was younger. When there was less gilded, war-dazzled weight to his dress uniform's breast. When there was less grey in the unruly blonde buzz beneath his balaclava, when he had fewer starlight scars commemorating brutality etched into his skin. 

His righteousness is dulled now; but still efficient, still violent, still lethal. Simon sacrificed morality long ago when he fled that forge in favor of getting the fucking job done. Sacrifices had to be made. Every action had an equal and opposite reaction. 

He knows he isn't a good man.

You always did deserve good. 

Honest. 

Those owlish, dark eyes watch you greet Price. Gaz is excitable, Soap is impressed. He unwavers, hand on his holstered pistol and the other picking the skin of his thumb. 

Behind the balaclava, there's tension. But, when you turn and slip your eyes along the chipped skull face-plate, the hardness slips away. He catches it. Like a moment where Simon is back and he isn't the man in the mask. 

"Good to see you," he says in a voice quieter than a whisper.

You only nod.

In the debrief room, he continues his quiet watching. Ghost watches you listen, and he watches you pick at your bottom lip like you always do when you concentrate. 

Across the room, Soap slides him a subtle, questioning look. Ghost doesn't even flinch. The hardness stays. 

Pay attention, says his volleyed glare. 

Simon tries to forget the way you always did favor peppermint lip balm. 

When you finally speak, in that dimly lit room, the sound of your voice reminds Simon of the sting of a bullet graze. It's like the ricochet of a searing hot caliber biting soft flesh. 

Suddenly, Simon is twenty-seven again and in love. 

He fucking hates himself for it.

He's trying to kick his smoke habit — bad on the lungs. 

But, tonight he doesn't give a damn because the nicotine isn’t the only thing making his hands shake and letting the flame lick his fingers feels fine. A controlled burn. 

He isn't used to communing with old ghosts.

But, you're back in the grey.

[thinyvic]

Welcome to my blog

GENERAL INFO, WHAT I CAN WRITE

Request as much as you want, any character you want! (I can decline a reqiest if im not comfortable with it)

I will write headcannons, imagines, scenarios,oneshots ect

I will only write male or gender neutral reader and characters (including ftm)

I will write poly relatinships (ex. character x reader x character)

I can write dark themes such as yandere or cnc

WHAT I WILL NOT WRITE

any drasctic kinks (ex. piss, feet, vore)

pedophilia, incest

nsfw of minors

OC's, but character traits are welcome short!reader, artist!reader

Female readers or characters as mentioned earlier

FANDOMS I WILL WRITE FOR

Danganronpa

Genshin Impact

Detroit Become Human

Game of Thrones

The Witcher

Ace Attorney

My Hero Academia

Jujutsu Kaisen

Resident Evil

Tokyo Revengers

Boyfriend to Death

The Price of Flesh

Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack

Five Nights at Freddy's

REQUEST ALL YOU WANT☆

[soft-miss-goat]

Be Careful What You Don't Wish For

A The Price of Flesh Fox x Reader fanfic

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, Rape/Non-con, Violence

Tags: Dead Dove, Forced Impregnation, Reader has a vagina, Gender Neutral Pronouns, Reader Is Scared of Getting Pregnant

Summary/Blurb: Blurting out what you desire least is obviously stupid in this situation.

So why did you do it anyway?

Read it on AO3!

[gvtted-ratz]

BEFORE YOU READ:

- Read all tags/ratings if there are any. They are important and give you all you need to decide if you want to actually read. If you do not like the tags/rating, please do not read.

- We ask that anyone who is FEM aligning/identifying to not read our MLM fics. You can still send requests, however, we do not do FEM readers.

- You can find all our works on AO3. Only registered users can view/comment.

- Minors/ageless/blank blogs are not welcome, and you will be blocked. Respect our wishes or you will be blocked. We go through all our likes, followers, and reblogs.

Want to request? Find the rules: here!

Want to see all the fics? Find them: here!

JACKAL

Jackal/Dean x Hacker!GN!Reader

Last Edited: 21/06/2024

TW: mocking, bleeding, drugging, kidnapping, corrupt cop, foul language, imprisonment, threats of bodily harm, illegal information gathering, open ending

Requested: No.

Word Count: 3,415

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: This took two weeks. It’s the pig’s time to shine. Not. Fuck this nasty bastard with his midlife crisis mohawk. Now, take it away, Penny. (/SpongeBob ref for Rppik.)

@rppik (editor/co-writer): this one goes out to my hyperfocusing baddies out there,

“I assume this is everything?” You can hear Blue and Red getting shifty at your words. They, as well as you, have been waiting for the introduction to end to start your biddings.

“That it is, yes! Would my esteemed customers like to let this lowly Auctioneer know what goods you wish to purchase?” 

Yes, that is the question, isn’t it? Who will you be bidding on to take with you?

》YOU HAVE SELECTED JACKAL 《

“ Blue window? Which do you wish to take with you? I’ll make sure to have it all written down!” The Auctioneer asks, motioning towards a metal door. Behind it, you’re sure there’s someone there to take notes of what items are purchased, they will be shipped to, as well as who wasn’t bought.

“Oh! I’ll do 250 for Mason and Machete each!” Blue’s window lights up. She sounds excited to go first with her purchases. Then again, she always complained when she didn’t get to go before everyone else; better she goes now than later.

“Very well. How about the red window? Whom will you be taking?” She asks, facial expression unable to be seen behind her bandage-like mask, though the way she talks with such joy only highlights how well she is at her job.

“120 on Jackal, 340 each for the Goffard boys,” Red says, window lighting up.

“What the fuck! Fuck you!” Derek says, Matt looking just as livid as his brother. The sweat that had been gathering on Dean’s forehead drips as his lips peel back in a sneer. Those that haven’t been chosen appear to be less tense, relieved to not be bought. On the other hand, both of the larger men that Blue has picked look ready to kill; their eyes looking this way and that, bodies tense like large predators ready to pounce. She’s known for enjoying men much larger than herself so she can “put them in their place” as she so puts it; Red always tends to mock her for her types, excluding the fact that they enjoy the bratty ones.

“Green window? Would you kindly tell this lowly Auctioneer your choice?”

“220 on the corrupt cop,” you announce. Dean looks towards your window, swallowing heavily. It looks like he knows he’s screwed if he goes with you. Yet, there isn’t a thing he can do about it.

