Technologically Obsessed

- At the moment, my ask box is OPEN

- That being said, I cannot promise that I will answer asks immediately, as I have a life outside of this account. You are free just to send in whatever, it doesn't have to be a request. But if your ask makes me uncomfortable, I will simply ignore it.

- Smut asks are welcome. Kinks, no matter how strange, are fair play. And, as I come from writing horror/gore, you can also ask for stuff like that. X reader fics are not the only thing I write!

- THINGS I WILL NOT WRITE- Incest, fauxcest, anything underage. My work is not intended for minors and I will not write for it.

- I mainly write for myself, so I may take long, random breaks without warning. This is a writing account I have for fun, to share my work with others and read their things in return. I want to keep having fun

- I don’t do tag lists, sorry

- But anon lists are open! (🌺, 🎧, and 🥄 are taken)

- And I am always looking for new mutuals <3

- This is a side blog, so all my follows/likes do not come from me. I will not be posting a link to my main, since I want to keep those separate

- Last, I would like to address a problem I've been seeing more and more in the creative community. I do not consent to any of my works being fed to ai. And if you support ai, you are not welcome on this blog.

Taking off his shirt in front of the open window, he made sure to make a show of everything. Putting a blanket down on the couch, stripping off his boxers, making sure to spread his legs just for you. As if you were in the room with him, the air stiffened. Under normal circumstances, he would have been embarrassed of himself. Kept the blinds closed at all times. But this was for you, a sure-fire way to lure you out of your hiding spot.

His mind blanked at the thought of being watched. Trying not to curl in on himself, he spread the pre leaking from his tip down his shaft. Already hissing under his breath, he leaned back against the couch. As terrifying as it was putting on this show, it only made him harder to think of you, tunneling somewhere, your eyes trained on his every movement. He hoped soon you’d be able to take his cock yourself, so he wouldn’t have to bear the moments of humiliation that came with exposure.

Imagining your cunt squeezing his cock, your pretty lips on his between the psychotic version of love you spouted about to him, he easily lost himself. He moved his hand the same pace he assumed you would go. Starting slow to feel him, before aggressively speeding as you gave in to your own mind. Perfect to him, because you knew everything.

It took an embarrassingly short time for Konig to come, the warm spurts waking him from his bliss. But this wasn’t just about the show.

The cum globs stuck to his stomach, coating the soft blanket beneath him. One of his best, a pity.

“Scheiße,” he muttered under his breath, wiping the sticky liquid off his fingers and onto the cloth.

Without a second thought, he pulled up his boxers and vanished into the bathroom. Logically, it made sense he’d have to wash his hands. Clean himself up a little. Anyone watching wouldn't question that's what he went to do.

But it was also a part of his plan. Just because he was a tank on field didn’t mean he was completely brainless.

You were growing more comfortable after the confrontation in the alley. You didn’t cover your tracks as well as you used to. You were allowing yourself to act bolder, sloppier. And you couldn’t resist the soft blanket he had laid out, the cum he had wiped on it so carelessly put there just for you. So, once again, all Konig had to do was wait.

Sit patiently in his bathroom until you slunk out of your hiding spot, which he still could not locate for the life of him, and then—

He burst out just as he heard footsteps. Grabbing you from behind, he easily picked you up off the ground, allowing you to kick out and screech in surprise. He had done this same move with countless enemies, yet this was the first time he wasn’t using it to hurt someone.

“Hush, kleine maus. It is just me.”

You stopped struggling immediately, noticeably relaxing into his grip. It nearly made Konig laugh. He had caught you once again.

“Konig!” You said his name so happily it warmed his soul. “Is something wrong?”

His grip slowly loosened, much to your disappointment.

“Nein, nein. Not at all.” He finally let you go, but not of your wrist. A small assurance you wouldn’t scamper off again. “I wanted to speak with you.”

You tensed at that. In your mind, you were already running scenarios. If he yelled at you, somehow come to his senses and demanded you leave him alone, you didn't know what you'd do. You had already grown attached; you didn't want to leave him. And you weren't about to give back the collection of items you had taken home.

