#frank morrison x reader

[magicwithered]

Frank is a 19 year old dirtbag. He repeated senior year of high school because he cut class. The fact that they made him repeat senior year is laughable considering it was the same teachers that would tell him he’s never going to amount to shit that failed him.

It’s whatever.

He thinks you’re pretty. He thinks you’re more than pretty, actually. He likes how you cover your face when you’re embarrassed. He likes how you think he can’t see your flush under your dark skin. (He can. Your ears turn a deep russet.)

You’re going places. Everyone says it. Future valedictorian, gonna make it out this podunk town and never look back. People tell you not to talk to him. “He’s a super senior,” they say. “He’s a fucking loser.”

You don’t care. You never have. You’re too sweet for that.

He wants to rub his dirty, vile hands all over you. He wants to be your biggest mistake. He wants to be your biggest shame. He wants to be your guilty pleasure you touch yourself to at night.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says to you when you’re stretched across his bed watching your nose wrinkle as he smokes a blunt. His pager is firing off because of Julie. He’ll get to that in a second. You look so cute like this he wants to eat you up.

He’s going to eat you up.

Frank does so love when he can ruin things.

[semiweirdshipper]

Why do I make these memes?

[soapyghostie]

Hello!! Can you write any of the dbd killers (and The Doctor) with a reader who comes back severely drugged after a trial with The Clown? How would they react?

Ayyyyy! Another request, that’s been sitting in my inbox since forever, is done! Slowly, but surely getting back into writing. This is my first time writing for Evan and Frank. Hope y'all enjoy.

The Trapper/Evan MacMillan

When Evan sees you stumbling and disoriented, Evan’s eyes widen in immediate concern. He can feel his heart pounding as he rushes to your side, a surge of worry overtaking his typically stoic demeanor. He even feels fear coursing through him as he begs you to tell him what happened as he takes your hands in his shaking ones to try and stabilize you. 

When you finally tell him about your trial with The Clown, a deep-seated rage builds within Evan. His face is contorted with a mixture of worry and rage as he imagines the sadistic torment The Clown put you through. He grabs his weapon and grips it tightly with a burning desire for revenge. You’ll have to calm him down and convince him to stay with you; if not, he’ll storm off to teach The Clown a lesson. However, you do end up convincing him to stay, although he makes a mental note to have a ‘friendly’ conversation with The Clown later. 

Evan’s large hands, usually accustomed to handling large and dangerous tools, shake as he tends to your wounds. He does his best to be gentle as he’s not used to patching up wounds, normally being the cause of them. His usually stern expression softens as his heartaches at the sight of your suffering, revealing a side that only emerges in the face of genuine concern for you. Enjoy it while you can because he rarely shows this side of himself to anyone, even to you. 

Evan then wraps his arms around you in a silent comforting hug. Y’all stay there for many minutes remaining silent and steadfast as you recover. Evan’s eyes blaze with determination, silently promising that The Clown will pay for the anguish inflicted upon you.

The Legion/Frank Morrison

When you come stumbling into Ormond after your trial, Frank freezes in shock as he witnesses your disoriented state, his usually charismatic and cocky demeanor replaced with genuine concern. He rushes to your side and throws your arm over his shoulder to support you the rest of the way to the resort. Once inside, he’ll sit you down on one of the worn out and torn couches making sure you're comfortable before sitting down next to you. 

Frank will aggressively try to get you to talk to him about what happened. I advise you not to take it personally when it comes to Frank’s aggressiveness. This is just his way of showing he cares about you and he doesn’t know how to express himself in any other way so give him some slack. Jeez y’all. (Just kidding) Anyway, when you tell him about your trial with The Clown, a spark of fury ignites in Frank as he contemplates the sadistic acts committed towards you by The Clown. His worried expression twists into a snarl, a clear sign of revenge plotting against The Clown. However, Frank (for once) actually doesn’t give in to his impulses, due to your pleas, and stays to take care of you. He’ll get his gang together and plot a revenge plan on The Clown later while you're resting. No one hurts you and gets away with it. 

Despite his constant tough exterior, you can feel Frank’s hands shake as he patches up your wounds. He’s uncharacteristically tender, his eyes betraying a depth of emotion not often seen by him. Also, he’s at your beck and call. Whatever you need Frank will get it for you. Icepack? Food? A blanket? Frank is on it. 

Frank being the overprotective boyfriend he is will remain constantly by your side while you are recovering. Hey, you never know who could come and harm you? Anyway, Frank will hold you in his embrace as long as you will allow him too, whispering reassurances while also promising safety and vengeance, ensuring that The Clown’s actions toward you will not go unpunished.

The Doctor/Herman Carter

At first Herman doesn’t recognize your state as he is too absorbed into his work, although he does greet you, hearing you stumble into his office. However, when you don’t reciprocate a greeting of your own is when Herman looks up from his work. At that moment, his clinical gaze shifts immediately to genuine concern as he takes in your disoriented state. Worry flashes across Herman’s face as he assesses the situation as he springs out of his chair to your side, guiding you to a bed to lay down on. 

When you tell Herman what happened during your trial with The Clown, his mind starts racing with analytical anger as he contemplates the sadistic experiments that you told him that The Clown inflicted on you. However, in your drugged state and inability to read your partner’s emotions, you can’t tell what kind of emotions Herman is feeling due to him keeping that professional facade he always has. Although, if you look closely enough, you will see the determination burn brightly in his eyes to avenge you. 

Surprising even himself, Herman administers caring for you with precision, his usually clinical movement now laced with genuine empathy. He patches you up no problem with little to no error. Once you are all patched up, he suggests for you to get rest as your body won't be able to heal itself properly without it. 

Herman remains as a steadfast presence, checking in on you once and awhile. If you need or want anything, he’ll get it for you. As he helps you recover, a burning desire to slow and painfully torture The Clown gives way into his mind. Maybe once you are 100% again he’ll teach that fat fuck a lesson or two.

[vikkirosko]

🗻 Frank Morrison x Reader Oneshot Miss me! 🔪

Frank loved chasing you during trials. You were funny, and sometimes he could hear you muttering softly comments that you thought were funny. You were as young as he was, and you could have found a common language if you hadn't been on different sides of the fence.

During one of the trials, he chased you again. He already managed to catch one of your friends, two more were hiding somewhere, but now you caught his eye and Frank just couldn't miss this opportunity. You didn't see his grin under the mask while he was chasing you. Perhaps he could even have stretched it out for more time, because after all, he liked looking at your pretty face, even though you had few opportunities to communicate.

He was running after you and it was obvious to him that very soon you would start to get tired. He was able to get closer to you and tried to stab you, but you managed to dodge and jumped out the window. You should have been running. This was what other survivors usually did in such situations. But not you. You smiled broadly, realizing that you had managed to avoid pain and possibly even death, at least for now. Frank was going to follow you, but your chuckle stopped him. You were smiling and just couldn't resist making another comment.

"Miss me! Miss me! Now you gotta ki…"

At that moment, the smile started to fade from your face. You realized that you made a mistake. But Frank's smile widened. He just couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease you. Especially when you gave him such a great reason.

"Now I gotta what?"

"Nothing, forget it"

You responded instantly, blushing deeply and realizing the situation you were in. Frank took a couple of steps towards the window. It's the first time he's seen such panic on your face. You knew perfectly well that you had backed yourself into a corner and you just couldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't let you get out of the trap you fell into.

"No, no, no, now I gotta what?"

You hurried away, you heard perfectly well that he was chasing you again. Only now Frank wasn't doing it so much to hurt you as to see more shades of embarrassment on your sweet face. Especially when you, though you didn't think about it properly, gave him such a clear plan of what he could do.

[sidemari]

• Longing •

A SFW story about giving your relationship with Morrison a second chance.

Characters included: Frank Morrison (The Legion x GN!Reader)

Author’s notes: Quentin Smith appears as a secondary character to help a little with the development of the text. His "relationship" with the reader is purely platonic. I wouldn’t forgive Frank so easily as the reader did, but well, it's the reader lol. 

Image: https://br.pinterest.com/pin/581668108114328543/

"When are you going to stop using the silent treatment to punish me?" You exasperated, trying to be reasonable with him. "Frank, look. If you just tell me what's going on, we can solve any problems together."

"I'm not in the mood for this right now." He muttered, growling in irritation.

You knew how out of sorts he could get even with the slightest stimulus.

"Go away."

"Is it because of her?" You asked, trying to make eye contact with him, but to no avail. "Frank, I need you to be honest with me."

"I think I need some time."

That hit you abruptly.

"Time? Are you breaking up with me?" Your words were quiet as you tried to control your breathing to avoid conveying your agitation.

"It'll be better for both of us."

You were silent for a few moments, just letting your body absorb his words.

"Is it because of her?" You asked again with tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

"And what changes if it does?" His voice was filled with anger.

"It changes that..." You swallowed, wiping your eyes before the tears could run down your cheeks. "It changes that I welcomed, cared for, and loved a guy who never got over his first girlfriend."

"Hey, you're taking this too seriously."

"I stood by you when everyone else abandoned you. I'm hated to this day by many of the survivors because I was the girl who wanted to give a chance to a killer like you!" You said bitterly, trying to get away from the hands that tried to pull you closer to him. "They... They were right. All these sacrifices and for what? All this for a guy who was never honest with me about how he felt, or about how he still is emotionally dependent on a girl who treated him like a wretch the first chance she got."

At this point you just wanted to get away from that place.

You didn't belong there anymore. 

Maybe you never really belonged.

"Wait! Talk to me!" He yelled when you finally broke free from him. "Talk to me, damn it!"

