"I desire violenty --- and I wait."

[Various Creepypasta/Marble Hornets X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: like, none?]

[AN: I actually wrote a bit of this while in the shower staving off the terrible heat in our apartment! Something short bc yeah]

Reblogs are appreciated!

Jeff the Killer

UGH. He hates the heat. He rolls his sleeves up and can’t stand it. On the warmest of nights, he actually takes his hoodie off.

While he’s most active in the night, the heat usually stops him from wanting to do much else than plop down and hang out. So naturally, the two of you just… hang out on the rooftop of the mansion. He saw the stars were out. Beautiful and bright, and almost perfectly in the same place as they were on earth. Oh, how the Slender Man loves the earth’s beauty yet fails to replicate it completely.

He leans in your doorway and nods his head for you to follow him, and without any second thought, you go with him. You follow him through the twists of the snake-like halls and up, up to the staircase that spirals endlessly to the roof. He headstone soft footsteps behind him, mentally noting how you need to work just a bit more on your light step.

Really quiet. The night is quiet save for a few rustles of leaves from animals moving about the forest, at last, those that have wandered in. Jeff guides your gaze to the stars above and he talks a bit to you. Soft memories of the life he sheeting live slip out in his slight knowledge of the stars overhead. Liu once mentioned the Big Dipper would be right… there!

You enjoy your time with him quietly. Every now and then you ask if he knows what a certain bright dot in the sky is, or if he’s aware of the myths that often surround them. He knows some, not others, but enjoys departing his knowledges you as best as he can. When you ask if he wants to do anything else for the night, he smiles and shakes his head, “no thanks, just enjoy whatever this is.”

Eyeless Jack

He’s not terribly fond of heat. Reminds him of something rather unpleasant, but something about warm summer nights makes him feel nostalgic. The summer before he went off to college, being out at night with his friends when he was human… it’s a pleasant thought.

He even briefly thinks of summers spent abroad by a fireplace with loved ones, speaking in a language no one really indulges with him now, roasting things and giggling all the while. So, he asks you to follow him out the back of Slender’s mansion, and you oblige.

EJ leads you down the gravel path lined in plush bushes donned with soft flowers to a fire pit. There’s already others of Slender’s children spending time out here. It smells comforting, nostalgic for yourself too as the both of you sit down in the grass near the bursting heat.

The two of you sit together comfortably, chatting amongst each other and sometimes with the proxies and independents who sit near you, enjoying the late night. You can smell the fire and some beer, the sweetness of a graham cracker… wait, who brought those in?

Before you know it, you’re getting handed a bag of the s’mores stuff and you make one with a stick plucked from the bundle that was handed to you. And curiously, you watch EJ begin to make one too. You smile at him, and he smiles back, “don’t worry, a little sugar never killed anyone.”

Tobias Rogers

He’s considered himself to have weird feelings about the summer ever since Lyra died. He wanted a break from school, some respite from the horrendous bullying but without her, but without his best friend, who was he? It took Toby a while to greet the summer with a smile again.

Toby told you he stole a car. It’s kind of normal for him—he has a thing for cars. Not necessarily the nicest ones, but when he can tell someone’s attached to their car, he has an itch to take it. He burst into your room with a grin, keys twirling on his fingers and asked you to join him for a drive.

The night air is still humid, yet the breeze is beginning to cool the sweat formed on your brow from walking through the woods, from out of the Slender Man’s world and into the human one. Effortlessly, you sit in the car beside him and he takes off.

The two of you cruise, sometimes talking, and sometimes humming along to the radio. It continues on like this, so comfortably, until he gets the low fuel ding. He pulls into a gas station and hands you his wallet. “Get something good for us,” he chuckles.

You browse the shelves and come back, arms full of treats and cold drinks for the night. You somehow manage to pop the car door open again right as Toby slides into the driver’s seat. He sees you with the snacks in your arms and plucks the Red Bull from you with a devious grin plastered on his face. “My favorite!” He laughs like a kid as you roll your eyes playfully. “How’d you know?”

Masky

You’re more than used to spending time in cars with Tim. Shuffling from one place to the next, often out on errands for your boss, and then back to base for dinner! You’ve spent more time in that car than you want to admit. And Tim has somehow managed to keep it to roughly the same car the entire time. Or at least, he really likes Honda C-RVs…

This is no different. The both of you leave the sweltering building you’ve both done more than a paint job in and he immediately unlocks the car with a click of his finger on the worn down button. The summer night air hits your skin like a cool kiss that was more than needed after the heat you’d accrued inside.

