carnivorousyandeere

[carnivorousyandeere]

🥹 Aww, yay! Here it is:

OH MY GOD!!!!! BABY HUNTER!!!!! this is exactly what he would’ve looked like when he was around Mateo and Hana’s age 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

The vibes are PERFECT!!!! Love love love the cute wolfy pics and that cocky little quote up at the top!! tysm 🥰💞💞💞

[carnivorousyandeere]

Going from fanfic writing to writing a damn academic paper sucksssss I forgot ALL the polite words for things. Googling synonyms for cockblock rn

[carnivorousyandeere]

Hi 👋🏼 I've recently discovered you and the wonderful Yan pack, and I made a moodboard for Hunter because I'm obsessed with him. Could I maybe send it to you? I'd love to see if I did him justice..

Omg that’s so sweet!!! Of course, I’d love to see! 🥹

[carnivorousyandeere]

It’s strange.

Just a few months ago, you’d had a whole life outside of this town, the pack that had claimed you as theirs. As ephemeral as a desert mirage– the more you chase the memory, the further away it feels.

Mason’s pinkie nudges yours on the center console.

(Full Fic)

[carnivorousyandeere]

A Date with Mason

Content Info/Warnings: GN reader, reader is a bit shy and possibly experiencing some level of stockholm syndrome, jealousy and possessiveness, kidnapping/captivity, the werewolves have no real concept of personal space, food/eating, tiny mention of blood, possibly more. Ask to tag!

Word Count: 2,552

Thank you so much for the commission, [redacted]! This version of the story is anonymized for the comfort of my lovely Commissioner, who gave permission for all of you to enjoy this fic as well 🫶

If you’re interested in a commission, please feel free to DM me for more details!

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ── ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ ── ☁︎ ⋆₊⁺⋆ ☽ ⋆₊⁺⋆

“Hey.” 

The word stirs you from a peaceful nap. You glare blearily up at Mason for waking you, wrinkling your nose and trying to pull the blankets up to cover your face. He huffs, though not without affection. The bed shifts with his weight as he sits next to you and rubs your shoulder.

“C’mon, s’time to get up. Got a surprise for you.”

Your heart thrums with excitement. You’ve learned to trust Mason’s surprises— he’ll bring you movies, soft blankets, trinkets he thinks you’d like to decorate your room with. Though you know these gifts are meant to buy your complacence, your affection, each one brings you warmth. Without Mason overtly asking anything in exchange for the gifts, unlike some of the other werewolves, it’s easier to pretend they’re given unselfishly.

So, when he moves again to pull down the blankets a bit, you let him. He points to the door, where a more formal outfit than you’re used to hangs from the door. The cut, the color… it’s gorgeous.

He stands to let you get up. You can feel his eyes on you, gauging your reaction as you run your fingers over the fabric. Mason doesn’t miss your quick grin.

“Also got you some shoes.” Mason sidles up next to you, dipping his head to draw your gaze to the floor, where the pair sits. “Go on, get ready.”

You blink at him, uncertainty plain in the way your fingers tighten, crinkling the fabric. Before you can muster the courage to ask for privacy, he’s stepping into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. You let out a shuddering breath, steeling yourself. He’s not the type to pretend to give a privilege like that and take it away, you tell yourself. He begins to hum to himself quietly. Johnny Cash, maybe.

The clothes fit perfectly. You bite your lip, gently rapping on the door.

Mason cracks the door open, eyes widening as he takes you in with the full outfit, breath catching in his throat. He turns and coughs into his sleeve. His voice is gravelly, strained.  “...You look nice.”

A little laugh escapes before you can help it. “What, cat got your tongue?”

He rubs a hand over his face, but doesn’t respond. Damn, if you’re not going to be the death of him. As soon as your confidence had come, it crumbles into a shy warmth under his gaze turning back to you. And slowly, carefully, as if worried he’ll suddenly change his mind, you cross that threshold you haven’t been allowed to for months. You stop just outside the doorway, almost at a loss for what to do next.

Your voice comes again, meek this time, “shouldn’t we leave a note? Everyone will be worried if they come to my room, and I’m not there…”

Mason’s eyebrows raise in surprise, settling down as his eyes crinkle with a warmth that sends your heart racing even faster. He rests a hand on your back. “S’okay. They already know.”