“What? C’mon, Green. What’s the Old Man got that you’d want? I’m sure he’s twice your age. 230,” Red tries to barter.

“You’re taking two of the wealthiest men already. Corrupted or not, pigs tend to have information I can use. 320,” you refuse to back down. There’s a reason you tend to only take one, as you can spend the set limit if need be.

“Fine. I’ll take the beastkin for 120 then. Keep the fucking pig, Green.” Ren gives the red window a blank look, likely keeping his mouth shut in hopes of possibly being able to find a way out of the mess he’s gotten himself into. On the other hand, Blue cackles at Red’s defeat, always enjoying the show any sort of bickering brings. Your warped hum in agreement has The Auctioneer clasping her hands together, mic being jostled slightly.

“Then this concludes the bidding! I’ll have the purchases shipped–”

“Shipped?!” Dean cuts her off, but she keeps talking, ignoring the outburst.

“–to you as soon as possible! And those who were not bought will be released, as my lovely regulars have asked!” Some sort of gas starts to fill the room the prizes are in, causing many to start tugging at their bounds, yelling at each other or the windows. The only ones unaffected are you, your fellow buyers, as well as The Auctioneer, as the products start to sway, collapsing in heaps on the metal floor below. Just as quickly as the gas had started, it clears at once.

A crew comes in, dressed similarly to The Auctioneer, to start carrying, dragging, or wheeling away both purchased and unsold. Those who were not acquired are carted off to be dumped somewhere in their respective towns, unlike the procured. They will be drugged up so it’s easier to move to their designated places via buyers’ chosen locations. You watch with muted glee as your choice is put in a wheelchair, having the IV drip attached to his arm, now ready to be shipped to your given drop-off destination. He’ll be dropped off at your little hide-out, awaiting your return, whether he knows it or not.

“With all this now settled, you will wire the payments, yes?” The Auctioneer asks, the customer-service tone of voice still present. You bring out a burner phone, clicking through it to gain access to an account you set up a month prior to this show. If anyone were to get through your firewalls and protections, they’d only track it to some poor sap’s laptop off the coast of the US. It wouldn’t be your fault if said sap happens to have a few megabytes of illegal images saved onto that computer’s hard drive, either, busting the entire operation they have going on.

“I’ve sent the amount agreed upon. It should arrive shortly,” your words hold true, as some device beyond the metal door The Auctioneer is standing beside lets out a ding . Hearing it, she glances over the door before nodding.

“Thank you, Green. May your purchase bear lovely fruit for your taking!” You leave the boxed room, not bothering to listen to the other buyers in case they have any issues; such instances usually end up in heated arguments or death of said buyer, and you're not particularly interested either way. The door closes, another person dressed business-casual stepping in front of you to lead you out of the auction house. The only sounds available are your footsteps echoing, paired with the guide’s loud breathing, muffled poorly by the gauzy wrappings around their head. 

Arriving at a dark-wooden door, the guide opens it, stepping aside to allow you to walk through. You don’t slow your pace, heading down some brick steps to follow a worn gravel path towards your vehicle. Your keys are handed to you by another member of staff, dressed just like the others before them, allowing you to enter and start up the rental with ease. You don’t look back as you drive off, heading towards your work location. By the time you arrive, you’re sure he’ll be there, still hooked to the drip.

-------------------------------------

Pulling into the gloomy drop-off location, you spot an ambulance parked at the warehouse. You position your own vehicle near it, turning off the ignition before stepping out. Another one of the auction house’s people steps out to open the van’s back doors. They step away, allowing you to confirm that this is your item. You give a jerk of your head, confirming that the man strapped down on the gurney is your purchase. With your affirmation, they start to undo his bindings, removing the IV in the process. With the obstruction gone, a member of the crew picks him up like a sack of grains. You lead them into the dilapidated warehouse, knowing they’ll follow without hesitation,  having orders to please, alongside heed, high-ranking buyers.

The lot of you walk past chunks of concrete, piles of metal, a metal beam, clumps of dirt, and countless weeds that have made their way into the place. Entering a back room, you gesture towards a chair seated close to the middle of the area, nearly hidden away in the dark place; had the door not been open, the chair would have been completely obscured by shadows. It’s the only area that’s remotely salvageable out of the entire place, with the roof still held up, all walls in place, and a functioning door to lock when you want. As the lackey none-too-gently jostles Dean into the chair, you stride over to a desk housing a multitude of monitors. Clicking on your mouse, the monitors light up, casting a glow into the mostly dark room as your C.P.U’s fans start up from underneath the desk. The motorcycle helmet has a tinted lens, keeping the bright lights from harming your eyes; of course, protecting your vision was an added bonus of keeping your face and voice hidden from others, it being the main purpose of the costly helmet.

Turning your back to your setup, you look over at your newly acquired purchase slumped in the uncomfortable office chair; the wheels had been removed so anyone in it wouldn’t roll themselves around looking for escape options. You give the worker standing beside your unconscious prize a dismissive wave, their job now complete. They leave without a word nor hesitation to escape your place of employment, shutting the door behind them. You can admit, they had manners many before them hadn’t; The Auctioneer must have taken your words to heart and retrained or weeded out the unfit employees who had been rude. In the past, you had encountered some who believed they had the right to tell you how to treat your belongings like they knew what they needed more than you, the owner, did.

You stare down at the once egotistical man, waiting until you hear the van’s engine start; the gravel crunching under its wheels as it drives off, probably to head back to the auction house. You then turn your back towards the sleeping figure, deciding to rummage around in one of the drawers in your desk. Additionally, you move a few boxes of snacks to find a bundle of zip ties kept together with a rubber-band. With these in hand, you go back to Dean. The drugs in his system keep him under, completely malleable if you wanted to do anything you desired. Thankfully, you’re not like him when it comes to his tastes, if The Auctioneer's words were anything to go by; you're sure he would readily take advantage if he were in your shoes, happy to get his rocks off anyway he deemed fit.

You slip the plastic bonds over his wrists and onto the office chair arms, using more than 3 on each one; his ankles are bound together before being fastened to the gas lift under the seat. By now, you’re almost completely out of the restraints, making a mental note to buy more. Having Jackal completely secured, you’re able to get back to your job. Throwing the last few ties into the drawer, you kick it shut and plop down into the only other office chair in the building. The monitors’ lights greet you, your previous tabs still covering the screens.