"Now you want to talk?" You opened the front door, a blast of icy wind hitting your body. "Things seem pretty clear to me." You slammed the door, then disappeared from near his house.

He didn't try to stop you.

He knew you too well, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

Frank knew you wouldn't listen to him while your emotions were on edge.

He sighed, a heavy wave of guilt hitting him all at once, almost suffocating him. Lying down on the couch, he stared at the ceiling for the remaining hours of the day, memories of you and Julie assaulting his mind without permission until sleep consumed him.

At camp, you didn't have the strength or even the appetite to eat dinner and try to interact with anyone - you let yourself rest on a seat at one of the tables only after you noticed no one else would be there.

"You seem quieter than usual." One of the few survivors who still kept in touch with you - Quentin Smith - squeezed your shoulders affectionately, making you lift your head from the table you were leaning on to look at him.

"Quentin..." You murmured with relief when you realized it was him, his presence was always comforting.

"Have you been crying?" He asked, his voice brimming with concern.

"It was just another disappointment, you know, nothing I can't get over."

"You don't have to be strong all the time." He sat down next to you, his hand soon squeezing yours as his usual way of showing affection. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"You were right. We survivors shouldn't have contact with the killers, especially outside of trials."

"Was it Frank?" He murmured, a mix of feelings forming inside him - anger, jealousy, compassion and affection. When you didn't respond, he got up from his seat and opened his arms, inviting you for a hug.

You accepted the silent invitation and with a low mood, you also got up from where you were and allowed yourself to find shelter in the arms of your best friend from that realm. 

His fingertips caressed your hair as he tightened his embrace, in order to comfort you in some way.

"Yes, it was him." You murmured against his jacket, wanting to disappear and come back only when your heart stopped hurting.

A few weeks passed.

And then months.

You hadn't seen him for a long time.

Secretly you thanked the Entity for the fact that even though you faced The Legion constantly during that period, the killers you found in the trials were, most of the time, Joey and Susie.

That particular night, you invited Quentin to watch the stars after a trial since you knew how stressful it was for him to participate in the Entity's sick games. More than any other survivor, Quentin didn't deserve to be dragged into this hell.

"I'm exhausted." He muttered, collapsing into the low grass beside your body. 

That was a private place, a clearing that few people cared to frequent. 

The stars shone majestically in the dark sky, bringing some kind of security to your tired hearts.

You sat down, patting Quentin on the shoulder, who was with his eyes closed, sighing peacefully after that trial.

"What's up?" He asked, his voice thick with sleep as he opened his eyes with difficulty.

"Rest your head on my lap."

"You don't have to. I mean... It would be comfortable, but I don't want to force you into anything, you know?" He stuttered between these words, a pink color forming on his cheeks.

"I'm the one offering, Quentin. Come closer." He finally accepted the invitation, leaning on your lap carefully.

"That's... Almost all I could ask for..." He whispered, snuggling against your thighs.

You looked at the lake in front of you, avoiding eye contact as Quentin watched your expression curiously.

You smiled slightly before questioning him.

"Almost everything?"

Your relationship was mostly platonic. With Quentin being extremely afraid of losing your friendship if he tried to become something more with you, he always preferred to remain just as a friend.

"Yeah, almost everything." He confirmed, smiling with melancholy.

You hadn't noticed, but a figure was observing you cautiously from a distance. 

It was Frank, who watched you as some feelings took over him deep inside.

Was it anger? Jealousy? Hatred for that foolish survivor?

No, that didn't seem right.

What he felt was longing.

He wanted you back.

Damn the day you were selected for a trial.

On the Ormond map.

Against The Legion.

You mentally whined, begging the Entity to spare you from seeing Frank.  

The matches against The Legion's playstyle were tiring: trying to escape hits, mend yourself constantly, try and do generators only to run away once more since the killer was already on your tail again. 

To say it was frustrating was an understatement. 

Participating in these types of trials was even more frustrating knowing that you could encounter Frank at any point during the match.

Yet, you realized something was wrong when you noticed that you hadn't been hurt once and the killer seemed to just ignore your presence as if you were completely indifferent.

Brushing the weird feeling inside of your chest off, you started working on a generator in the killer's shack, barely noticing when he appeared in front of you, for his terror radius was oddly small.

That damn mask.

He removed it slowly, observing you while you worked on bare wires and cranks as if he wanted to memorize every detail of you. 

“You’re staring.” You said, bored.

Frank smiled weakly. 

It was always enticing noticing you weren’t afraid of him like the other survivors. 

"We need to talk."

"I have no unfinished business with you."

"Could you just look at me for once?"

"Morrison, no." You stopped working on the gen, getting up to walk to another spot of the map. 

"Look... I promise it will be quick."

"I gave you a chance to talk and resolve things that day and you didn't take it."

"I was stupid, okay? Are you satisfied that I finally admitted it?” His voice was a bit louder, still he wasn’t yelling. Not yet. “So please, let me be near you, even for a few final seconds, and I swear I'll leave you alone." You sighed in frustration. 

Part of you just wanted to send him to hell and leave him alone with whatever he had to tell you, but the other part believed that listening to what he had to say would be an act of maturity and overcoming. 

Making your choice, you finally looked at him. 

That was the first eye contact you had since that fateful day. 

His eyes looked different. There was no longer anger and hatred in them, but rather a silent anguish, almost like a plea for help, for his gaze was no longer violent and disinterested, but exhausted and resigned. 

"Forgive me." A small smile formed on his lips, but you could tell that smiling was the last thing he felt able to do at that moment. 

You didn't answer him, instead you just noticed how his eyes seemed brighter than usual. 

Were those tears threatening to form?

Your eyebrows furrowed as you witnessed the purest expression of his feelings yet.

"Forgive me for not being who you deserved." He swallowed, trying to ignore the tightness he felt in his throat. "You met someone who treats you the way you deserve, and I hope you'll be happy with him. I know for a fact he’ll be the one I wasn't for you." You were about to answer him that he had interpreted things wrong when he hurried on:

"I'm already finishing." You noticed how he was panting, fighting against the hurricane of feelings inside him. "I still care about you, even if you don't believe it." And then he turned his back on you, preparing to go and patrol some generators. His hand hovered over his mask, ready to put it any time but your voice stopped him. 

"Frank?" You murmured.

He stopped, but didn't look back.

The trigger for the first tears to run down his cheeks was when he felt your arms wrapping around him from behind his body.

He turned to you when you released him after a few seconds.

"Thank you." He would like to keep a good memory of you in mind and maybe that one would be enough to keep him going.

You stopped him from leaving once more by holding onto one of his wrists, his eyes staring at you with exhaustion.

"Even after everything that happened between us…” You sighed, not knowing if you should continue or not. "I still... I still love you so much it hurts."

"Do you still love me?" His voice was small, confused, not believing your words.

"Yes, Frank. I still love you." 

"I need you. Fuck, I need you so bad." His hands were shaking as he kept fidgeting with them to try and cope with the overwhelming feeling, his eyes darting to your lips before making eye contact with you again.  "Can I?" He asked, resting his trembling hands on your waist with delicacy. 

You nodded, allowing yourself to relax for the first time since you had seen him for the first time that day. He pulled your body against his, sighing at the contact and warmth. 

Starting a kiss, you revisited countless memories from when you were still together: fragments of memories from the first time you met him as a child, the late afternoons in Canada, the day you both confessed to each other, your first kiss, your first night together, your first anniversary and so many other special moments you had lived by each other’s side invaded your minds at the same time as you quenched the longing you felt for each other. 

During those seconds, it was as if you were not in the Realm of the Entity. 

It seemed that everything you had been through since spawning in The Fog was merely the fruit of restless dreams. 

It was almost as if your ordinary life could still be rescued.

"Be mine once more." He murmured, almost like a plea, against your lips.

[writer-freak]

Would you be willing to write some Frank Morrison x reader headcanons where the reader is the polar opposite of him?

He's aggressive at times and not patient with other people, getting angry at situations that get out of hand, meanwhile the reader is calm and rational. Could be a bit nsfw? In the sense that exploring this dynamic in a more spicy context would be quite interesting! Thanks for reading this and have a good day.

A/n: I love writing for Frank again as I haven't done it in over a year, thank you so much for this request. Also double upload today

Warnings: gn reader, not really explicit Nsfw part, but just in case I still separated them, reader is a bit of a tease

Frank Morrison x Opposite reader

Frank is very impulsive, aggressive, and always looking for a fight.

You, on the other hand, almost always think before acting, always keeping a level head even when things get completely out of control.

And That alone pisses him off sometimes, just how the hell can you stay so calm? It almost feels like you're mocking him without even trying.

Arguments between Frank and the rest of the Legion usually get heated quickly, and when he storms off to cool down, it’s not uncommon for you to be the one to find him.

You’re not scared of his temper, nor do you feed into it. Instead, you let him rant, arms crossed, nodding occasionally as he paces and curses under his breath.

You don’t try to tell him to calm down, you just let him burn out his rage, and weirdly enough, that’s what actually does calm him down.

He also kinda hates that you don’t get scared of him. You’re supposed to flinch when he raises his voice. You’re supposed to avoid him when he’s pissed.

But you don’t. Instead, you meet his glares with a completely neutral expression, asking if he’s done yet so you can actually talk.

It’s infuriating. But also kinda attractive. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when you are like this.

Frank can’t stand the delusional optimism that some of these people in the realm have, believing that one day they will be able to get out of here.

This is probably another reason why he likes you so much because you learned to accept the hell that you are now trapped in and try to make the best out of it.

You keep him in check, whether he likes it or not.