Mason leads you down the hallways of the lodge. To set your mind even more at ease, he brings you to the front desk, where the other werewolves are hanging out. Mateo sniffs and immediately looks up from painting Hana’s nails, shoving the brush back into the bottle and rushing over to you.

“You look stunning!” Mateo gushes, moving to adjust your neckline. His fingers flirt over your shoulder, playing with your hair.

Hunter and Cyrus put down their book and old Nintendo DE respectively. They and Hana watch from where they’re sitting. Ace saunters around the counter, openly looking you up and down. 

He bumps Mateo out of the way with his shoulder, prompting a disgruntled “hey!”

Ace grabs your hand and presses a kiss to it. You feel him open his mouth to say something when Mason moves closer, rumbling low in his chest.

“Give them some space.”

Ace’s smirk dissolves into a baleful glare, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. “Fine.”

His eyes slide back to you, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “Have fun if you can, with that old stuffy old coot.”

Mason scoffs, looping his arm with yours and damn near pulling you outside where his truck waits for you. 

It’s overwhelming. 

The outside world is so much more than you remembered. So much brighter, louder. 

Music crackles over the old radio, sunshine streams in from the windows, the old road making the ride bumpy.

It’s strange, you muse. Just a few months ago, you’d had a whole life outside of this town, the pack that had claimed you as theirs. As ephemeral as a desert mirage– the more you chase the memory, the further away it feels.

Mason’s pinkie nudges yours on the center console. You risk a glance over at him. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s a ruddy tint across his cheek, spreading to the tip of his ear. His left hand flexes around the steering wheel. You look away before he can meet your gaze.

The town is closer than you remembered, too. It’s not long before you’re driving down the town’s main road, taking in all the picturesque buildings that had drawn you in last year, all of the flowers and people emerging for the spring.

Mason pulls into the parking lot of a cute little building and pauses, hands flexing around the steering wheel. With a steadying breath, Mason hops out of the truck and walks around to open the door for you. His hand finds its way to your back as soon as he shuts the door behind you.

The two of you walk into the building— a restaurant, judging by the host that greets you. Curious eyes follow you as the host leads you to a table for two. Mason feels it too, his hold around you tightening until it’s time to pull out the chair for you.

Mason sits in front of you, crossing his arms and surveying the restaurant. He’s cleaned up as much as he can, with his shaved face and the nicest shirt he owns, but there’s still hints of that rugged, wild nature of his that puts him at odds with the rich tablecloth and fine silverware between you. You can’t help but smile a little at the thought.

The waiter comes to take your drink orders, looking to Mason first, who only nods at you to go first. Mason nods in approval as you say what you want, eyes fixed on yours even as the waiter turns to him and asks what he’ll be having. 

“A whiskey on the rocks.”

The waiter nods and bounces back to the kitchen. The conversation dies down, Mason watching as you pore over the menu. The amount of choices is simply incredible. You clear your throat, raising your eyes to catch another glance at Mason, only to meet his gaze again. Had he even looked away…?

“What are you going to get?”

“Steak.” He tilts his head. “How about you? What’re you hungry for?”

“I’m not sure yet...”

The waiter comes back over just in time to clear the silence. Mason’s lip curls in a small smile at the way your eyes light up at your drink. Mason gives the waiter his order first, giving you a moment to enjoy your drink. When the waiter turns to you, their eyes and Mason’s practically boring into you, you suddenly feel a bit shy. Mason senses your hesitation, and orders for you. He chooses something you’ll like without a second thought, as if some of your preferences come as easily to him as breathing.

Not your preference for freedom, though. You shove the thought down.

As you wait for your food, you slowly grow more comfortable, loosening up and beginning to chat with Mason. He seems to loosen up a bit too, eyes crinkling when you laugh at the bits of dry humor he sprinkles into the conversation.

The waiter comes out with two plates, smoothly laying them in front of you and Mason. The waiter looks proud of themself, giving a little bow, leaning a little closer to you than you expected. “Enjoy~!”

Mason takes in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly as the waiter nods to him as well. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he watches the waiter flounce back to the kitchen.

Your eyes flick from him to your food, catching on his steak. As he cuts into it, it begins to damn near bleed. Your stomach knots at the sight, torn between a hunger of your own, and the reminder that you could just as easily be the next thing on his plate.