Your keycaps clacking, alongside your mouse clicking, are the only sounds in the room. Time passes by relatively quickly while you work, hyper-focused on your job as code, images, intel, and correspondence between other informants sinks its claws into your attention.

That is, until you hear a low groan emerging from your captive. Keeping your gaze trained to the current sequence of coding you’re looking over, you decide to finish the task at hand before paying him any mind, making sure to glance at another monitor that houses photos of people; their private information is summarized in bullet points next to their respective pictures, knowing it won’t take much longer for this particular assignment to be finished.

The office chair housing your new, shiny, and reluctant informant creaks as he tries to yank his hands out of the plastic ties. You don’t let that distract you, dragging an image from a monitor you weren’t typing on to the one you’re currently using; it sticks itself to the document you’ve placed it over, the information beside it matching the file you’ve constructed for this individual.

“Hey,” his gruff voice croaks out. He’s been asleep for hours, making it sound more gravelly than usual. Perhaps he’s finally noticed his current situation. It’s too bad you’re not interested at the moment. 

“Hey!” You ignore his call, saving your progress on your current project. You can feel him seething at your lack of attention from how heavy his stare is, the creaking of the office chair echoing as he tugs and throws himself around. It isn’t long before you hear a growl that turns into a hiss as the chair tips from all of his struggling. The sound of his body smacking into the concrete below brings a small amount of satisfaction; you can hear a wheeze escape his lungs. With this, you finally decide to bless him with the oh-so-sought-after diligence he wanted from you.

“Having trouble, Old Man ?” The question sounds warbled from your helmet, but the mocking tone is so pronounced that not even your face covering can keep it monotone. The chair you sit in creaks as you swing it to face him. His crumpled form on the ground greets you, as does his curled lips in what would be a snarl, if he didn’t look so pathetic, that is. “For such a cocky pig , you sure do look like a wet mutt. ”

“Fuck you! When I get out of this, I’ll make sure you wish you were dead!” You click your tongue in annoyance, turning your chair away from him to continue your task. He can stay down there if he won’t be polite; let a worm like him wiggle in the dirt.

Your clacking sounds up again as you get back to work, tuning out more of his threats, growls, and hissing. To you, they sound like a cranky old pig squealing about all the wrongs it's suffered before getting slaughtered. Time passes by faster than you think, forcing all your attention to creating files upon files of information on people many of your clients have requested; good, bad, neutral, it matters not. This is your job, after all.

When you feel your back tighten from sitting in the same position for too long, you lean back, twitching at the quick shot of pain you feel. You turn your chair, looking over at the still collapsed man. He’s frowning, staring at you from the ground; Dean had stopped making sounds after realizing that you weren’t listening nor paying attention. With your now diligent eyes back on him, however, he curls his lips back like a mutt does when snarling.

“You need somethin’, Old Man?” The mocking tone you use seems to make his snarl deepen. “Well, I need something from you.”

“Fuck you! I’ll crush your fingers to fuckin’ dust with my boot heel if you so much as touch me with ‘em!” You raise your brow, knowing he can’t see it through the helmet.

“As if I’d be a captive fondler like you, Old Man. I need your brain for this,” your honesty only serves to make him hate you more; the way his eyes seem to glaze over with utter disgust and rage tells you so.

“And why would I help you?”

“Because you’re in no position to refuse. Unless… You want me to start taking your fingernails off one by one. I don’t have any issues either way,” your distorted voice says, not even bothered by the threat you’ve just promised him. You can see the gears turning in his head as he purses his lips in reluctant thought. To give in is to admit defeat, or that’s what you assume he believes; he has to give in one way or another due to the fact that one route promises a very bloody and painful outcome.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly agrees to you picking his brain on something.

“Good. Tell me how you get your victims through your swine work.”

“My what work?” Jackal looks completely lost on your command; it makes you sigh in annoyance. You even turn your chair away from him again to start typing.

“Your swine work, Hog . Pig . You’re a cop, Dumbass. Tell me how you nab your victims through it, Old Man,” you talk slowly, adopting the tone one would with a child.

“Stop fuckin’ callin’ me Old Man !” He snaps; you’re unsure if it was your tone that pushed him over or the name. That doesn’t mean you’ll stop, though.

“I’ll call you whatever I please, Old Man ,” you pause, looking back towards him over your shoulder. “ Now answer the question. ” The voice changer seems to glitch, causing it to warp and warble; it sounds much deeper than how it did in the previous line of conversation.

“ Fine . I punch out when it’s time to, change my clothes, and fuckin’ find someone I think looks like they’d put up a fight. That enough for you?”

“ No. Keep up your little cute act and you won’t have fingernails soon. ”

“Fuckin’ bossy. Fine . I go for the feisty ones, unless I’m in the mood for someone I can overpower easily. I follow ‘em around for a bit, see if they got what I want, and then try to drive ‘em into a corner where I can do whatever I please. Sometimes I just need to get off, and others I really just wanted to gut ‘em. I like doing both, though. Seein’ ‘em die with that fear in their eyes… It’s a huge fuckin’ turn on,” during his entire schpiel, your typing hasn’t stopped. In fact, it appears to have gone faster as he spouts away.

“Are there any specifics for who you target? Or did you just happen to find them…?” You trail off, trying to pick apart the brain hiding beneath his midlife crisis mohawk.

“I usually just saw ‘em by chance and went from there. I wanted innocents. Couldn’t give a shit about guilty folks.” You hum in acknowledgement, your typing slowing down only to be replaced by mouse clicks as he continues, “Why? Or are you just gonna say it’s not my business?” His snarkiness is laced into his question, nearly making you want to say exactly that– it’s none of his business.

“It doesn’t concern you. You’re just another means to an end, Dean .” The inhale from him seems to echo in your eardrums, knowing you’ve simply upset him once again. Then again, how can you not? He’s just another squealing pig, albeit an even more crude one than you're used to running into; he’s just another pawn you’ve bought for your entertainment.

The clacks from the keys signal the end of your chat. You’re now focusing on your assignment again, not caring about the man laying prone on the ground. Engrossed with the task on hand, you don’t hear your captive rubbing against his bindings, forcing the skin to break and bleed; it doesn't register in your mind when he starts to slip his wrists out from the ties so he can try his luck at his ankles. As far as you're concerned, the only thing worth your consideration is the annoying endeavours you’ve been hired to complete.