You wouldn't let him leave you.

You couldn't.

Konig took a breath. He didn't want to scare you away or risk you losing interest. Not that you would, considering how you spent every free moment with your eyes on him, but the fear was present.

“You said you love me.”

You nodded. “Yes. More than anything.”

“Then, would you consider," he tilted his head to the side, choosing his words carefully, "moving in with me?”

“So… you want me to move in with you?” You repeated the words as if you could not believe them. This wasn't how people were supposed to react to being stalked, but you supposed Konig was an exception. At least, he hadn't called the police yet.

He nodded. “You are my stalker, ja? Then it would be much easier if you were to live with me. Skip the commute.”

Once again, there he was. Luring a little mouse out of her hiding spot one piece of cheese at a time. Your relationship with him was delicate, but he wanted it to advance. He wanted you to do more than simply watch. He wanted you to know that he was alright with you doing more.

There was a small indent in your cheek where you had been chewing on the inside. “I’m not giving you your stuff back,” you said defensively.

He laughed, uneven teeth on display. “I don't think I have the strength to wrestle it away from you.”

The squad medic was a close 'friend' of Soap's, meaning the Scott spilled everything he had been told the moment Ghost asked about you. The 141 had no problem encouraging Ghost's crush, but Soap was unable to keep your illness a secret. He grimaced as he said the three little words that were practically a death sentence.

Motor Nerone Disease.

A rare illness, made even rarer by your younger age. There was only a 50% chance of inheriting it from a parent genetically, which meant your entire life was a coin flip. One that you had apparently lost.

Ghost tried not to worry about it. During missions, it was hard to think about anything else than what was in front of you. But he kept coming back to the strange thought, the little research he had done into the subject. And the more he looked, the more terrified he became. It had been a while since Ghost felt fear, he had thought he had become immune to it. Imagining your death had reignited such emotions. He was cynical to a fault, seeing your death inch closer with every second he spent away from you.

All his life, he had only seen death occur with a bang. A gunshot, a grenade, a slash to the throat. The last time he was faced with something this slow and agonizing, he had been buried four feet under in the desert. That supposed death sentence had been enough, seeing you bear a similar cross, a death drawn out into different acts as your body shuts down one part at a time, was somehow worse than the terror he felt back then.

It was a miracle you could make it to work at all these days. How was Price still allowing you to come in? You should be home, taking care of yourself. No, letting Ghost take care of you.

Normalcy was a civilian fantasy; one soldiers weren't given the luxury of having. But in the back of his mind, he had always thought that by some miracle, he would end up with you. It was a stupid crush, but it was enough to keep him going. To put it simply, you made him happy. The short conversations and small compliments, a reprieve from the silence he was used to. It wasn't fair what was going to happen to you, the months dragging on yet still seeming so short.

It was only a matter of time before he found you again. Breaking down just as he had tried not to.

In the filing room of all places. A place only desk jockeys, and apparently a worried lieutenant, had access to.

Even with his tinnitus, he could hear your muffled sobs. His footsteps became a bit more hurried as he rounded a corner to find you.

You were barely holding yourself up, leaned against the nearest wall, your legs bent at an unnatural angle and your orange bottle of meds in hand. You could barely hold the little pills, near twenty in your palm. If not for the delay in your actions, the sickness that kept you from moving, you surely would have taken them by now. And while Ghost didn't know the dosage you needed, but he wasn't naive enough to think you needed so many.

To be honest, he didn't know what to say. He hadn't seen a person deteriorate like this before, not so quickly. And you were the last person he expected to see so broken.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. Ghost rarely spoke before, but now he was at a loss for words for a different reason.

When the silence was finally broken, it was by him.

"...why?"

It took you multiple tries to speak, still fighting to keep control over your own body. "I can't keep living like this."

It was a quiet moment. Too quiet. The screaming silence, staring at the person he loved like this, it hurt him.

"So, you planned to OD?"

If you were capable of flinching, he was sure you would have. He was never the best with his words, but he wished now that he had put in more effort to phrase things more softly, despite how angry he was. How could you do this? How could you be so flippant with your life? How could you leave him, after he had finally found a selfish happiness within you?