He’s reckless, quick to act on his emotions, and you’re the only one who knows how to pull him back before he does something he’ll regret.

“Frank. Breathe.” A simple phrase, spoken in that specific tone of yours, and somehow it works (though if anyone else told him that he would be even more pissed off). Not always, but enough times that he hates to admit he needs you.

He’ll rarely outright say he appreciates you. But you notice the small ways he shows it, like getting an extra cigarette for you, standing next to you without a word when you seem tired, “accidentally” leaving his jacket where you can take it when it’s cold.

He starts getting jealous in the most annoying ways.

You get along with most of the people in the realm, and that pisses him off.

It’s not even that he thinks you’re into anyone else, he just doesn’t understand how you can be so patient with people when they’re so damn stupid.

If he catches you talking to Dwight too much, he’ll suddenly appear behind you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and glaring at Dwight like, Yeah, they’re mine, fuck off.

Frank’s love language is very physical. Not in the soft, romantic way, more like grabbing your wrist and pulling you somewhere without explanation, resting his chin on your head when he’s tired, slinging his arm around your waist like it’s no big deal.

He’s not gentle, but he’s not rough with you either, just possessive.

Nsfw

Frank is very impatient, and you’re not.

This leads to some very interesting moments. He’s the type to get frustrated easily, to want things now, while you take your sweet time, teasing him just by staying calm when he’s anything but.

He also gets off on how collected you stay. It should piss him off more, but something about you keeping your cool even when he’s breathing heavy against your neck, hands gripping your hips like he’s about to lose his mind, it messes with him.

You’re not unaffected, but you make him work for it, and it drives him insane.

You have this way of keeping control without even trying. He’s rough, he’s demanding, but somehow, he always ends up following your pace.

You pull his hair, and he melts. You tell him to slow down, and he grits his teeth but obeys. He doesn’t even realize you’re the one in control half the time, it’s not until afterward that he’s like, wait a fucking second…

Jealous/frustrated in general Frank is a menace.

If he’s mad about something (or someone), expect him to take it out on you, in the best way.

He’ll have that look in his eye, with that you’re mine energy, pushing you against a wall, hands gripping your jaw as he growls something possessive against your lips.

But at the same time, you can ruin him with a single touch. It’s unfair how well you know him, how just dragging your nails down his spine can turn him into putty.

He hates it, he loves it. And he’ll make sure you pay for it later.

Frank talks a lot. He’s always running his mouth, always cursing, always vocal.

Whether he’s growling complaints about how you’re too fucking calm or moaning shamelessly when you do something that feels too good, it’s constant.

And you? You just smirk. Because you love making him eat his words.

[fishyvamp]

I am stressed as hell right now with everything going on in the US so Imma going to write what I think some of my favorite killers are like when they're darling reader comes to them stressed as hell. Many of them are going to be readers I've already written about at least once so feel free to check the masterlist. If you want more head canons feel free to ask.

The Knight is startled when Eldritch!reader asks to just cuddle, you're smaller then usual body tense and when he touches your skin he can feel the hidden shadows trying to pull him in. "Anything for you Szeretet," he whispers picking you up and holding you against his chest. He takes you to his bed though it looks more like the nest you have in your castle then an actual bed. You smile realizing he's slowly bringing pieces of you in. He doesn't find himself worthy of you, but if you insist on asking him for comfort it would be his honor to provide it.

The Ghostface is confused as hell watching Hyde!reader pacing the room. You're killer side is usually scarily calm most of the time. However you look ready to lash out. Ready to pounce and shred the next person who so much as looks at you. You turn around seeing him there and he was bracing himself to get rushed and pinned against the wall, but it never came. Instead he watches you slowly move to him picking him up holding him in your arms as you move to the couch slumping down. You don't say anything to him, but you do hold him almost painfully tight against your chest. "Everything alright?" He asks you. Not sure how to feel about the non-committal grunt you give.

The Hillbilly doesn't think twice already wrapping you tight in the warmest knit blanket he's got, he's got popcorn, hot cocoa, and all the sweets you can gorge yourself on. Your favorite movie is on and he's just enjoying your company as you both lay on the couch, though if you don't calm down he might be inclined to help his little critter out by using other methods of getting your brain to shut down.

The Trapper doesn't react much just pulls you into bed and asks you to just speak. It doesn't matter if he understands he just wants to listen. He wants to hear everything, wants to make sure you feel heard. He smiles when you finally break your worries spilling like a faucet as he takes everything in asking questions when you pause. You seem at ease once you're done looking so peaceful tucked up under his arm. His Brat looks so sweet when they lay in bed next to him so peacefully. Burden him will you, it makes him feel less alone to hear you. Makes him feel lighter when he helps you share the emotional load.

The Executioner is use to it. You're already stressed about this and that. You aren't dating, but he does know how to get you calm down, you pinned beneath him in the bed as he humps against your ass. So fucking perfect he thinks feeling you melt against his touch. Such a needy toy, maybe he'll force you on your knees as he sharpens his knife, your face pressed against his thigh nose buried into his clothed groin. You're surrounded by his musk and for some reason that pacifies you. Not that pyramid head can complain.

The legion, they're solution to everything is horror movies and cuddle puddle. The neediest person in the center of the puddle a killer in each arm, a third holding behind while the fourth finds himself between your legs. The look smug when they finally get you to sleep. Your snoring soothing. It isn't long before they're passed out too.

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Cherish

MDNI!!! 18+

A/N: Finally finished this commission for my best baby, @teaflavoredwitch :’) Trying to get back into writing and not wanting to gouge my eyes out when editing. I’m going to try to post a new Doctor Strange fic by this weekend. Fingers crossed! Frank Morrison x reader/OC, NON-BINARY READER/OC WITH FEMALE ANATOMY! They/Them pronouns used, Smut, stalking, breaking & entering, toxic relationship dynamic, spanking, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, knife play, pet names, multiple orgasms, begging.

Word Count: 4k

It’s a ritual. Sacrosanct, holy, paramount. Windows unlocked, during summer months cracked a few inches. Curtains drawn, moonlight shining in and casting long shadows on their sleeping form. He will slip in as always, deadly silent, coveting their fragile little body. He notices they’ve moved the sofa to a different corner of their living room, and there’s a fresh vase of wildflowers adorning the kitchen table. He hopes they weren’t a gift from an admirer, he’d have to hunt the unfortunate man down and desecrate him in some way. Not that Frank is above or minds a little ruthless murder. It’s just that there are other, far more interesting things he could be doing with his time. For example…

They snore, rolling onto their stomach, sheets tangling around soft legs. Adorable. Their pajama shorts ride up the back of their thighs, hinting at the nirvana hidden beneath cotton. Frank will never see the pearly gates, but between their legs is the closest he’ll get in this lifetime. Not that he’s complaining, oh no, he’d much rather spend his time with them, in them, on them…than around a bunch of boring little cherubs and old guys in togas with fluffy white wings and glowing halos. The summer breeze drifting in through a cracked window tussles their hair and the scent of their shampoo hits Frank square in the chest. Sweet, cloying, and familiar. His cock twitches in interest, rousing in his jeans.

Feet move forward without thinking, an old floorboard creaking ominously under the weight. He doesn’t mind if it wakes them, he adores the momentary sweet look of terror on their face. The fear when they realize the big, bad Frank Morrison is looming over their bed. It’s always short lived and replaced with hunger, an aching want that mirrors his own. His little freak, his little pervert. Getting off on a man like him watching them, stalking them, breaking into their apartment. A match made in the flames of hell.

He remembers the first time he realized they were just as fucked in the head as him. They should have screamed, should have grabbed some baseball bat from beneath the bed frame or dialed 911…but no, not his little toy. They smiled impishly, a pretty blush covering their cheeks, “It’s you.” They had breathed out, sounding all awestruck and dreamy, “I’ve seen you. You’re the guy who’s been following me.”

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a statement. It was a goddamn badge of honor. Their stalker and Frank wore it proudly. He’d shoved their face into the mattress and fucked them till they cried that night. And when he came hard into their perfect little cunt, he knew he was hooked. He’d never want another after that night, he’d always come back, he’d burn the whole goddamn world for them and their tight little holes. And if they ever tried to leave him, he’d drag them down to hell with him.

Frank’s not quite ready for them to wake up yet, so he takes care making his move forward once more. Purposefully avoiding that one gnarled plank with a feline-like grace that belies his hulking exterior, he’s now hovering at the edge of the mattress. An angel of death. Short stubby fingernails with mud and viscera caked beneath drag lightly down the back of their thigh, a trail of goosebumps erupting in its wake. He leaves behind a few smudges of mud and blood, his claim on them. And though they’ll inevitably wash it off, they can’t scrub away the ‘F’ carved into the subtle jut of their hip bone.

A summer breeze rustles up the gauzy curtains, they stir slightly. He sits down on the edge of the mattress, a hand slowly drags up the length of their leg, pausing at the gentle swell of their hip. It squeezes, kneads, feels the pillowy give of fat and flesh. “Wake up little bunny rabbit,” He takes his pointer finger and thumb, pinching the inside of their thigh, “Open those pretty eyes, the big bad wolf is here.”

His voice is low, pseudo-soothing murmur, their lullaby and awakening in one. Eyes flutter open, blinking blearily up at Frank. The fog dissipates slowly, there’s the glimmer of recognition in those ever expressive depths. “Good morning, honey pie,” Frank coos, booping the tip of their nose, “It’s about time you woke up, you little dummy. I could have butchered twice over by the time you woke up, silly.”