What does get you to stop your production is the leather-covered arm wrapping around your throat from behind. There may be no blade, but the arm is tight, unrelenting in this choke hold you’ve been placed in. His other arm is securely gripping his own form, making sure that you won’t be able to break free of this situation.

“Spent too long on your work, Green ,” Dean sneers from behind you. If you didn’t have your helmet on, you would have felt his breath, reeking of cigarettes from the few he smoked before his kidnapping.

“I’ll admit. I underestimated the piggy,” you say, feeling the arm constrict like a snake squeezing its prey. You choke out a wheezy laugh, hands laying still on your keyboard; you make no move to pry the arm off, knowing he’ll only go through with choking you out if you escalate the struggle further.

“Hook, line, sinker . You didn’ even notice when I started to use the ties to cut into my wrists. Everyone knows blood is just another kind of lube,” he retorts. “And now, I’m goin’ to make sure you feel just as humiliated as you made me feel. Let’s hope you don’ bleed out too quick. ” Those words are all you hear before the arm squeezes more, cutting off all your airflow. Your hands fly off your keyboard to claw, tear, and yank at the jacket’s sleeve, unable to grab any skin. You’re at a disadvantage, knowing only when it’s too late to save yourself.

Maybe you should have chosen a different person to bid on.

》 START OVER? 《

[sweet-poisoned-kisses]

Rules and Character Roster

note: out of respect for the developers whose games that i write for, this blog is strictly 18+ despite being mainly sfw. please respect that rule and understand that under 18 and no age in bio blogs will be blocked. thank you.

Sibling blog to pixels-writing

RULES

STUFF I WILL NOT WRITE

Character x Character (This is an x reader blog only!! Poly with reader is the only exception)

Smut

Alpha/Beta/Omega

Incest

Extreme romantic age gaps, regardless if both parties are over 18

Sexual assault situations

Anything about real-life people

If a character has a canon sexuality, I’d prefer not to go against it. The most I’ll bend for it is a gender-neutral reader

If I’m not sure about the gender of a character I’m going to refer to them as they/them

I’m willing to do headcanons, scenarios, and short fanfictions maybe some other stuff. Headcanon lists doesn’t really have a limit (the more characters included, the shorter the headcanons!) and scenarios will be maxed at 3 with fanfictions, obviously, at 1. Fanfictions will not be multiple chapters.

Other Things to Note:

This blog is like, self-indulgence town for me so most/all of the characters are probably going to be OOC

Please be clear on what gender/pronouns you want!! Otherwise, it’ll be gender-neutral.

I’m open to suggestions for other fandoms! I’m the kind of person to try anything at least once.

I will occasionally post things for characters that are not on my list, usually if they are from an old fandom and/or I know no one will request for them but I still wanna write for them!

If I say no, I’ll try to refer you to another blog that might say yes.

Masterlist HERE

FANDOMS I CAN WRITE FOR

Games

Boyfriend to Death 1 & 2

Sano

Akira

Strade

Ren

Rire

Vincent (I'm willing to add Farz if requested)

Lawrence

Cain

Damien

The Price of Flesh

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Till Death Do Us Part

Marcus de le Cruz

Chris King

Aria King

Jack Buchanan

Ellen Klein

My Dear Hatchet Man

Alan Orion

See Thru: Need a Friend

Friend

Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack

Sunny Day Jack

Your Boyfriend

Peter

John Doe

John

14 Days With You

Ren

DachaBo

Bo

Degrees of Lewdity

Kylar the Loner

Robin the Orphan

Slashers

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Misc. Other

Creepypasta

Jeff the Killer

Eyeless Jack

Ben Drowned

Slenderman

Splendorman

Trenderman

Offenderman

Laughing Jack

Jane the Killer

Homicidal Liu/Sully

Ticci Toby

Masky

Hoodie

[teresalace]

I wrote this jokingly 😉TPOF spoilers, Machete x reader- Sucker ending

▪︎ Warning: Oral technically, death, machete being machete, gender neutral reader, desperation. Word count: 1474. - 10th june 2022

You were slowly dehydrated. Oh that wasn't all.

Throat painfully parched when swallowing, grimness all over your skin, the air was unbearably hot and humid as the morning sun, there barely any strength left in you as you continued huffing and running, probably looking like a fish out of water, across the desert sand.

Blindly going in any direction for cover, to survive, to escape, to find a place to hide; from them. The hunters.

You've been lucky so far while waiting it out in the fissure, cooling yourself down, doing breathing exercises that did little to help but distracted you at least. Everything was going to be fine. So you hoped until nearby, a bone chilling scream ripped through the peaceful silence, closely followed by a man's rugged laugh.

Squeezing your eyes shut to the world and noises of struggles, you felt yourself shaking. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry–' the only mantra you recited over and over in soft breaths, a crushing guilt weighing in your heart at the fact you didn't do anything.

'You knew you could've save someone, instead you chose to be a coward': said the furious voice inside. You chose to unhear it, automatically blaming yourself for everything that happens was just going to chip away at your sanity— so you willingly became a coward. Surviving suddenly became a top priority.

You stayed a little longer in a fetal position, long enough to see the sky dyed orangery with trails of yellow and red. Not knowing the screams had stopped at some point in time, the footsteps too. Yet you still hear it from time to time on repeat in your head.

One prey down, meaning including you, 3 was left. Mentally speaking, with each passing heart beat, hour or minute or however much time had passed by, you practically could feel your luck was running out.

In trying to get up to check whether you were truly alone, you fell accidentally onto your butt from your knees buckling. Hah. Is this how a heatstroke feels like? A grimaced smile appeared on your face as you stifled a laugh, It was morbidly comedic in a way.

From the dusty sand beneath your fingertips, the cooling breezes whipping by, and the pulsating dryness in your chest, dried sweat on your forehead. Reality couldn't feel any more realer as you stared into the setting sun.

Nothing felt real to you in that moment. A small blessing.

The outdoors was never an option you'd consider, too terrifying to imagine even camping; the unpredictability of nature and many dangers of the wilderness, the idea of not being alone in the middle of anywhere unsettled you to no ends— noisy bugs and critters at night, no doubt waiting to crawl inside your safety tent when left unguarded— those thoughts made fear rush through your blood that would've kept you up from enjoying any activities.