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead and with the last of your strength propel yourself forward to open the car door and slump inside. You sigh as Tim sits beside you and closes his eyes for a few moments. You’re both more than exhausted. He still has evidence all over his face but it doesn’t matter in the moment.

You eye him curiously. The warmth of the sitting car blankets the both of you uncomfortably as you sit in silence. It’s a little awkward for you. Out of all of your years spending time at the side of your group leader, you’ve never seen him do… this. You quirk your brow up as he rolls his sleeves up once again.

Tim’s brown eyes remain closed. He breathes in through his nose, and out through his mouth a few times to the count of 4. When he senses you about to speak, he shakes his head. “Used to do this a lot after work, when I was still human… decompressing… you should try it,” he mumbles. The small tick of a smile pulls at the corner of his lips when he hears you shift and breathe to the same count of 4.

Alex Kralie

The corn fields look especially lush under the light of the summer moon. At least you think so. Your body is exhausted. You roll your shoulders as you come up to the ranch house that slightly smells of day old iron as your proxy gaze sharpens in the night. Sitting on the porch is Alex.

He’s lounging. His legs are draped on the stairs and his elbows rest back on the top of the porch. His glasses are glinted with the light of the moon as he watches you stalk through the field to his side. Wordlessly, he asks you how it went, and with a shrug, you convey that it was fine.

Unceremoniously, you plop down beside him and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You can hear the crickets chirp in the background and the sound of owls singing in the distance. You glance at Alex who sits just a step above you as you relax beside him, your weary body finally giving in to the cooling kiss of the night.

Alex only continues gazing up at the moon and the few stars that peek out from behind the clouds. The pale light of the full visage peers down on you both gingerly, like a whispered secret. You smell the earth, the vegetation around you, and even a bit of Alex. The smell that wraps around him is nostalgic, but you feel homesick for a home you’ve never known.

You look away from him and continue to gaze outwards, both st the stretching field and the beautiful night sky. “Nice night,” he says simply, never one for words ever since he transitioned to the proxy lifestyle. It makes you stifle a giggle. He’s never been good at playing normal.

Kate the Chaser

When does Kate not look utterly exhausted? She’s fully relaxed on a park bench under the world’s shadiest looking lamppost and still exhausted from the mere fact she has to stay awake until you meet with her. She only begins to perk up when she sees you walking towards her, purposefully, yet still languid. She yawns and invites you to take a seat next to her.

The lamp light flickers a few times before it finally shutters off, and the two of you snicker. You glance at her in the newfound darkness as if to ask her if you should rise, but she shakes her head. She holds her pale hand up and then drops it back down to her lap. You take notice of the hoodie clung to her form, mentally chastising her for steaming herself due tk the humidity of the night.

Kate offers a sheepish smile in return and rolls her sleeves up. She yawns again before slumping a bit on the bench. Her gaze in the dark conveys all you need to know—she wants five more minutes of sitting around and doing nothing. You smile, and playfully shake your head before you indulge her. In the distance, you can hear the park at night. Creatures scurrying about, kids up to no good… it’s a wonder she wants to rest where she is when you have a car up and waiting for her.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when her head lolls onto your shoulder and you feel her breathing lighten. She’s fading in and out of consciousness and the quilted heat isn’t doing her any favors of alertness. Instead, you shift so she can comfortably use your shoulder and preoccupy yourself by counting the leaves on the emerald tree in front of you.

his hands are weaving through your hair, pulling loose braids together and letting them unravel over and over again.

you’re in a dreamlike state, barely there. your eyes fluttering closed as your vision tickles with the promise of sleep.

simon pangs with something unusual, something straying from his typical state of pure contentment when he’s with you and johnny.

he’s almost jealous of how blissed out johnny is making you feel. like he’s missing out on some unspoken connection that’s leaving him behind.

“johnny?”

he hums. your ears perk up, but your eyes remain closed.

“can you—can you teach me how to do tha?”

johnny seems genuinely shocked. “what? how to braid?”

simon nods, confirming. and suddenly feeling a bit self conscious.

johnny teaches him three different types of braids, even though he only really manages one successfully. johnny’s favorite kind is some sort of scottish braid that involves four sections of hair instead of three and, is overall, way too complicated.

at one point, simon winces, thinking maybe he’d pulled too hard. he waits for you to scold him, but he’s only met with silence.

“is she asleep?” simon asks johnny softly.

“affirm, sir.”

sum: you needed rest, your bones shaking with fatigue. leon insisted after you reconvened following a split-up to gather intel that you took a load off. naturally, being the good partner he was, he herded you to safety—or some semblance of it. cw:❗️slight romance, female reader, explicit language, heavy petting, mild choking, bodily fluids, dirty talk, pet names, slight somno, dry humping, 1.2k wc, mdni notes: bringing back my favs to celebrate the release of requiem. thanks for reading, my doves.