Hooking a finger under his mask, he tilts it up, off, over his head. Discarded on the floor somewhere now, he takes their chin between his fingers, tilting that cherubic face back, “Where’s my hello kiss? I think we both know you have better manners than that, angel.” There’s a subtle edge to his saccharine tone, the senseless violence he gets off on lingering in the backdrop of these encounters.

“Wha time’s it?” They mumble in that sleepy, stupid voice he adores. They sit up slowly, disentangling themself from the cotton sheets. A hand latches onto a chunk of their hair, tugging in a way that could be considered playful to an undiscerning eye.

He glances over to the alarm clock, obnoxious red light boasting ‘3:05 AM’. His attention returns back to his sleep rumpled little angel, “Oh it’s a little after three in the morning, sugar pie.” A hand digs into the softness of their thigh, silently marveling over the give of muscle and meat. His fingers dig in, anchoring himself to the doughiness he’s become so intimately family with these last six months.

“You havin’ pretty dreams, angel?” He murmurs, dragging his hand up to the softness of their belly. A nail scrapes lightly under their navel, he relishes the little shiver that wracks through their body.

“Uh-huh,” they hum, a bit more awareness present on their features. It’s subtle but they arch into his touch, always seeking him out. Frank nudges them back slightly, they sprawl out across the old duvet easily. With his hips finding their home in the cradle of their thighs, Frank looms over them, every bit the apex predator.

“I sure hope you weren’t touching yourself without me this week, little bunny. You weren’t, were you?” He whispers, eyes alight with cruelty.

They lick their lips nervously, eyes darting around the shadowy room. He can see their pulse fluttering like a wild little bird in their neck, he has them right where he wants. A nervous, sheepish giggle bubbles up in their throat, cheeks flushing, “Of course not, I would never.”

It’s a lie they’re not even making an effort to disguise, he can smell it in the air like rotting meat. “You sure about that, angel?” He asks, playing their little game of lion and mouse. He’ll rip them to shreds, nothing left but sinew and viscera. A little bloody stain on the sheets. They nod slowly, his little lamb led to the slaughterhouse. Their little pink tongue darts out again, spreading the moisture they desperately need on those lips, probably to make the lies flow smoother.

“You know,” The blade of Frank’s knife gleams in the moonlight, it finds its rightful place pressed to their throat, “If you’re gonna lie, you should at least make an effort to make it believable, angel.”

Frank drags the tip of the knife down, tracing along the tendon jutting from their neck. The pressure isn’t enough to draw blood, only to leave a sting in its wake, it makes its journey along their collarbone to the center of their sternum. He pauses, pressing the tip of the blade just a tad more into bone and flesh, “You know, if you’re gonna go through the trouble of disobeying me, you should at least have the brains to close the damn curtains.”

They inhale sharply, eyes comically wide as they flick between the blade and Frank’s disapproving little frown. He clucks his tongue, the steel sinks past a few layers of skin, crimson beading and welling up around the instrument of death. He can see the gears whirring and clicking in their little mind, desperately trying to come up with some excuse. When they find nothing worthy of a defense against their damming transgression, they simply stare back up at him. Silent and awaiting their sentencing.

“Was it worth it?” His voice is a low, feral hiss like a hive of angry wasps.

“No.” They answer easily, without any thought. Of course it wasn’t worth it, they knew it during the act and it rang true especially now.

“Did it feel good?” He drags the knife down, down, down to their navel, waiting.

“Um…” They laugh nervously, which is the wrong move. A soft whine pulls from their throat as he presses the knife into the soft fat of their belly. They squirm beneath him, too scared to move, too turned on to back down.

“Did you come?” Frank’s calculating eyes chart every nervous little twitch and pathetic whimper, cornering his little bunny and preparing for the kill.

They murmur something, so soft he doesn’t catch it. A hand shoots out, grabbing their jaw, he smushes their cheeks together, forcing a pout onto those lips. They can feel the raw power of his strength in his grip, honed from years of doing god knows what to god knows who. “Speak up, sweetheart. Did you come?” He snaps, he’s losing his patience and frankly it makes the game all that more satisfying.

“Yes,” They whisper, shame burning their cheeks, averting their gaze like some demure little thing. They gasp and shy away when the knife drags lower to the hem of their pajama shorts. The fair hairs on their thighs stand to attention, a smattering of goosebumps erupting over heated, sticky flesh.

The sound of ripped cotton fills the air, the tattered remains of their shorts tossed to the floor without a second thought. “Did it feel as good when I make you come, honey?” Frank whispers, ripping away their panties like wet tissue paper.

“No,” They gasp out, curling in on themselves, hiding. Frank doesn’t like that one bit, snatching their hands, pinning them above their head.

“Why are you actin’ shy now, baby? You had no issue spreading your legs like a whore when you were alone.” He taunts, tapping the flat of the blade on top of their mound. They jolt, an icy thrill shooting down their spine, settling low in their belly.

“That’s…different.” They offer half-heartedly, brain already turning to gooey mush.

“How’s it different? I was watching you then, and I’m watching you now. Even when you’re being naughty, you’re still so damn pretty. Breaking my rules and my heart,” Frank coos, brushing a stray lock of hair from their forehead.

The blush covering their cheeks spreads lower, down their throat, to their chest. They squirm again, rubbing their thighs together and fighting the urge to shy away from Frank’s penetrating stare, “I like being pretty for you…” They whisper, dark lashes sweeping across the apple of their cheeks.

“I know you do, honey, but you’ve been bad and I gotta punish you.” Frank sighs in a voice that’s part exasperated and part admonishing. So, they shift on the bed, eyes watery, feeling so small.

“Do you really have to?” They whisper, chewing on their bottom lip, Bambi eyes wide and glimmering with the beginning of tears.

“How else are you going to learn, baby?” He huffs, shaking his head at them, tutting. He shifts, sitting more securely on the mattress rather than lounging on the edge. He pats his thighs, looking at them pointedly, “You know what to do, bunny.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation before they crawl, sprawling carefully across his lap. Ass up in the air, an offering of soft fat and silvery cellulite. He hums in approval, running a warm hand over one cheek. “Don’t forget to count, baby. How many do you think you’ve earned? Ten? Fifteen? How many for you to learn your lesson?”

They fidget, squirm, such a nervous little thing. After all this time, don’t they know he would never hurt them…too much. And any pain inflicted by him was deserved. His naughty little bunny, so impatient. He waits, watching the gears turn in their dumb little brain. “F-fifteen…” They whisper, casting their gaze down, demure and ready.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you angel?” Frank coos gleefully, set to mar their pretty skin a dark red color. He runs his hand along the right cheek once more, feeling the gentle give, the delicate squish. They’re so fragile and it makes his dick leak in his jeans. The hand raises, pausing in the air, he likes to scare them. Leave them wondering when and where the palm will land.

CRACK!

They jolt, gasping as his palm makes contact. It burns, spreading like lava across the surface of their flesh. He digs his fingers into the fat, nails threatening to break skin, a silent warning to get their shit together. “O-one!” They whisper, it comes out pitched high and hissed through their teeth.

And so it goes, two, three, four… By the time Frank’s nearing fifteen, he hard enough to cut diamonds. They whimper and twitch in his lap, breathing out that final, “Fifteen.”

He runs his hand soothingly over the raw flesh, he hopes there will be a hand shaped bruise tomorrow morning. A brand, marking them as his little bunny, his set of holes to desecrate. “Took it like a champ, sweetheart,” Frank hums, playfully tapping the reddening flesh. They squeak, jumping in his lap. He hauls them up by the scruff of their neck.

Tear stained cheeks, sweet baby face marred by violence and lust. They look perfect, they are perfect. His perfect little thing. Without any further preamble, he crashes his mouth against theirs. The kiss is messy, the kiss is violence. He bites at their pouty lips, licking into their mouth, swapping spit. He groans low in his throat, crowding over them, dwarfing their smaller, softer frame. He digs his nails back into the assaulted flesh of their ass, squeezing in time with the tongue that fucks their mouth. Something halfway between a moan and whine of pain rips from their throat and they shake like a leaf beneath him.

“Frank,” They sigh against his lips, all airy and pliant. They wriggle and squirm, desperate for friction, desperate for relief. He wedges a hand between their thighs, nipping at their bottom lip, relishing the little squeal he earns. Without any finesse or grace, he jams two fingers, a middle and pointer, into their wet little cunt. The squelch is obscene and delicious, filling the stagnant humid air.

Their wide hips cant upwards, seeking out more of Frank’s manhandling. His fingers curl, cruel and exact, dragging across something deep inside their cunt that makes their toes curl and spine bow clean off the bed. They pant, eyes wild, chest heaving, skin tacky with sweat.

“Come on, bunny, scream for me,” Frank hisses against their throat, biting and marring the flesh. He could swallow them whole now, consume every organ and bone. And he still wouldn’t be sated, wouldn’t be full. He wants to dissect them, crack open that pretty skull and lap up their grey matter like a feral dog.

Abruptly, he slips his fingers out of their pussy, bringing them to his lips. He sucks, savoring the tang and salt of their body, eyes wild and dark with want. He nudges them back, into the center of the bed, hands gripping the back of their thighs. He pushes out, up, thighs to their chest, knees at their chin. A pathetic little whine escapes their lips at the stretch, muscles burning and pulled taut. “Keep your fuckin’ legs up, you hear me?” He mumbles gruffly, a hand going down to his jeans.

He shoves them halfway down his thighs, he doesn’t need to take them off, not really. So, he tugs his dick out, sweeping the fat head through their sticky, saliva-slick lips. They still tremble, all needy and whiny for him, subtly tilting their hips up as an offering. He pulls back, clucking his tongue admonishingly, shaking his head, “You need to use your words, bunny. Ask real nice and pretty for me, and maybe I’ll wreck this cunt.”