"I can't keep doing this, Ghost," you whispered, vocal cords run ragged from crying. "It's not worth living if I'm going to be half-dead."

He didn't have anything to say to that. He didn't have anything to say at all. He wanted to storm off, leave you behind like he should have done after first seeing you, after first falling for you. He wanted to run, just as he had done his entire life.

But he couldn't keep running. Not this time. Because if he left you, he wasn't sure if there would be anything to come back to.

"I'm going to keep getting weaker until I can't breathe!" You yelled as coherently as you could. "Do you understand what that is like? I'm going to die. Not on the battlefield, not fighting some enemy, but on my back. Unable to move. Until my body just decides to give up. And I can't do anything about it!"

He wanted to wipe away your tears, but he knew that would just prompt you to lash out. He had been through this delicate dance before, but he never thought he would have to do this with you.

He crouched down to your height.

"You're being irrational, soldier," he said, falling into his role as the lieutenant. Someone braver than Simon Riley. Not a person, but a Ghost. In tantum, he fell into his own familiar role of denial. "There are ways to fix this."

"What, you think they'll develop a cure they never thought of before within the next few months? I have weeks, Simon. A year at best." There was hate in your voice, but it wasn't directed at him.

Ghost was never a hopeful man. That part of him died in the fire along with the rest of his family. But for you, he had to be.

"At this point, it's not worth going to my appointment today," you said quietly. "I don't want my last days to be spent as a vegetable. I'm a soldier. I can't just fade away."

"Suicide isn't a soldier's death." Every word he spoke was forced from gritted teeth. He wasn't good at comforting people, he never wanted to be. The best he could give rookies to get over their panic attacks was Soap. But this was different, this was you. "Give me the pills. I'll take you to the car. We are going to that doctor's appointment."

You shook your head. "I can't--"

"You said you wanted to fight, right?" His eyes stared into your broken soul. One broken creature attempting to reach out another. "Then fight."

You didn't take his hand, nor did you give him the pills. But for some reason, his strange motivation worked. By some sheer force of will, you managed to stand, supported only by the surrounding filing cabinets. Walking would be another story, but you needed this small victory.

"I'm sorry for that, lieutenant," you mumbled, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy, not realizing how the title scraped Ghost's ears. He didn't want to be just a lieutenant, not with you, but that was all he could be. "I don't mean to bring my personal life into work."

The words he never said got stuck in his throat, tangling together, twisting into knots and spilling poison in his gut. He needed to tell you, if nothing else, at least how he felt. He knew it was selfish to put that on you, that you didn't need more stress on top of your disease, but he needed to say the words.

His voice was rough, his gaze trained on the ground so you wouldn't be able to see the tears beneath his lashes. "You're a part of my squad. You are my responsibility."

Once again, he was too weak. He couldn't tell you how he felt, even like this. Because, the truth was, you were never once weak to him. Even crumpled in on yourself, you were the strongest person he knew. Ghost was the weak one, unable to admit to the feelings that had been clouding his mind for so long.

Perhaps he'd finally in the next life. A life where you were given the chance to be happy, where you weren't sick, and he wasn't weighed down by trauma. Next time, the two of you could finally get things right. He prayed to a god he had long since forsaken that he was given another life, another chance, to be a man worthy of you.

There was no trace of your usual self as he watched you cut down all the enemies in your path. Nikto hadn't had to do anything during this mission with you. All he had to do was sit back and follow you deeper into the field. He couldn't even bring himself to be mad that you were taking all the good kills when you had that feral look in your eye, no, not while the carnage you had created was causing his cock to chub in his pants. If you would have let him, he'd push you down right there and fuck you in front of the corpses you had caused, not caring if you killed him in the process. But he had a mission to complete, and he was nothing if not an operative for KorTac.

Nikto wasn't sure how long the battle (if you could even call something so one-sided that) went on for. But eventually, it slowed. And you were left, panting, alarmingly still, staring down at an armored man you had already killed.

He didn't break your trance. He couldn't bring himself to.