He prefers you like this.

Without the knit of your brows or the upturn of your lips. Defenses buried beneath the gravel, your voice soft with sleep. No sharp quips, no biting comebacks. Just your lids dancing and your mouth parting slightly with each exhale.

He’s always been loyal to those on his team, encroaching into possessive territory in even the best circumstances. He learned early that if he found something good, he needed to claim it fast and hold on tight or it would be taken from him. So when he finally had a team that didn’t treat him like a freak…he got protective. And you just ended up being the final nail in that coffin.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he does have a soft spot for people who are good. Good like Johnny, like you are. For too long he was only surrounded by the scum of the earth, people who took without any regard for the people around them, any regard for him. You weren’t like that. You were all give. Too much sometimes. People who take, love people like you that they can exploit. And thats where he comes in. To keep you safe.

To do that, though…he needs to stake a claim.

He started easy, purposely swapping your jackets so you would walk around with ‘RILEY’ proudly displayed on your back. You were confused on how the mix up occurred, but when you couldn’t find your jacket, he insisted you use his in the mean time. He wasn’t planning on recovering yours anytime soon.

He was always watching from a distance whenever someone talked to you. Across the mess or on the mats, anyone approached you and suddenly nothing else he was doing mattered. You couldn’t understand when people would see something off to your side only to run away from the conversation moments later. Whenever you checked, you only ever saw the soft eyes of Simon. He never let you see the glare.

He got bolder. Eventually throwing his arm around you whenever possible. Casually, at first—at least that’s how it came off to you. Everyone else, however, knew he wasn’t big on physical touch. To them, it was radical. To you, it was just Simon. You liked the support his presence brought, knowing he was watching your back. Feeling him. He liked that too, of course, but he liked that everyone started avoiding you more.

And when you got hurt, he unabashedly told the infirmary that he was your fiancé to get in to see you (and changed your emergency contact while at it). You didn’t need to know about that, you were just happy for the company in the hospital.

Eventually, the questions came—to him of course, no one dared approach you now. So, whenever someone asks if you’re dating, he tells them yes.

He just sticks to paperwork and teaching the demolitions classes now, which means he works closely with you, the teacher for the practical stuff he can't do.

It's practically an open secret that you two like eachother, what with all the longing glances and flirting.

Thing is, soap really likes you. More than just some fun fling. Soap can't do a lot of normal, mundane stuff without difficulty, and it...kind of makes him insecure. What kind of man can't even wear shoes with laces? What kind of man would still be desirable like that to you?

So when you invite him to dinner, soap is tempted to turn you down. But you smile and run your hands along his arm with a "please, johnny? I'll let you pick the place."

...he chooses a familiar restaurant, one he and gaz visit regularly.

Soap orders a soup he's not too fond of, a bit risky considering his tremors, but a safer bet than anything that needs to be cut up. He furrows his brow when you ask the waiter "two of those ribeyes from the specialty menu? Oh, and some extra napkins?"

Soap isn't one to comment on other people's meals, he's seen ghost put away five of those steaks after coming back from months in the field. Still. It's odd compared to what he knows from you. A break in the pattern.

The food arrives, and soap tries to hide how careful he is lifting the spoon to his mouth, how his grip is awkward and painful. Thankfully, you don't notice, too busy....cutting up the steak?

"Here, johnny, move that," you cut the steak into small bite-sized chunks, then reach over the table to move soaps soup out of the way, making space for the ribeye. You chuckle at his baffled expression "what? You thought I'd enjoy something this nice while you eat your sad little soup?"

"....you cut it up..." soap mutters, totally caught off guard at how...simple it was.

You didn't comment on it, you didn't scold johnny for avoiding either. You just...saw the issue and fixed it.

"Uh..? Was i– was i not supposed to?" You ask, now worries because soap still hasn't grabbed a fork. "Kyle said you preferred smaller bigger chunks. I can make them smaller, if that's what–"

"No. No, it's just–" soap tries not to tear up at the fact you asked his friends how to help him. The first and last date he had after the incident called him a child for asking for help cutting his food. "...I didn't expect it. Thank ye. Really."

So he ends up crawling out of that op with an assist, extremely drugged up but expected to just sleep it off.