It wasn't just a preference to stay within your comfort zone in a cozy air-conditioned office or to spend your vacation days lazing inside with some books and family bonding, this introverted lifestyle chose you and you couldn't dare imagine it changing… But sometimes, a cruel part of yourself lets your mind wander off to the "what if?" scenarios— a torture to think about, an absolute nightmare.

Though running for your life in the desert, legs heavy, burning feet digging in the sand and dirt for leverage, there was no denying you were having a nightmare right now. Then you just need to wake up.

Simple.

Impossible, in your current exhausted condition, it's not as if you had any choice as you woke up less clothed than the night before, being auctioned off like an object in the dark then waking up once again in the worst place possible. The desert.

Ever since you were little you never liked the heat, to be fair that wasn't the only thing you disliked. Somewhat of a personal vendetta against the sun and anything related to the outside world.

You couldn't help it, comfort had been your priority, always. Maybe you've been spoiled for far too long.

Involuntarily you shivered, whether from the gut wrenching hunger or thirst, all sensations within your body blurred together. And in another moment, you realized at the same time as the icey-chill seeping into your bones, it was already night. Though looking around, no one was in sight, it wouldn't be wise to stick around one area.

With that in mind, you groggily got up, arms cramping, thankful your appetite had disappeared and your entire focus shifted to making it across to the camp site where it all started. Surely there should be some water and food stored if the hunters bothered setting up a shelter, right?

Your mouth salivated at the thought and a drool slipped past the corner of your dry lips before you hurriedly sucked it back into your mouth, desperate not to lose anymore moisture. This strengthened your resolve to push through the dark and sneak

right into the empty campsite despite the crepting fear of being caught slowing down your pace.

It didn't matter to you anymore the second you entered the ring of campfires light, basking in the warmth unfreezing your entire shivering body and reviving inside you, a new hope.

Your head felt clearer than ever and with a stronger hold onto what's left of your sanity, you objectively went to finding something to drink; scrambling through the opened wooden boxes, digging past rolls of rope that left scratchy souvenirs on your hands, unbranded bottles of alcohol and beers that seemed untouched. 

Hurry, hurry, find it. Time was tiking and you felt watched by the shadows around you, even your own, casted by the campfire ominously. Where was it?!  Water. Water. Wa. . .

A rustling of the tent fabric emgered in the precipice of your vision, and instinctively you ceased all actions immediately. Like a frightened animal, flight was your very first response. That slight movement startling you backwards and made you tripped over your own feet pathetically. Falling onto the cold sand on your side, the awkward angle numbing your arm in crushing pain.

"You won't be able to run." The plain masked man said, no, stated it like a set truth. 

It probably was when your state was a heaving tired animal, maybe it was best to surender. . . You saw how cleanly he chopped a head off, it guaranteed a painless death, and so you turned slowly in his direction. And shakily looking up, saw him.

Machete. The only hunter without an animalistic themed mask, a blank slate covering his entire face. 

His nickname was fitting, considering that his weapon is a machete, the very one he used to demonstrate his bloodlust at the beginning of the hunt. You'll never be able to forget that silver glint shinning in pure sunlight before severing a poor girl's head clean in the middle of the other hunters' 'fun,' disrupting them from further indulgence.

And when you made eye contact, the bright moon shone behind him, and that predatory look in his almond eyes drove you crazy right there and then. A burning hatred in them, starving and . Warming your cheeks as you closed your thighs subconsciously, the fluttering in your chest grew too much beyond a deafending amount. The feeling way too familiar for you not to recognize the signs.

Damn it. You just had to get a crush in the worst timing, in the worst situation in the history of your life. 

He gave you nothing more than blank stares, then a finale look over before dragging his weapon over to you. The game of cat and mouse was over. You were dead meat, literally if you don't do something. 

"P—please! I'll even su—suck your dick," you yelled out clinging to his pants, half in frustration and pleading. "I—I want to live." You became a blabbering mess, puffy swollen eyes and helpless tears and hiccups. 

For the sake of self preservation, in that close second you experienced to death's door your brain folding into itself panicking to come up with a solution. Sell yourself. Whatever it takes to stay alive. Your body was useful.

Something in that weak plea of yours must've worked since the masked man stopped dead in his tracks, body language almost shocked at your desperation on display. You took it as a good sign and with the strength of adrenaline in you, you fiercely tugged and pulled down the side of his pants till his mid-thighs were exposed while he was still frozen, revealing the flaccid of what you wanted in the moonlight. 

The shock must've wore off of him when you saw his large rough hand try to grab your head. "Sto—"

But you were quicker, faster than he expected as you blindly latched onto his penis like a starving leech, stuffing your mouth full of him. Mouth stuck to him, breathing finely though your nose while vacuum-sealling his fate. 

In hindsight you really should've offered your own body instead of forcing yourself onto him— maybe that would've changed his mind.

The last thing you heard before seeing the g the sky upside down was a raggedy exhale of pleasure. ". . . For your sake, it's better this way." 

-The End: You died(Joke Ending): You sucked-

[glazelilyy]

you are the sun (and all that i bask in)

pairings (separately!) - diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, albedo, childe/tartaglia, zhongli, xiao, kaedehara kazuha, scaramouche, dainsleif, thoma, arataki itto, gorou x gender neutral reader

word count - 3549

genre - fluff

format - headcanons + blurbs

warnings - kissing, skinship, sharing a bed, vague spoiler for dain's identity, consensual waking with kisses

summary - good morning kisses with the boys :)

a/n - this is my submission for @xiaosmoon's valentines collab for the 7th day prompt: good morning kisses! :) it's also my first post in a while (i'm a lil rusty on writing so forgive me if i don't make sense in some parts aaa), and i just wanted to say thank you all for the neverending support and love i receive on this blog despite my inactivity, it means the world to me :) i hope you enjoy the post! <3

diluc—☆

there's never a morning where diluc doesn't kiss you upon awakening

it's how he starts his day and as necessary and mundane as eating breakfast or brushing his teeth (or breathing, dare he say)

good morning kisses are among his favorites because to him, there's no better way to be welcomed into the waking world that with the softness of your lips against his

he'll sacrifice some of his time allotted for his morning routine, but it's worth it just to spend a few more minutes with you

his kisses are firm and bathed in unwavering love, yet they shield a trembling longing that's caged beneath the flesh of his skin. every ticklish traversal of your fingertips, warm from sleep, stemming upwards from the small of his back to the apples of his cheeks set his heart ablaze and body alight. you'd cup his cheeks and welcome him to the world of consciousness with a smile that rivalled the stars themselves and a kiss tasting of the remnants of sweet dreams.