Their pink tongue darts out, wetting their lips, weepy eyes pleading, “Please…” they sigh out sounding soft just the way he likes, “Please fuck me, please. I know I’ve been bad, but… I took my punishment and I counted. I did what you asked. Please just fuck me, if you don’t I feel like I’ll die.”

Frank hums, making a show of mulling over their pleas, pursing his lips, “Well, I’ve always had the hardest time saying no to you, little bunny.” He slaps their throbbing clit in rapid succession. One, two, three. Then he’s pressing forward, dick sinking into their welcoming body with excruciating slowness.

They exhale raggedly as each inch nudges in, deeper and deeper. They screw their eyes shut, a little wrinkle forming between scrunched up brows. The sheets bunch up, fisted in their hands, and they keep their thighs pressed to their chest, following Frank’s instructions, eager to please.

“Fuck, you’re tight, angel. How many times I’ve fucked this sloppy cunt now? I think your pussy is too small for me, honey. I can’t break you in, you’re always gonna choke my dick out,” Frank coos with mock tenderness.

That earns a babyish whine, cunt fluttering as if responding to Frank’s taunt. And it’s true, the pressure around his dick is bordering agonizing. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down onto their pillowy tits. Drip, drip drip. His hips slap forward, burrowing himself to the root, groaning raggedly. Their thighs tense, toes curling in above their head, “Oh god,” they pant, arching up and desperate.

Frank grins wolfishly, taking their cheeks in a hand and squishing them together, forcing their lips into a pout, “That’s right, I’m your god now.”

They bite their bottom lip hard, drawing blood, nodding eagerly. He is their god and they’d gladly be sacrificed to his mercy, as if he had any. Sliced to ribbons and bound back together in his own twisted image. His dick was their religion and they’d give penance for rubbing their pussy to the iconography of his brutality. If they were being honest, if one day he gutted them with his favorite knife, bled them out like a pig, they wouldn’t be perturbed. No, they’d be joyous. It would be an honor of the highest order, and they’d gladly bare their throat to him. After all, they knew that they weren’t permanent and Frank’s obsession was. They only prayed when the time came, he’d let them bleed out on his dick, carve out their organs pussy first.

The glassy look in their soft, wet eyes, the rhythm of them clenching around his dick does not go unnoticed by Frank. The hand slips from their jaw to their throat, wrapping around the flesh like the finest necklace and they tilt their head back to offer more room to choke. “What are you spacin’ out about, little dummy?”

Another erratic little flutter around his dick, another needy whine, too fucked out and stupid to even murmur a single syllable. His grip on their throat tightens, hauling them forward and gaining momentum with each thrust. The cacophony of meat slapping against meat echoes around in their empty head, simultaneously trying to squirm away and shift down to take his dick cervix-deep.

“Look at you,” Frank grunts, lips curling up in a fierce snarl, churning their guts, “My pretty little fuckhole, god, fucking squeezing my dick like you hate me. Gonna come, bunny? You gonna gush for me?”

Frank’s mocking coos and the mean drag of his dick in and out of their cunt goes straight to their tummy, tightening and trembling. They nod vehemently, nearly gnawing a hole through their plump bottom lip, tilting their hips up and taking him harder, deeper. But it’s not enough, they’re toeing the line, just a little bit more—

Frank digs the pad of his thumb into their throbbing clit, pressing and rubbing in quick, jerky circles. They gasp for air like a dying fish, eyes flying open wide, plush body going ramrod straight.

“Oh god, oh fuck,” They squeal, hips bucking up like a wild bull, “Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease, oh my god!”

And then, white noise. Fuzzy, molten liminal space, pussy pulsing and clenching rhythmically around Frank. Slick gushes like a water slide, squelching increasing tenfold. Their back bows clean off the bed, eyes rolling back into their head until there’s nothing but bone white. The searing, boneless, mind numbing pleasure begins to bleed into raw overstimulation. They try in vain to wiggle away, squeaking and hiccuping, but that won’t do for Frank. He tightens his grip on their throat, tutting, “Oh no, I don’t think so, honey.

Somehow, he begins to fuck them harder, faster. They feel like this is it, they might genuinely die from Frank’s dick. They can barely breathe, eyes screwed shut, entirely tensed up and still. “Come on,” he goads, slapping their oversensitive, swollen clit in rapid succession, “One more. Give me one more, angel. I know you can be good. You can be so good for me.”

So, they suck up their crocodile tears and relax, letting it happen. It burns hotter and brighter this time, barreling at them at a horrifying speed. What pushes them over the edge though, is the cool steel of Frank’s knife, the flat of it pressing into their clit. They keen, high pitched and wrecked, coming for the second time.

“There we go,” Frank hisses, fucking into their sloppy cunt faster, chasing his release, “There we fucking go. Look at you, my perfect little cumdump. That’s right, honey, gush for me.”

He groans, long and ragged, pace faltering. He squeezes their throat as he fills them up, feeling the weak little rabbit of their pulse. He watches as they slip into the black void of nothingness. He won’t let them die, not tonight at least. He has grander plans for them, he’s not done with their delicious little body. Not by a long shot. So, he pulls out of them with a gentleness that would never be present if they were conscious.

He maneuvers their limp little body into the center of the bed, fluffing a pillow and wedging it under their head. He digs through the bathroom cabinets, fishing out a washcloth, running it under warm water. He carefully cleans between their pillowy thighs, wiping away the remnants of their mixed passion. After tossing the dirty washcloth into their hamper, he finds a clean pair of cotton underwear, a sleep shirt. He dresses them, cleans the open bite marks, snapping a few candid photos of the variety of bruises left in his wake.

He tucks his little bunny in, smoothing the sheets, a small smile on his lips. The smile that’s only reserved for them in moments like this, that they rarely even see. He brushes a stray lock of hair from their forehead before stepping back towards the window he climbed through hours prior. He sits on the windowsill for a moment, just watching them. Listening to the soft puff of their breath, the occasional sleepy murmur. Before he tucks his knife into his boot, he carves a little notch in the plaster, next to over three dozen twin marks.

Then, he’s out into the night again. Climbing down the fire escape with an agility that belies a man of his form. He’ll wait a few days before returning, they’ll be sore tomorrow, he knows that much. Maybe they’ll wake up to a half eaten muffin from that one ridiculously overpriced cafe they love, because even when Frank takes, takes, takes. He’s capable of giving and he’d burn the world to give them whatever they want.

[hooman4ever]

So you love cats... Reaction of slashers/ or dbd killers for S/O who have kitty ears and tails, and in fullmoon change to full cat form ?

Contains: SFW, Cat Morph Reader, GN Reader, Fluff

Tysm for the request! 💚💜💚

Danny, Jed Olsen (Ghostface)

•This man loves cats full heartedly so he is more than happy when he spots the fluffy ears and tails you wear. Or at least he thought you were just wearing.

•When he learns that they’re a part of you he will pet them whenever he gets the chance. Sometimes subconsciously his hand will reach for your ears to pet them.

•Danny will be even more obsessed when you turn into a full cat. The man will coo at you constantly while petting you.

•You better be a lap cat because Danny adores holding you in his lap while he pets you. Your purrs are music to his ears and he finds your meows adorable.

•He’ll often talk to you about the cats he had back home. Their mannerisms and their personalities would be something he loved to discuss. A few of his cats back home he was granted photos of by the entity and he’d be sure to show you every one of them.

Evan McMillan (The Trapper)

•Evan was never allowed pets due to his father's strictness. Even the thought of something soft in his son's life was a huge no. For this reason, Evan loved the softness of your ears. He’d gently pet your ears, barely brushing them, scared to damage the softness he loved so much.

•Wrap your tail around him? He’d love it.

•When you fully transform into a cat he was first unsure. He refused to even pet you scared to somehow hurt your tiny form.

•It wouldn’t take much convincing to get the man to pet you though all it takes is one brush against him and he's constantly petting you until you leave his side. The man’s obsessed with the softness of your coat.

•Evan would run the back of his hand over you most of the time to pet you giving you occasional light chin scratches always careful to not hurt you.

Frank Morrison (The Legion)

•Frank is at his heart a dog person. Due to his dislike of cats, he’d hate you at first. “A cat? Who gives a fuck their self-centered asshole.” He’d often say disregarding you all together.

•Once you were together though he’d enjoy playing with your ears loving the softness of your fur. He’d never let you know though so he reserves the times he pets you for when you are asleep. Or at least when he thought you were.

•He’d get you an obnoxious red collar with a huge bell on it to tease you. He’d wave it in your face before laughing saying “C'mon kitty I don’t want anyone to see you and think you were a stray.”

•When you fully transform he won’t treat you much differently. He’d refuse to pet you at all at first calling it weird and don’t even think about climbing on his lap.

•If you managed to get into his lap to nap he’d fold as soon as he noticed finding your cat form adorable.

Anna (The Huntress)

•Anna seeks you out because of your cat ears and tails. She’s both confused and enamored by the fact you're both animal and human.

•She’s obsessed with your ears and tails loving to pet you and curl up with you calling you a “pretty kitty” innocently. When you fully transform she’d constantly hold you walking around with you in her arms. Holding you like a baby is another thing she loves to do.

•She’s crafty so she’d make a cat carrier like a backpack for you if she plans on traveling anywhere while you're a cat. Cat beds would also be made for you along with anything else you’d need.

•Protecting you would be a huge priority for Anna. You wouldn’t get fat without her tagging along beside you. She couldn’t let anyone hurt her precious pet after all.