But eventually, you came to. Your gaze snapped to his, before assuming a fighting stance. On instinct, Nikto did the same.

He never felt the first blow land.

You were covered in blood, part of an enemy's brain stuck in your dyed-purple hair, and half out of your mind when you pulled him to you. Your lips were on his before he could process what happened, teeth tugging at his lower lip. It had been so long since Nikto felt the warmth of another person, he had forgotten how to do so.

He grunted into your mouth. A confirmation as your tongue plunged past his scarred lips and your hands already started to undo his belt. While Nikto was the furthest thing from emotional, he didn't stop you from continuing.

He didn't know how your main would react about this, but he didn't really care. Nikto wasn't a good man, he never pretended to be. The normal you probably wouldn't share the same fascination he had with you. But alters couldn't communicate, unless you were to write a note, which he doubted you would do. The heat of the battle was too much, so he didn't object as you pushed him onto his back or tugged his cock free. So little could make him hard these days, but seeing you like a fallen angel, covered in blood on top of him, was something he couldn't help falling for.

He liked the little sweet thing at work he could easily crush, yes, but he also liked the demon ontop of him, smearing blood over his uniform as you bounced on his cock mercilessly. A little bunny, filled with energy, tearing him apart in the most delicious way. It was a battle for control, even in sex, neither of you giving up until you came in tandem.

It was probably the best sex Nikto had in his life. And on the walk back to the helicopter (where a handful of soldiers were awkwardly avoiding eye contact), it warmed his dead heart to know that some, psycho version of you wanted him the same way he wanted you.

He expected Lucas to die that night, just like his past dalliances. Blissed out from his orgasm, eyes rolled back in his head, distracted enough he didn't care for the bruises, and just vulnerable enough that he didn't fight against the knife Krueger pulled while still halfway inside him. The cut had been done a thousand times, killed hundreds of people. But, for some reason, Lucas just didn't die. Despite the bloody sheets and the slash in his throat that should have a death sentence, he had survived. Krueger hadn't even noticed, content to smoke next to his corpse, until he woke up in the middle of the night to find Lucas attempting to sneak off after playing dead. Like a roach, skuttling off after refusing to die.

The survival alone captured the psycho's attention. But attention was never a good thing when it came to him. Unlike Nikto, Krueger didn't have those same moments of softness, the strange devotion that came with obsession. Instead, he made Lucas's life a living hell, breaking him down to nothing in a matter of days. Begging him to fight, just so he could get off on the struggle. It's impossible to blame Lucas for crumbling so quickly, it's hard not to break when it comes to a cruelty so barbaric and constant that surviving itself is a punishment. The scars on Lucas's wrists had been covered by the ones Krueger had caused. Lucas wasn't a fighter, he never had been, so he didn't seem like the type Krueger would keep around, especially since he turned into a lifeless husk. But regardless, he was allowed to stay. Decorating Krueger's home no different than a doll in the corner of a child's room, forgotten and forced to observe, having not an ounce of control over his own life and no will to change that.

During where we are in the pet storyline now, Lucas had been completely brainwashed. He's not fighting back, physically or mentally. He's simply lifeless. He's not even a pet like our dear reader, just a doll for Krueger to play with and break over and over again. Krueger had realized that Lucas was no more fun, not responding to much of anything anymore, but he can't just dispose of him. Instead, he dragged him along everywhere like a rag doll, a pretty thing that is all his to hurt. And Lucas can't snap out of it. As infuriating as it is, he just can't wake up.

He is forced to watch Krueger with glass eyes, tend to him with porcelain hands. He makes dinner, cleans the house, takes out the corpses of Krueger's new lovers without complaint (he can't really blame him for cheating, after all he had gotten so boring). After a long day, freshly bruised as the cycle of abuse continued, Lucas found the feeling of his bread knife against flesh calming. Sawing away at bone, cleaning the blood off the rug he had ordered to tie the whole living area together, neatly packing the dismembered body parts into a trash bag to take outside, it was a reprieve. The cold night air welcomed him like the death he should have had. Yet the lights that had once offered hope, whispering for him to follow, to leave this cursed place behind, had long since gone out.