diluc would murmur words of insistence: that with the sun's blossom over the rolling hills and mountains of mondstat, he too should rise and tend to his duties. but within your arms under thick, wooly sheets was where he longed to be and desired to remain. it was easy to persuade him to spend an extra five minutes wrapped up in your arms: embarrassingly so. he'd pay the price when he scrambled to get ready, sands of time running so quickly through his hands as he would later hop around on one leg with half his leg in the pants hole, ruby broach tugged halfway over his face.

but it was all worth it to spend just a little more time basking in the morning sun and waking up to the feeling of your lips on his. so he stays for just "five more minutes" and lets his lips and soul connect against yours.

more characters utc!

kaeya—☆

kaeya loves to wake you up in the same way each morning: with his kisses

morning sun is always too hot for someone like him but you ground him back in reality and let him know that to live is to burn as much as it is to freeze

there are no teasing remarks, no neatly folded smiles or careful laughs

just your sweet kaeya and his loving kisses to greet you with the morning sun

dawn was never preferable for a man who thrived in shadows: but you were a different kind of light.

gentle as a firefly, ethereal and milky as the moon and tender as lakewater in the depths of midnight: you were his sun if sunshine were bathed in an inky mist.

with his arms wound tight around your body and a caress of his thumb just beneath your eye—shut in bliss and slumber—kaeya observed the rise of dawn and felt his skin tingle with a cathartic release, leaving the calm rise and fall of your chest and gentle pitter patter of your heartbeat to soothe the aches and sores that came with the sun.

he'd wake you up first with a kiss to your forehead (because blessed was the brain beneath your skull that looked at him and found love, solace, and home). your nose would scrunch up adorably, but settle back to baseline; this would not do. then, another to your cheeks (both of them, because he loved how supple and sweet they felt beneath his lips). next were your eyelids, where he longed to see the beautiful (e/c) gems hidden beneath the tenderness of your skin and recite poems of love with nothing but his eyes.

finally were your lips, where you became his muse and breathed life into him. by this point, you'd awaken (though you usually awoke when he kissed your eyelids but feigned sleep with a tricky smile on your face) and wrung your arms around his neck to tug him closer; and he'd let you, just like he did every morning.

but kaeya decided to prolong his usual morning kiss routine with you today: the early morning sun fancied you a divinity and bathed you in its glow, and though he was just a mere sinner, he longed to lay within your embrace and commit every inch of your beautiful face to his memory by heart.

albedo—☆

waking up to albedo makes you question if you're still dreaming

he's most likely still asleep, resting after a fruitful day of work of all kinds

but even in sleep his love is more tender and sweet than a droplet of honey

albedo often woke up to the tickle of your fingertips gliding over his scalp, just barely grazing over the roots of his thick locks. but he preferred his eyes to remain shut just so you'd continue for a little longer. when he eventually did open his eyes, he peered into your own pools and saw within them his entire world and all that he loved.

albedo wasn't much of a poet: he preferred to pour his creativity into blossoming pieces of art from his fingertips. but when you laid so calmly and warm in his arms and peered up at him with what looked like twinkling stars in your eyes, a plethora of thoughts washed over him like a gentle tsunami.

"radiant", "exquisite", "luminous", "ethereal", were just a few adjectives that came to mind whenever you looked at him with the gentle caress of morning sun on your face and a hazy smile on your lips.

he was sure that the flowery words of love that he wanted to convey to you were translated over when his lips met yours and all in the world fell silent.

childe/tartaglia—☆

should he wake up first (which occurs more regularly), childe will first study your face as if he'd be quizzed on it later

but really he adores how the sunlight contours the grooves and dips of your face and his attention is tethered tight to your lips like a metal coil

try as you might to persuade him that your morning breath isn't worth his kisses—he won't listen

because when childe wants something, be it glory, power, or the world even, he'll do what it takes to get his hands on it

even the strongest of knights need a kiss from their beloved to start the day right

childe takes his opportunities by the horns and slings reins upon them so that with a flick of his wrist, they are putty or stone in his hands.

but it seems you were the one to saddle him first.

it frustrated him: all you had to do was lie in slumber, eyes shut peaceful and safe and calm, and his heart would be sent aflutter. when you awaken and caress his face; greet each of his freckles and swipe fluffy locks of ginger hair away from his ocean eyes and shield him from the red hue of early morning sun, he is putty in your hands.

he's only ever know the worn grips of sword and knife handles and the sharpness of finely tuned words and edges of blades and pointed arrows that jutted outwards and would draw blood if he pierced too hard.

but you are soft, tender, and warm; a far cry from the frigid temperatures of cooled metal.

his good mornings, sweet words, and bubbled laughs are muffled between intertwined lips and a dance of hearts and a tangle of your hands in his locks. your smiles are swallowed between his lips and they taste of sugary syrup (and he's reminded that you love pancakes, and thus an idea for breakfast is formulated in his mind).

you're in no need of any words to convince just how putty childe is within your arms: his lips that meld so sweetly against yours say it all.

zhongli—☆

zhongli is a creature of habit and finds stability in repeating little things in his daily life

one of these things is to brew you a cup of tea—just the right temperature, amount of sugar, and milk—and serve it to you just as dawn begins to break over the horizon

there's no better way to greet a day full of promise and opportunity than to spend it with you and a warm beverage

you are an ethereal creature more beautiful than any cut of jewel that zhongli has ever gazed upon in his entire life. even with a wrinkled shirt, dried drool on the edge of your oh-so-kissable lips which always stretched into a sleepy smile whenever his fingers brushed against yours, and the glossy glaze of morning mirth that never faded no matter how many times you batted your lashes.

the porcelain cup of tea that he had carefully set aside for you had surely gone lukewarm right now, but you had let him know how delicious it was upon the first, steaming hot sip with a pleasant hum and gentle smile on your face.

now you laid your head on his chest, searching absentmindedly for the gentle thunder of his beating heart beneath the soft, cotton fabric of his shirt. he'd shake you gently every now and then: a proper reminder not to fall back asleep yet as the day before you and him had yet to be greeted.

yet despite being the strongest of the adepti and the former holder of divinity, it is you who silences an archon with a kiss to his lips and a gentle pat to his cheek.

xiao—☆

sleep doesn't come to xiao; it's as unnatural as breathing underwater

so he'll stand guard and chase away the shadows and cobwebs that surround you while you sleep

and when morning finally comes, and you've awakened to your loyal lover at the foot of your bed, he's of no position to object when you beckon him closer

with your heartbeat as a lullaby, perhaps he'll learn what it's like to breathe underwater

"you're awake." his voice was quiet, gentle; careful not to rouse you from tender sleep too abruptly

your eyes still phased in and out of consciousness, body begging to hold onto the last remnants of your sleep but you surged forwards and ripped the tendrils of slumber from your arms to greet your lover.