[certifiedghostfacelover]

Apologizing For a Pallet Stun

{Includes: Ghostface, Amanda, Frank}

Warnings(?): Mentions of stalking(?)

=============================================================

Ghostface -  Danny Johnson

Danny was honestly not too surprised you apologized for stunning him. He’s been watching you in every trial you have together, and even goes out of his way to stalk you outside of trials. He’d only be surprised if you never did this with anyone else. 

He eats up your apology. It totally makes his ego bigger than it already is.

He honestly might use your sympathy against you, just depends how mean he’s feeling that day.

“You’re really sorry, doll? Show my just how sorry you are.” 

There are so many different things he’d try to make you do to show how sorry you are, like sabotaging your teammates, letting him down you, or visiting him after trial.

If he’s not feeling too mean, then he’ll talk to you like you’re an innocent lil’ thing that doesn’t know what they’re doing. And even then, it’s kinda mean

But he does sort of appreciate the apology... In his own way.

The Pig -   Amanda Young

To be honest, most people would feel bad with the little squeak she lets out when a pallet is thrown down.

She’s pretty confused that you apologized for throwing down the pallet, but she appreciates it.

Most survivors don’t have that sort of sympathy you do, so it’s nice to receive the kindness once in a while...

She just lets you ramble on an apology, trying to tell you it’s fine (even if she doesn’t like to talk in the pig head)

Honestly, she’ll leave you alone after that.

She’s a killer, but it honestly feels kinda mean to just hook you after that.

She’ll most likely even go easy on you in trials after that... But she still has a job at the end of the day.

The Legion -   Frank Morrison

You think Amanda is confused? Frank is like 10x more confused than she is.

As soon as the pallet hit him and a bundle of apologies escaped your mouth, he just.... Stood there.

Like, why are you apologizing?? Why are you apologizing to a killer???

It’s not only that, but he’s just not used to getting such a sympathetic response from anyone besides his friends. It’s just... weird.

He doesn’t get you at all. He doesn’t get this whole interaction at all.

He’s so confused he can’t even reply to you. His mind is just blank.

He’s just gonna walk away mid apology honestly. You might not even see this man for the rest of the trial.

He will literally avoid pallets in future trials when chasing you. But if he does get an apology again he’ll still be hella confused

[smol-dragon]

Snow Laden Tragedies

The Legion/Reader , Frank Morrison/Reader , Joey/Reader , Susie/Reader , Julie/Reader , F.J.S.J/Reader Chapter 1 of ?? Word Count: 2,580 words Chapter Warnings: Violence against reader Summary:

All you could do was run. You don't know how you got to this place or why there are suddenly murderers on your heel, but you can do nothing but run as you fight for your life to survive. It's unfortunate, really, that your circumstances are so odd, an oddity that doesn't go unnoticed by a certain group of killers. New toys are always fun and you're the shiniest one yet.

Cross posted on AO3

You didn't know how this started, how you got here, but all you knew was that you had to run.

Your heart felt as if it wanted to burst out of your chest, the thundering roar of blood pumping through your veins making it hard to hear your pursuer; but you knew he was there. You had watched as he struck down another woman from afar, tearing into her flesh with his blade. Her screams had echoed in the forest as her blood sullied pristine snow, the display being all that you needed to know you were in danger. This man would do the same to you if you didn't get away, you had to run.

In your haste you nearly fell, your sneakers now a detriment on the slick snow beneath you. You stumbled, but after a few botched steps you managed to regain your balance. You had almost let out a sigh of relief, but the sounds of steps quickly approaching made you realize your mistake. He had finished off whoever it was he was previously preoccupied with, leaving you as a final witness; a final victim. Without sparing a second thought, you took off into the woods.

Flecks of snow pelted your face as your lungs burned, trying to make sense of the world around you as it passed by in a blur. Nothing about this place was familiar. Hell, it wasn’t even snowing where you were just an hour ago, yet you now found yourself in a tundra? It was confusing to say the least, but you didn’t have time to consider the possibilities; not while being chased. Your heart hammered in your chest from exertion as you dared to look back, a mistake that had your blood running cold.

He had gotten closer, so much so that you could actually make out the finer details of his appearance. The mask you saw was worn down, a crudely drawn smiley face leering back at you and hiding whatever expression the maniac had underneath. You couldn’t even see his eyes through the holes, the entire thing was designed to successfully hide his identity. Everything else about him seemed normal, if not for the new and old bloodstains that littered his clothes. The glint of metal in his hand made you look towards his knife, one you were now realizing was being raised above his head. Your eyes widened slightly as you saw him push himself to seemingly his own limits, gaining speed as he barreled after you.

At this rate, you wouldn’t stand a chance. You returned your focus to the world ahead of you and willed your legs to work harder, teeth gritting as you could hear his irregular breathing like he was right at your heels. He probably was, but you didn’t dare turn around to check. Your only confirmation was the feeling of wind grazing your back, a strike that barely missed. Almost immediately after would sounds of pain leave the masked man, his footsteps briefly slowing. You weren’t sure what just happened, but you’d happily accept the gained distance without question and use it to your advantage.

You pushed yourself further, deeper into the snow laden terrain, the lack of landmarks or anything substantial concerning you. You didn’t know where you were, how you ended up in this place, or if you were even heading towards anything that could help you. For all you knew, you were just heading deeper into seclusion and cementing your fate. It was a thought that gnawed at the back of your psyche as you veered around conifers and other pines, but you were determined to try and live regardless. You’d run for as long as you had to, as long as you could until you dropped and couldn’t run anymore. 

But, it would seem fate was some-what kind to you.

Barely hidden in the endless haze of white would the outline of something solid and far more man-made catch your attention; a small building amongst the snow. It didn’t look inhabited, perhaps one of those old camping checkpoints for people out in the wilderness, but you didn’t care. A building meant there was a door and maybe, just maybe, a chance to buy yourself enough time to catch your breath.

You practically jumped up the stairs, skipping steps, as you rushed to the door. You could hear the heavy steps of your would-be attacker behind you as you slammed the door shut, quickly pushing the lock into place before a fit of coughs overcame you. Barely a few seconds would pass before something (or in this case, someone) collided with the door, rattling the wood on its hinges. You flinched from the sound of the impact, backing away from the door as the man battered at your only divider. He persisted for s few moments, but eventually all would fall silent.

You knew he was still out there, possibly waiting, but it seemed for the time being he had stopped. You weren’t sure why his assault had paused, but you would use the moment of respite to catch your breath and try to think of a plan. The interior proved far more useless than you would've liked, only fitted with a few pieces of furniture and an old wood burner, nothing that could help you evade the man just outside the door. The only thing that could even count as useful was a window on the opposite side of the building, but you didn't know whether or not such a plan would work. Surely he'd hear you the moment your feet touched snow, so how would you-?

A loud bang caused you to jump, eyes widening as you snapped your attention to its source. He had started to hit the door again, however this time with far more force; he was trying to break it down.

"Shit-" You swore under your breath, reanimating and rushing towards the window. You tugged it upwards harshly, hissing in pain as you were met with stark resistance. It was locked and, from the looks of it, the latch that kept it shut had jammed long ago. You were stuck and there was no means to escape, at least, not without some work.

"Fuck!"

The banging had increased in volume, the masked man's labored breathing audible through the cracks he had managed to produce. You were running out of time, so you did the only thing you could think of. Grabbing a nearby chair, you lifted it over your head and hit it against the glass with all of your might, yelping as the wooden object bounced off. The shock of the impact went straight to your arms, but it didn't deter you. Either you managed to break this window and slip through, or you'd die a horrible death.

You swung once, twice, thrice more until there was finally give, the old window shattering and spilling fragments down onto the snow below. You didn't waste any time the moment the window was clear, ignoring the shards that dug into your clothes and skin as you pushed yourself out the opening. You landed in the snow below unceremoniously, crying out in pain as a larger fragment dug into your side; but it wasn't enough to keep you from being able to move. No, you stood relatively quickly, your adrenaline muting your pain as you pushed yourself to your feet.

The door inside of the house would finally splinter and give, the sounds of it breaking filling you with urgency. The masked maniac would figure out your means of escape soon and if you didn’t get moving you’d lose the opportunity. A shiver ran down your spine as you once again forced yourself into motion, only pausing briefly as you looked at some of the splintered glass. A means to defend yourself wouldn’t hurt, right? Without a second though you grabbed the largest shard you could fit in your palm before taking off, holding your make-shift weapon firmly as you left behind the only structure you had seen for some time. You could tell by the distant shouting that he had figured out your plan, but by then you had already ran into the white haze; he’d only be able to follow you by your tracks now.

It at least gave you a slight advantage, but one you knew wouldn’t last if you slowed down. It didn’t matter that the cold was slowly seeping into your bones, causing your muscles to spasm perpetually. It didn’t matter that your fingers and toes were going numb, you had to keep moving. He would catch you if you stopped and you feared what he would do over the looming threat of hypothermia. At least, that was what you told yourself as you continued into the woods. 

And continue you would, running until you could no more, until you were forced to a slow trudge. The snow had not stopped falling since this entire ordeal began and the effects of it were starting to get to you. The cold had long since consumed your body- you couldn’t even feel your hands or feet anymore. Your limbs were growing tired, both from exertion and from the freezing temps stiffening your joints, but you couldn’t stop. If you stopped, he’d catch you. If you stopped, the cold would consume you. You had to keep moving, you had to-

Something would catch your foot and bring you tumbling forwards, falling onto the ground with a groan. You’d look back to see the offending object, only to realize it was a root. A tree root that was slightly jutted out of the ground, masked by the layers of fresh and fluffy snow. It was almost ironic that something so cliche would be the cause of your downfall, but as you tried to push yourself back up you found that you couldn’t . No matter how much you tried, your arms and legs would not work. They were too tired, too slow; your previous actions were starting to catch up with you at the worst possible time. This was it, surely, this was the end.