The exit is right there, but he can't take it. Not because he feels anything for Krueger, not because he's scared, but because Lucas isn't even a person anymore. He's been told those words so much he now believes them. At this point, Krueger just keeps him around because his devotion is useful. Which Lucas is very aware of.

As terrible as Reader's situation is, Lucas's is that multiplied tenfold. An inescapable tragedy that he can't avoid. And that's what I find so fascinating about this dynamic, because as much as the Reader wants Lucas to fight back, as much as they pull out their hair, screaming for him to escape, he just... can't. Of course, I considered making him a badass, but after being in this situation and undergoing this much abuse, he's incapable of doing that

You had to bite back a laugh as he fumbled with his keys in his thick fingers, fingers that you couldn't help imagining inside of you, curling into your spongy pussy, hitting all the right spots. Fingers you could imagine interlocking with your own, the callouses rubbing so sweetly against your skin. You'd make sure to kiss his rough fingers, rubbing lotion on his hands, before working it lower and lower. Imagining him in your mouth had you practically drooling, along with the little kisses you would pepper against his thighs. You wanted him, you wanted to take care of him, shower him in love, offering him the same happiness he gave you while you watched. It made sense, in your mind. He would fit perfectly against you in every way. You just knew it. If only you could have the chance—

But no. You couldn't just appear out of the blue like that. Maybe you'd try again some other time. First, before you introduced yourself, you'd have to learn a little more about him.

This was supposed to be the end, you were going to return home. But then again, there was a building right beside his, abandoned and quiet, with a nice roof on the same level as his window. It was almost like fate herself was offering this opportunity to you. It was the weekend, you didn't have anywhere to be, you could stay out as late as you wanted. You'd stay, just to see what the mysterious man was like when he was comfortable in his home, opposed to in public.

To be honest, there wasn't much to watch. He ate microwave ramen, smoked a joint, tripped over his own rug, and nearly faceplanted. It was a strange entertainment, watching him go about his daily life. Neither exciting nor tragic, all you could do was watch from your spot on the roof through your binoculars (you had bought them for bird watching, but this worked, too) and observe as he fell asleep on his couch.

You stretched, recounting each tiny moment, making sure to file away the details for later. His face behind the mask, each of his little scars you couldn't quite see from afar, the way his shirt rode up when he stretched, revealing a tuft of hair trailing down his stomach. It was like he was made for you, created just so you could lay eyes upon him. You were happy you got the chance to observe, to be a passing part of his life.

Soon, one walk with him turned into two. Then three. And before you knew it, the cycle had started. Cameras placed in the dark recesses of his apartment, forgotten items of his clothing finding their rightful place in your closet. It was simple instinct for you to take what you wanted, care for the things you loved. Even if you knew deep down it was wrong, it simply felt so right to bask in his presence. A familiar face after a long day, a man just as broken as you, a man you could love as you thought he deserved to be loved.

You couldn't help wanting to know more, familiarize yourself with every part of his life.

-

Konig was his name, you had learned that from KorTac's electronic file system that was protected by the classic password, 'Password123'. If you ever introduced yourself to him, you'd make sure to tell him about the fault in the system. You didn't want his information to fall into the wrong hands.

You had also learned other things about him. His diagnoses, his past injuries, and the sidenote describing how other operatives avoided him. It hurt you to see that, but you weren't surprised. His social skills clearly weren't the best, and even on his little online games, he was struggling to hold conversations in chat.

It was such a good thing you came along, wasn't it? That you had stopped fighting against your thoughts telling you this was wrong. Konig wouldn't have to go through all the stress of getting to know you and falling in love, you had easily taken care of that all for him! He had the perfect person for him, standing 23 steps away.

Of course, you could have just gone up to him like a normal person.

But you didn't want to startle him. It was clear he had troubles acting normal in social situations. Besides, you didn't want to run the risk of rejection. Because, while he may not be perfect to the majority, he was to you. You didn't want him to slip away from you now that you had found him.