"that i am," you breathed, and stretched your arms out towards him like a beacon of light, "come."

years ago he would've declined ferociously (because the burdens he carried are forever his and his alone to shoulder). but now he's learned: that his debt is not all he is, that he is allowed to feel joy and feel blossoms of warmth spread across his cheeks whenever you weaved crowns out of qingxin just for him.

crawling onto the bed, his forearms caged your head in as he hovered over you and brushed the tip of his nose against yours no more delicate than a flower petal. you smiled, and skimmed your palms set ablaze with sleepy warmth up from his wrists over his chilled, scarred skin, to his supple cheeks. a tilt of his head to the side and his lips were all yours—and what a feeling it was to dance a morning waltz to the distant roll and crash of the sea.

xiao pulled away first, bashful and elusive and breathless from all you give to and take from him, before settling his body onto yours, head on your chest to listen to the steady beat of your heart. bliss overcame him when your fingers carded through his locks, and he knew this was the closest he'd ever get to heaven.

kaedehara kazuha—☆

kazuha is never far, but when the sun rises so does he

the ocean breeze and gentle roll of the waves stirs something deep within him and he's compelled to go towards it

but he'll always be within reach, and he'll always go where your intertwined hearts desire

guyun stone forest was beautiful in the early dawn when not even the crystalflies had gone to bed and some of the twinkling stars in the mauve sky had yet to return to the inky blackness. the sea breeze ruffled his hair as if the anemo archon themself had caressed his head in silent prayer.

the winds sounded favorable and playful today, like the innocent twinkling of a dangling bell from a cat's collar; today's events would work in his favor.

a silent smile spread across his face when he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist, and a tender kiss pressed to his cheek—chilled from the sea breeze.

your head lolled into the crook of his neck as you peered out at the calm waves, tinted the color of sunsettias in their brightest bloom. kazuha felt your heartbeat pitter against his back and raised his arm (careful not to let you come near the blade that hung from his waist) as a silent invitation to come closer—and you did.

kazuha's lips nestled themselves at the soft, tender part of your head and murmured a "good morning" into your roots; and a special, secret part of him hoped that he'd always be able to wake up to rolling waves, the fresh scent of salt, and your embrace in the early morning.

scaramouche—☆

it's difficult for him to fall asleep, and stay asleep

it wasn't until recently that he had discovered that you acted as somewhat of a remedy to his sleep problems

but he'd rather let his pride stay lodged in his throat and block his esophagus than admit that he falls asleep much better when your hand in clasped in his and your body is snug, puzzle-pieced against his own

even with all his reservations, he always wakes up to your hand intertwined within his own, and his face snuggled into the crook of your neck

"you know," you started, voice still rich and heavy with sleep, "sometimes, you cry in your sleep."

he wasn't even aware he still did that anymore.

"preposterous. you're seeing things." he responded.

yet you squeezed his hand and ushered him closer into the warmth of your body with a shake of your head against the pillow. "i'm not."

silence engulfed the bedroom save for the twinkle of freshly fallen snow from outside the walls of zapolyarny palace, and a pair of morning doves landed on the branch just outside the window before scaramouche spoke again.

"is that why you hold my hand?"

you hummed in thought, lost to the tendrils of thought for only a brief moment before your answer rolled so fluidly out from your tongue without hesitation.

"no, i hold it because i love you."

he scoffed, though he knew that you knew he wasn't annoyed in the slightest when he squeezes his arm tighter around your waist and raised your intertwined hands to press a kiss to your skin. he'd always sleep soundly if you remained by his side.

dainsleif—☆

he's seen the fall and rise of the sun too many times to count

the first few times he'd ever witnessed such beauty were breathtaking moment that stuck with him forever despite the circumstances in which he was allowed to breathe in dewy morning air and see the brilliance of the sun for the first time

but the novelty eventually withered away and what remained was numb and cold

until you entered his life and reignited the childish wonder within him; you became his new, eternal sun

he always woke up much earlier than you did: two or three hours were all he really needed at this point. but he preferred waking up earlier, at the time which dawn slowly began to creep up over the horizon, stuck between that lamentful limbo of inky midnight blues and striking, tangy oranges and playful pinks.

your body was pressed tight against his; limp in his lap with the faint fan of your snores tickling the strands of hair at the base of his neck. unlike the sun with which he had once found novel beauty in, your beauty never ceased, the novelty never wore off, and even in sleep you blessed him with light and the luck that he possessed to be able to love someone as lovely as you.

you'd wake up and prop yourself up on his chest to give him a kiss and whisper a good morning, before pulling him back down to sleep within your arms without question.

thoma—☆

thoma's got a strict schedule he needs to maintain

which means he's here and then gone on a long, busy day of work

but that doesn't mean he doesn't set aside the perfect sliver of time in his morning to wake you up in the gentlest of ways and bid his goodbyes until afternoon

thoma would chide you whenever you forced your eyes open just to watch him hustle around the room and throw on his clothes for the day—because there was no need to watch him slowly cut the cord of morning bliss that tethered the two of your together. but you couldn't help it; even if for a moment all you wanted was to lay your eyes on the man you loved.