You let out a slow, shuddering breath as you screwed your eyes shut, trying to fight the urge to cry if only to prevent your eyes from potentially being frozen shut. Out of all the ways you could’ve died, alone in the snow was definitely up there for one of the worst. Maybe you should’ve let that deranged killer catch you. It was a thought that would echo in your mind as you stared off into the forest, so sure that you would see nothing amongst the bland white.

And then you saw him.

The masked man, his form barely visible, was stalking closer with the same murderous intent he had before. Your mind screamed at you to run, but you could barely even get your fingers to cooperate with you, much less your legs. You just had to wish for a different death, didn’t you? There was nothing you could do as you watched him approach, almost certain he was looking directly at you. It wasn’t until he was a few paces away did you realize he hadn’t seen you, didn’t even know you were there until he was basically right on top of you.

Your presence on the ground seemingly surprised him, as he stopped rather suddenly. Apparently, he hadn’t accounted for you to just be on the ground, helpless. You watched as the masked man remained motionless, staring at you as if to see if this was a trick. Sure, you still had the glass in your hands, but it wouldn’t do you much good in this position. At best you could piss him off, but you weren’t really sure if you wanted to do that. Finally he would move, stepping closer and finally speaking.

“You fucking fell ?” He spoke in disbelief, the annoyance dripping from his tone. You weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t as if you could ask or respond; you were just so goddamn cold . Your lack of response only served to irritate him further, as he let out a frustrated groan and kicked at your side. You winced, making a weak noise of pain, but didn’t move beyond that. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking pathetic.” The knife that he had previously brandished would hang limp in his grasp as he crouched, using the blade’s tip to poke and prod at you. Each pin-prick was barely felt, some not felt at all even when he pressed the blade into your skin, your nerves long since numbed from the temperature. Though you couldn’t see his eyes through his mask, you could tell he was watching the small droplets of blood bubble from his handiwork, almost intently observing them. Whatever was going on through his head, though, didn’t pull him away from reality long, as his head tilted up to look at you.

“You can’t feel any of this, can you.” He spoke bluntly, monotonous and disappointed at the mere prospect that you weren’t in pain. Maybe the cold was serving to your benefit after all. You nodded your head slightly to answer, earning you a noise in frustration from the other before he stood and kicked at the ground. “Mother fucker! Of course you fucking can’t. Piece of shit- you just had to run, didn’t you?” He paced momentarily in a circle as he vented his frustrations to you, a prospect you found odd but could do nothing to stop. He would eventually turn back to you, spinning on his heels and pointing his knife at you in an almost accusatory manner. “All your stupid friends died like they were supposed to, even screamed like little bitches , but you just had to run.” He once again closed the distance, standing over you before snatching you up by the collar of your shirt. You made a sound of protest, shaking hands moving to grip at the hand that grabbed you, only to find he had once again stopped. 

You tried your best to balance yourself as he had his moment, one which didn’t last very long as his other hand raised to grab your wrist. You were confused, but seemingly so was he, a fact you couldn’t wrap your head around.

“You’re cold?” He sounded dumbfounded, as if the both of you weren’t in the middle of a snowstorm. “How the fuck…” His words trailed off, staring at your wrist as if it offended him before turning his attention back to his face. It seemed whatever plans he originally had detoured, as he immediately released you back into the snow. The back of your head had barely made contact with the ground when you looked up to see him holding his knife awkwardly, the butt end of it pointed towards you rather than the blade. And immediately, did that butt end come down and collide with the side of your skull. The first hit did nothing but jar you, a cry of pain escaping you as you tried to recoil away. The masked man’s free hand moved to press against your neck, kneeling over you and squeezing your torso between his legs as he once again struck you.

Though your throat was dry and hoarse you managed to scream, a sound that was cut off abruptly as he struck you on the side of the head a third time.

And just like that, everything went dark.

[krypticcafe]

any chance for dbd killers (especially myers) reacting to a partner who wants to take the relationship real slow? how would they take it? would they push, or be respectful? patience? bonus for cuddle time 💜✨

DBD killers w/a partner who wants to take it slow

rating: teen

character(s): GN!Reader, Shape/Michael Myers, Ghostface/Danny "Jed" Olsen, The Executioner/Pyramid Head, The Cannibal/Bubba Sawyer, Legion/Frank Morrison

warning(s): suggestive themes, canon-typical violence and behavior, language

a/n: pardon the unannounced hiatus, cue the usual fanfic writer life drama, gonna be dusting off the request box :]

Michael

Thank. GOD. He's not gonna say it, but Michael's beyond relieved because he's just not comfortable jumping into things, or anything at all. He likes consistency, not change, so he really needs the time to even just adjust to the fact that he's actually letting this relationship happen (no offense). Even the first time he let you live, he felt all irritated about it because it just felt wrong. But after he saw you leave med packs for him from time to time, lurk behind him while he was off chasing others, he started to grow a little more lenient towards you, much to your pleasure.

After you see the approval in his eyes, you're relieved, too. It's not that you thought Michael wouldn't take the suggestion well, it's that it was the first time you two were seriously discussing your relationship. Neither of you put a label on yourselves, you just both knew that you liked each other a little more than you did with other people. Kind of like a silent agreement.

But now you take confidence in knowing you can be as slow as you want with him, after all, you both have all of eternity to work it out, or at least until the Entity decides to do something about it. Though seeing as they haven't stopped you so far, you're probably fine for now.

It's a long time until you guys show any actual physical affection. The closest it's been is Michael getting revenge on people who use you as bait and grabbing your wrist to pull you to a safe spot while you help clean his gear during visits in between matches and lean on him or he holds you in his lap while sitting in comfortable silence (you've caught him falling asleep on a few occasions).

Expect it to take a while more if you guys actually want to get intimate, he's just too much of a 'business first' guy.

All in all, mission success.

Danny

"Like how slow?"

You should've expected this. While Michael is relieved, Danny, well, he doesn't take it as well. He's one of the clingiest of all the killers and makes it difficult not to be paranoid all the time of someone finding out. He's a hands-on type of guy and this... is kind of torture for him.

After some insistence and some pleading on your side, he'll give in, but it's not guaranteed. He has to resist his urges like some little kid trying not to open Christmas presents a day early. All day, every day, he's just thinking about smothering you in his touch, and it gets him frustrated (in both ways), so he has to take it out somehow.

You can literally see it in real-time when he's cutting through survivors like butter, not even bothering to act playful or make quips, just snarling and hissing at them like a feral cat. You make a mental note to give him a bit of something after the match, like a kiss or some cuddle time.

Other than that, he whines. A lot. Like it's so fucking annoying please make him shut up with a kiss or something, the killers can't stand hearing him bitch incoherently and you can only take so much of it as well. Also, he's a manipulative ass to expect him to be pushy and try to pressure you here and there.

It's kinda funny though, in a way you sorta conditioned him to feel even more euphoric when you do anything romantic with him. He's asking, no, begging for extra kisses, holding you real tight when you cuddle, and you swear you can feel him melting under your touch. Heart eyes and all, he's so obsessed with you.

Whenever you let him know you're ready to move things forward, expect him to be a little overexcited about it. Like if you finally let him get in your pants, he's gonna work you like there's no tomorrow, all that pent-up energy is flooding out the door.

I'm sorry, but you're literally caging an animal by asking *the* Ghostface to take it slow. He's only gonna get more hungry over time.

Pyra

Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think he cares. Like he's fine taking it as slow as you want, it's not a huge deal to him, and really, he has no room for judgment outside of killing people. You'll ask and he'll respond with the usual metallic grunt and boom. Problem solved.

In all honesty, it's probably good to take it slow with him if you want a nice, loving relationship with him. Because of his lack of experience, fast-paced relationships might just be too much for him to deal with, but taking your time lets him process how it even works. Dates, kissing, and anything beyond that aren't in his area of expertise, nor did he ever expect it to be, it's not his primary purpose.

This allows him to welcome something new in his life for once beyond the mundane life of Silent Hill and the matches in the realm of the Entity. He's not used to actually having personal priorities, so the adjustment period progresses along with your relationship. He's quick to find out that he really likes physical contact with you, too.

Most likely you'll be taking the initiative with him, teaching him the little things you like to do like cuddling and holding each other close. He really likes that, being able to just envelope you and keep you safe and close in such a comfortable manner.

I don't he exactly has a concept of... 'horny', it's more of a hunger I guess? A hunger to be close and in your presence, so he kinda has times when he'll stick to your side like a big old scary guard dog. If you wanna indulge him a little, go ahead.

Yeah, I can't really say much for him other than it is what it is.

Bubba

He tries his best to be patient, he really does. Bubba's more than understanding about it, because he's already elated that you love him back in the first place! Though sometimes he just really wants to pepper your face in kisses and smother you in love, pick you up and swing you around in his arms, take you to some of the nicer parts of the Entity's realm, he almost forgets they all live in some sick game.

Horrible advice, but try not to be so... cute around him. I like to think he has cuteness aggression, so it's very hard to keep his hands to himself when you look so... so... nope, no, Bubba, focus, you're supposed to be chasing Ace right now- oooo but don't wanna just eat them up and make them yours!

He wants to do so much with you but it's kind of for the best to keep him from rushing into things. Even he's a little worried that he'll tire you out from his eagerness to get things moving. Hell, he even spooked himself when he found himself daydreaming about marrying you mid-match. He can't help it though, it's the southern love in him that gets him all antsy (he thinks you'd look very nice in a suit or dress if you're wondering).