It would be easier for everyone involved if you kept your distance. That's what you decided. Konig had so many things on his plate, you didn’t want him to worry about you, too. You were just happy to be around him, whether he knew you were there or not. He was like the sun, warming your face and soul.

But you also knew you couldn't keep this up. You weren't naive. He was growing suspicious of being followed, looking over his shoulder once too often. You'd introduce yourself soon, you promised yourself that. But you wanted to wait until he came to you. It was all about making everything was perfect. He'd love you, you knew he would. The porn he watched of dominating, controlling women was enough to comfort you about that. But even that certainty wasn't enough to get you to go up to him.

The simple truth was, you didn't want to ruin the relationship you had with him. You were content to watch, clinging to your fantasies of his hand in yours. With every fiber of your being, you wished that if you confessed everything, he wouldn't run away. You didn't want to be called crazy, even if that's what you were.

Maybe you'd attempt a conversation, if you could manage to keep yourself settled. That was the plan. You could do this.

But then, he left.

No warning, no clues left behind in his apartment. Your Konig had simply disappeared.

It didn't take long for you to put together that he had been deployed. You had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth. He was off in battle without you. Clearly, he was capable of combat, but you didn't have that much faith in him. He hadn't even done anything about you! How could he go up against trained killers?

You kept trying to rationalize things, deciding to take up his apartment while he was gone, living in his space to calm down. Something about the smell of him calmed you, sitting in bed and hugging his flat pillow to your chest. He had survived this long, so, logically, you knew he wouldn't die. And when you had checked his mission status, he was put on something you assumed was very simple, under an officer that knew what he was doing. As you fell asleep in his bed, you prayed the ache of his absence would ease. You didn't want to think of a life without your obsession. He would come back to you in one piece, he had to.

If anything, you weren't mad at Konig, or even sad at the possibility of his death. You were mad at KorTac for taking him away from you. Being deprived of him for a week was bad enough. What would happen if he got deployed again? What if this time it was for months? Years? That wouldn't do. You couldn't have him leave you again.

So, when he finally came back, you snapped. It didn’t matter how illogical it was, how weak you may be in comparison to him, because your mind was made up.

You were going to kidnap Konig.

You had bought enough sleeping pills to put down a horse. And considering his height, he'd need all of them. Surely, Konig wouldn't mind. He was yours, and he needed a break from all this bloody work. It was time for you to take care of him, just as you had in the shadows for so long. So, you waited, biding your time, so close yet so far. Blinded by obsession, you didn't even consider the risks ahead of you.

Just like the first time, you had followed him home from the store. Still 23 steps behind, your pace never faltering, head bent to look at an imaginary text on your phone. You followed him without thinking, his apartment building right in front of you, once he went inside you could wait until he was distracted and sneak in behind him, slip the tablets in his drink

Then, he veered off the sidewalk. He wasn't supposed to do that. You quickened your pace, following him down the alley where he disappeared to. Where was he? Surely, he hadn't left you again.

The next thing you knew, there was a hand around your throat, throwing you against the wall. You couldn't help leaning into his touch, your plan going out the window as he spat questions at you. He was so mad, attempting to make himself seem scary like a red panda when cornered. But you knew better, you had seen the true him.

You couldn't stop yourself from finally saying the words you had been dying to confess.

“I love you, Konig.”

He didn't say it back, but that was to be expected. Your appearance into his life was sudden and strong. You almost thought he was going to kill you in that tiny alley, (you would have happily met death it was by his hands), but that never happened. Instead, he let you go, not even bothering to lecture you as he walked off.

It was an invitation. And the small bit of shame you had felt, whispering that this was wrong, was squashed.

He left his window open that night. He had done so too deliberately for it to be an accident, choosing the window by the fire escape knowing you could climb up to break in. Unsure of how to approach you, this is how he did. An open window, slowly taking off his shirt in front of it, conveniently leaving his underwear out in plain sight for you as he went to bed naked.

You took the bait. You couldn't help it. And if the smile he wore the next morning when he saw the garment missing meant anything, it told you he didn't hate you. No, if anything, he liked your attention. You knew he was perfect for you, and this reaction had just confirmed it.