"go back to sleep, i'll come see you soon. it's a promise." he whispered, careful not to ruin the sleepy trance you were caught in as he drew the thick covers back over your body.

you knew he always kept his promises (even if he did show up breathless with a bouquet of flowers and two sticks of tricolor dango in his hands), but he still sealed them with a sweet kiss first to your forehead, then to your lips for extra measure.

arataki itto—☆

itto is restless and always ready to go at a moment's notice

this applies from the moment he wakes up till the moment he falls asleep

you'd define him as a bit of a menace who drags you out of slumber with him for a morning filled with giggles and tickles and maybe a few pillow fights

but you're the only one capable of subduing an oni; and he'll willingly submit if it meant he'd see that smile he loved so much on your face

you had become accustomed to waking up to the long tips of his nails tickling against the tender part of your skin where your nerves collected together in your armpits and sides. bubbles of giggles erupted from your throat as he mumbled a husky "wakey wakey, sunshine!" into your ear with a voice still caught on the edge of sleep and dreams.

plead and fight as much as you want, itto's strength knows no bounds and he won't stop tickling with sweet laughter of his own until you've got tears running down your face and a permanent smile on your lips.

before he knows it, he's on his back instead of hovering over you and you've straddled his waist with a triumphant smirk and eyes that glimmered with mischief and wriggly fingers that zeroed in on his armpits and neck.

but a kiss to your lips is all he needs to distract you from the impending revenge you desired for the tickle attack. and what could you say? the plea of a truce in his kiss was enough to subdue your fighting spirit and fall prey to his embrace.

gorou—☆

he's shy and still stumbling through the thickets of love and affection

but there's never a morning where gorou doesn't wake you with feathery light kisses that lead up from the ends of your shoulders to the tips of your warm ears

part of him doesn't want to stir you yet from sleep but the other part of him wants to see your beautiful eyes and talk about everything and nothing in the moment of morning where there was finally no need to rush to do anything

he didn't want to wake you up at first, but you had a knack for being in sync with him so when your eyes fluttered open a little after his did and your hand reached up to smooth his frazzled, thick locks, he felt a little less guilty for rousing your awake. you had probably become used to the little tingles that resounded whenever he pressed his lips against your shoulder and led up towards your neck, and you always smiled and reassured him that you loved being woken up with something as gentle as his lips.

gorou loved when your fingers would find the soft part of his ears and stroke them softly as if you were handling glass. his heart felt full and swollen with an indescribable feeling that he hadn't felt before (and it felt light and airy). you hummed out an interesting thought you had from the day prior, and let him run over the day's plans for his soldiers while you stroked his head and let him run his calloused and battle-scarred hands over your back.

if possible gorou wanted to freeze time in this exact window of time each morning and prolong the domesticity and sweetness of your morning talks for just a little while longer. all he's ever wished for was something stable, comforting, and sweet and he finds all that he has ever yearned for within your eyes and embrace.

date published: february 7th, 2022

[pajamei]

𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔷𝔬  ♡  𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢  𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

notes: an anon requested more hanzo as a blanket statement and i’m feeling up to it! lets get cute with this sad boy. rating: teen, he deserves fluff pairing: hanzo x gender-neutral reader .

♡   date nights have always felt like foolish attempts to curry favour, new ways to pull the wool over his lover’s eyes

♡  it’s a trick, a trap to lull you into a false sense of security. he can be dressed exceptionally, his metal arm covered by a well-tailored suit and hanzo can pretend he isn’t a murderer

♡  he errs on the side of dinners at restaurants you’d be shocked at the price of. it always makes him bloom just a little bit inside when you blush and demand somewhere cheaper next time. you both know it isn’t going to happen.

♡  his blessed mistake comes in the form of ordering an empty venue, just the two of you at the most table in a high-rise building. the city is beauty, spread out before you.

♡  and hanzo is, too, even as he tries to avoid your searching gaze. no one is here to bother you, to stop you from reaching for his prosthetic and gently holding it as if it were a hand made of flesh.

♡  you say he’s easier to read than he thinks, and hanzo’s eyes go steely. but before he can find insult in your concern, you pick up his hand and press a kiss to cold steel.

♡  his palm is warm where your mouth left a soft sigh, his heart can do nothing but break with how quickly you try to mend wrongs that shouldn’t have happened.

♡  you love him, his face is a mask of grim acceptance and the deepest sadness. he would ask, implore you to share your sadness if he saw the same.

♡  with a start, he begins to apologize for ruining the night. you shush him, promising that nothing’s been ruined. you just couldn’t help but notice he seemed quiet.

♡  well, quieter. and that moment of surprising levity makes him smile. your thumb draws comforting circles are his metal knuckles, so soft and consistent that he can almost feel it if he pretends.

♡  he says that he’s trying to think of things to say, happy things. things that would sound like what his father would speak of to his mother. things that won’t make you think he’s a monster.

♡  you make a choice, your eyes drawn to his. and you say that you already saw the bloodstain on his dress shirt before trying to hide it. you know that he was somewhere else before meeting you.

♡  hot shame runs through him, and he tries to extract his fingers from your own.

♡  you hold on tight, gripping his palm and applying affection pressure he wishes he could sense.

♡  and you tell him that you don’t know if you care about what he’s done this time, for what reason he’s killed. but that hiding from it ensures you’ll never be able to decide.

♡  he isn’t allowed to run from you, pinned in that moment like a butterfly to a board. and you look at him, hold him. you watch as part of hanzo struggles to accept the stand you’ve made.

♡  it’s just date night, but it’s more than that to him. and even to you. it’s the time when he’s most vulnerable, laid bare in the middle of a dining room when all he wanted was to be someone else. someone better for you.

♡  but it is... warm, this feeling of understanding. it makes his shoulders slack, he lets his arm extend properly across the table now that he doesn’t need to hide what happened to someone who crossed his arrow.

♡  you ask him if he wants to discuss what happened, and hanzo shakes his head. you understand even that, so long as he’ll recognize that it did happen at all in front of you. he’s so keen to run, always to run.

♡  he’s fearful, much as he loathes it, about the next action he make take that will convince you he’s lost. perhaps you can handle the abstract, but not the details.

♡  you just wave your hand. the gesture isn’t dismissive, instead putting the topic aside for when he’s prepared. it happened, he’s not hiding from that at least.

♡  you have time enough to find out the rest, and to love him anyway.

[fraidy-farfelle]

(Previously frankie-undead-dame) Welcome to the mess! This is a self indulgent multi fandom blog. I write on the rare occasion. 24, she/her. I share and write NSFW content so minors DNI. There is no judgment or kinkshaming here.

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