Cue ghost in the back of the humvee crawling all over you, sleepy and cuddly in a way he never is, mumbling about "ye' always make m' feel safe....m' wish you'd hug me more..." with his face tucked into your abdomen and arms tight around your waist. He still has all the strength of a 6'2", 300 and some pounds soldier, so there's absolutely no escaping his grapple-cuddles.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

repost from my old deleted account tobeholyistobeempty - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

✧˖*°࿐ in which price and ghost share an obsession, little ol’ you!

simon riley rejected help at every turn. whether it be an outstretched hand after taking a fall in combat training, scoffing at the action, or medical care.

which is why captain john price was so confused as to why, for the last two weeks, his lieutenant was constantly in the infirmary

so when ghost one again insisted on leaving training early for some cryptic ankle pain, price decided to follow him down there

surely his lieutenant didnt have some sort of a drug problem.. or be hiding a serious injury from the team?

but when price spotted you, the pretty young medic causing the tough lieutenant in question, to blush, profusely! clear even beneath his mask.

price knew he had to meet you himself

oh yes, price knew him and ghost would have some fun with you, and you had no idea the dirty thoughts running through his mind as you feel a firm, yet not unkind hand, resting on your shoulder.

turning around to see a large, beefy man, whose presence almost demands submission and respect,

And you decided to challenge him and he doesn't back down from a challenge. So guess what? Now you're in his quarters, with your face pressed into his mattress as he's railing you with all he's got and telling you that "this is what happens when you don't wipe that stupid fuckin' look off your face".

After that, you started going out of your way to push his buttons if it meant that you'd be getting fucked viciously every time.

Johnny x neighbor reader

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Soap has just finished telling you about riding some bears face when you comment "I wish I could do that. But I just get so worried I'll crush them...not to mention none of my boyfriends have been keen on it."

Ghost literally appears from nowhere, everyone thought he was out smoking, to loom over the table and offer bluntly "I could handle you, love. Wanna try it out?"

...which is how you end up in the lieutenants room, thighs quivering around his head. His tongue works you eagerly, making you brace your hands on the headboard and moan "fuck! Simon– Simon please– shit. That's good–"

Ghost grunts under you. Hands wrapping around your thighs. He only pulls back an inch from your cunt to speak "c'mon, lovie, full weight. I can handle it."

"But– but what if I hurt you?" You gasp, hesitant. But it's hard to resist when ghost leans up to suck on your clit and lick between your folds. "It's good right now, I don't– ah!!"

Suddenly, ghost is pulling you down, the full weight of you on top of him. Before you can even recover, he's back to shoving his tongue into you hungrily, and god the feeling is so much more intense now.

"Fuuuck– si– ah!" You rock your hips, seeing stars when his nose rubs against your clit just right. You've never been eaten out like this before. He feasts on you with the desire of a man starved.

Your orgasm draws close, knuckles tight on the headboard so you can properly grind against him. Every groan and grunt ghost makes vibrates through you, and you keen "yes! Yes, oh god, yes, ghost–!"

CRUNCH

You freeze at the loud, unmistakable crunch. With a horrible sinking feeling, you scramble off of ghost and oh no–

"It's okay, love, ahm fine." Ghost groans, fingers coming up to touch at the very much broken nose on his face. He looks more blissed out than anything.

"Simon! Your nose is broken!" You hiss, face burning. Ghost is just smiling dazedly, which only worries you more "We are going to the emergency care!"

...cue the most embarrassing moments of you life as ghost happily tells the nurses about how he broke his nose. He insists that it's important to tell the medical professionals everything, wouldn't want them to miss anything, right? Besides, he needs a copy to bring for his file, since he'll be banned from sparring for a bit.

no because imagine Ghost, who’s spent his whole adult life with a mask on and now the scents of the the world are too much. every cheap cologne, every burst of omega perfume, every new room full of strangers is an instant headache. he’s the only alpha who walks into an omega heat bunker and immediately goes “absolutely the fuck not” and locks himself in his room until his vision stops swimming.

everyone thinks he’s cold. untouchable. “Ghost doesn’t do scents,” Soap jokes, and Ghost just grunts and changes the subject. (it’s not a joke. he’ll get a three day migraine if someone walks past with a strong enough aftershave.)

and then you show up. beta, background, scent so low key he almost misses it the first few times. not flowers, not pheromones, just… clean skin. fresh laundry. the soft warmth of someone existing, not advertising.

he doesn’t realize at first why he keeps drifting into your orbit. why he stops sitting at the end of the table and starts pulling a chair next to you during briefings. why, when his rut hits and everyone else’s scents feels like sandpaper against his nerves, he’s following you, hands in your hair, nose tucked under your jaw, breathing easy for once in his life.

you’re the only person he can stand to be near when his senses are on fire. everyone else is too much, too sharp, too loud. you’re just… quiet. he can bury himself in your scent, soft and muted and not at all the migraine trigger he’s learned to dread.