Yeah, and don't think you don't know either, not when he's humming "Here Comes the Bride" while sawing up Kate in halves in front of you.

Oh, and you thought the wedding fever was bad? Wait until the baby fever kicks up. Since day one of falling in love with you, this man has been dreaming of church bells, vows, cribs, pacifiers, and all that. He's never told you it in full detail but you just know he does. Whether you want it for your relationship or not, he still loves you nonetheless.

Despite it all, you help remind him to appreciate what's in the moment, that you both have an eternity together in damnation to get to that point. So long as time and the Entity are on your side, he's more than happy to take things slow with you and he'll be sure to enjoy every moment you have together.

Frank

"You're joking, right?"

No surprise here either, Frank doesn't take it all too well. He's an impatient bastard and mostly thinks with his dick more than his head sometimes. To be honest, he never even anticipated getting into a relationship with you. He thought most of the survivors were annoying and unlikable in their own ways, he even found you irritating at some point just not as much as the others, or so he'd claim.

You try to explain to him why and unfortunately, it does result in a back and forth between you two, the other members of Legion even chiming in on your defense. It's until you point into his face that you both literally have forever in this endless hell so "what's the big deal about us taking our time" and for him to just think about it for a bit.

And yeah he does, but it takes a while for Frank to wrap his head around it. He's used to just getting what he wants, jumping into things headfirst, and figuring out the details from there. His whole philosophy defies normalcy, defies everything he hates about Ormond and the banal, suburban society it is. He lives for the rush, the excitement, the recklessness. Time and care in a relationship remind him too much of a "normal life".

But the others remind him there's nothing normal about where they are now. Hell, they get to wreak havoc and chaos in the trials, it's everything they dreamed of. Making a statement for themselves. And frankly (no pun intended), he likes you a little too much to let it go. So instead of rushing himself into things, he finds a new thrill in testing the limits. He teases you with lingering touches and suggestive remarks, leaves you wanting, craving just a little more of that.

He clicks his tongue, "I thought we were taking it slow?"

That little bitch. He's got you wrapped around his finger and you know it. But don't think you're the only one aching, no. Call him a sadomasochist because it's practically killing him too, how much he has to hold back. Yet it's such a rush, keeping his hands to himself and itching for the day when you let him do whatever. He. Wants.

[semiweirdshipper]

A meme to explain how all of my slasher stories/drabbles go.

[soapyghostie]

Hey! Absolutely random request, but imagine reader being a tired person that out of wounds and stress they just fall asleep when they're being carried, about to go on a hook. How would the dbd killers(any, really) react?

Like, imagine. Being carried, without anything under legs can already make someone sleepy if they don't have adrenaline pumped through their veins. Plus, i know that having wounds(aka blood loss) can make people very tired.

Since this request it a little vague, I decided to get a little creative with it and wrote some angst because I’m a sucker for angst with dad slashers (except Frank is your big brother in this request). 😭 Hope you enjoy!

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

Danny would be confused at first, bloodlust still kicking through his veins even after killing all our teammates as he carries you, his injured daughter, to the hook (Sorry (Y/N), he’s just doing his job. No hard feelings). He’ll pause for a moment, trying to process the fact that you feel asleep on his shoulder.

As he realizes that you fell asleep due to exhaustion and stress from your wounds, Danny’s demeanor would soften and his parental instincts within him kicks in. He’ll gently adjust you in his arms from being thrown over his shoulder to being carried bridal style, ensuring that you’re comfortable even as he still proceeds to hook you. 

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state would stir up a lot of internal conflict in Danny. He’s torn between his role as a merciless killer and his love for you as his daughter as he hesitates to sacrifice you to the Entity. Danny’s had a lot of bad performances in trials lately and he really needs the 4K. However, to get the 4K he needs to sacrifice you. Of course it has to be you: the Entity is so cruel. 

As to not get punished by the Entity, sadly, Danny will throw you onto the hook. Danny would feel a pang of remorse and sadness. He knows that he’s the cause of your pain and exhaustion, and seeing you in such a vulnerable state serves as a painful reminder of the life he’s subjected you to. He silently reflects on his actions and their consequences. He’ll gaze at your sleeping form dangling from the hook, grappling with the complexities of his emotions and the choices he made. 

Despite his conflicted emotions, Danny remains committed to his role in the Entity’s twisted game. However, Danny’s determination to protect you remains unwavering. He’ll play the Entity’s game and continue this dark path as a killer if it means to ensure your safety as he doesn’t want you to be harmed as a result of his shortcomings… 

The Legion/Frank Morrison

Frank would be initially shocked and panicked to see you, his younger sister, in such a vulnerable state. Despite his tough ‘bad boy’ exterior, he deeply cares about you and seeing you hurt triggers his protective instincts. 

The sight of you falling asleep from exhaustion and stress while carrying you to the hook fills Frank with anger and frustration. He’ll curse under his breath, feeling powerless to protect you and frustrated with the situation at hand. First off, your god damn heavy after going unconscious and, secondly, he has no choice but to hook you due to the amount of failed trials he’s had lately to try and please the Entity. 

Despite his anger, Frank, also like Danny, would feel a sense of inner conflict. On one hand, he wants to lash out at the Entity for throwing her into a trial with him, but on the other hand, he knows he has to get the 4K by hooking you so you end up safe and sound at the survivor camp instead of the agony the Entity threatened to put you through if he didn’t start stepping it up in trials. You’re the reason he has the strength to keep going in this awful, twisted game of cat and mouse. 

Frank would grapple with the feeling of guilt and responsibility for your condition. As your older brother, he feels entitled to preventing you from getting hurt in the first place and blames himself for everything that has happened to you. Despite his conflicting emotions, he would carefully and gently place you on the hook, making sure you're as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. As he watches you sleep on the hook, Frank would have a quiet moment of reflection. He reminisces about y’all’s childhood together and vows silently to himself to do whatever it takes to keep you safe. 

Seeing you vulnerable would only fuel Frank’s determination to perform better in trials. He would be even more relentless in his pursuit of survivors, driven by the desire to protect you from the Entity’s hungry claws. 

The Shape/Michael Myers

Michael would pause, a flicker of confusion crossing his expressionless face. The sight of you, his daughter, falling asleep despite the dire circumstances briefly disrupts his usual relentless pursuit to satisfy his murderous desires. 

Deep within his obscured psyche, a conflict brews. While Michael is driven by an insatiable urge to kill, his parental instincts stir, conflicting with his murderous impulses. This momentary hesitation leads to a brief internal struggle, the likes of which observers of Michael would never perceive. 

Despite the task at hand and the chaos of the trial, Michael momentarily freezes, holding your unconscious body with an eerie stillness. His iconic breathing momentarily ceases, as if he too, like Danny and Frank, were contemplating the peculiar situation. 

In a rare display of tenderness, Michael gingerly adjusts your position, ensuring that you're comfortable even as he prepares to hook you. His movements would be precise, almost caring, as if he’s trying to shield you from further harm, even in your unconscious state. As he gazes upon your sleeping form, fragments of memories flicker through Michael’s mind. Images of you as a child, innocent and untouched by the darkness that now envelopes you both, momentarily soften his gaze, perhaps even cause a subtle twitch at the corners of his mouth – a long-forgotten smile. You are his world. 

Ultimately, the weight of his desire to kill and the futility of his attempts to connect with you wash over Michael. With a heavy heart hidden beneath his iconic mask, he proceeds with the task at hand – sacrificing you to the Entity. With a solemn determination, Michael carries you to the hook, his obsession with killing eclipsing any semblance of any paternal sentiment.

[rootsofdread]

Hey there! I just found out your blog and im loving it!

I was wondering if you could do a headcannon of all members of The Legion x Reader (fluffly and romantic), where the reader, shy and oblivious, is new to the fog and mistakes the members for survivors. Maybe they get suprised and "adopt" the reader as the new member.

thank you so much!!! 🫶🫶

Frank Morrison, Julie Kostenko, Susie Lavoie, and Joey / The Legion:

The four of them were standing around chatting when you approached them out of the blue. Frank noticed you first, and even through his mask, you and the other members could tell he was confused. He wasn't sure why a survivor -- much less one none of them recognized -- would just come up to them.

You quietly explained you didn't know where you were and they are the first people you've seen that don't seem to want to kill you, and can one of them please show you around? You watched them all exchange looks with one another and whisper. You worried for a moment that maybe you'd offended them somehow, but Susie reached over, took your hand, and pulled you into their circle, Julie and Frank promised to show you around.

After this, they always seemed to seek you out. Sometimes it even seemed like they'd sent one member out to go find you and bring you to the group so you could all hang out. It made you feel important, having a group of people that wanted to help you fit in here, spending your nights talking and laughing together.

At least one of them always accompanies you while you're walking around. Frank tends to use the time to give you advice with his arm around your shoulder, Joey seems to like playing "bodyguard," walking ahead of you and stiff-arming anyone who tries to give you a hard time. Julie comes across as just enjoying spending time with you, she's usually quiet, but likes sticking by your side, and Susie just loves having someone to hold hands and gossip or swap stories with.

You grew much closer with them over time, spending nearly every moment outside of trials with them, chatting, joking around, cuddling up to each other. So it wasn't much of a surprise when all four of them said they wanted to talk to you about something...and presented you with your very own personalized mask. Now, it would be official, and everyone would be able to know -- you were one of theirs.

[idciminlove]

Irritating man-child with ego problems will always be famous in my eyes!!’