“You want a bite of mine, darl?”

You shake your head, hurrying to eat a bite of your own food. Mason watches you again, that wolfish stare picking apart your every reaction as always. You and Mason make small conversation between bites. You manage to draw out more stories from his day job, from what it’s like to help manage the lodge.

Mason finishes his meal first, leaning back in his seat.

You pause between bites, feeling the full weight of his gaze again. It makes your skin feel hot, almost too tight. Does he even realize how heavy his stare is… what he does to you? You’re not totally sure what it is you feel when he looks at you. Desire? Fear? Your heart skitters like a scared little rabbit almost every time, but it’s not… entirely unpleasant.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Mm?” Mason tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, darling.”

You finish your meal too, and Mason is quick to  lay some cash on the table and offer his hand as you stand.

”C’mon.”

Mason’s grip is tight as you walk past the families and other couples dining, feeling their gazes now too. Some of them wave at the sheriff, prompting tight smiles and curt nods. Even as you exit the restaurant, and try to make a joke to break that strange tension, he remains silent. It’s like a summer thunderstorm, those moods. Roiling over in what seems like the blink of an eye.

Once you get to the truck, you take in a deep breath and one more moment to look around. There’s a twinge in your chest. The need to cement the memory of those blooming flowers, the faint murmurs of music and other people talking from the restaurant. 

Mason shuts the door for you, careful to avoid closing it on your clothes.

The truck ride is quiet too. Perhaps Mason forgot to turn the music back on, or perhaps he just needed the silence. You want to say something, to ease the tension rolling off him in waves, but your throat feels tight, your tongue leaden. Mason glances over at you. His hand comes to rest on your thigh, thumb running back and forth gently as if in apology.

He only relaxes as the town falls away into the rear view mirror, and then disappears. Mason drives past the lodge, squeezing your thigh reassuringly when you give a questioning look.

The road opens up to a grassy clearing, surrounded by trees and beyond them, the silhouettes of mountains. They rise sharp and white as fangs against the start of sunset. Mason carefully maneuvers the truck, sidling into the clearing and backing up slowly to an old tree stump.

Mason hops out and walks around to open the door for you. You slide your hand into his. He leads you to the back of the truck, pulling up the cover to reveal blankets, pillows, and a little picnic basket. You fight a smile, recognizing it as Hana’s from the little plastic butterflies hot glued all over it.

Mason continues to hold your hand as you step up onto the tree stump, then up onto the bed of the truck. He pulls himself up beside you, and settles to sit up against the cab of the truck. He opens the basket, revealing some bottles of soda, cider, and beer, and some small sweets he hoped you’d like.

The sunset bathes the clearing in a golden light. Crickets hum, and a warm breeze tickles your skin. You try a bite of one of the little desserts— some of the other werewolves’ attempts at a petit four, you think— and he grabs a beer.

Mason lets you steer the conversation, as he usually does, humming in response as you talk more about what you’d thought of the restaurant, what you think of the books Hunter and Cyrus have brought you, anything else that’s been on your mind lately. The dusk descends ever-more rapidly, it seems, the breeze turning colder as the evening wears on. 

A comfortable silence settles over the both of you for a time. You let your gaze slide to Mason, admiring him in the waning light. He’s all rough edges worn soft with time, not unlike the mountains that cradle you and that sleepy little town to the south. Something wild and rugged lays at the hearts of both, drawing you in like a moth to the flame.

His gaze has long since moved from vigilantly scanning the edge of the forest, to staring up at the stars wistfully.

It’s a strange expression on him. You run the back of your hand against his, smiling at the way he instinctively lifts your hand close and turns his face to press a kiss to your knuckles. His stubble scratches your skin and makes you wrinkle your nose playfully— he’d been perfectly clean-shaven when he’d woken you up! You wonder if that’s a werewolf trait, or if he’d have been like that as a human too.

“What are you thinking about?”

”You,” he sighs, lips still pressed to your hand. His brows furrow, eyes sliding shut. “The others.”

You laugh. “What, worried they’re going to burn the place down by accident while we’re out here?”

Mason snorts, shaking his head and moving to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you into him. “You’d be surprised.”

The small smile you’d pulled from him soon falls back into that faraway, pensive expression. He breathes in deeply, steadying himself. “Truth is… I don’t like the way they were looking at you… y’know, back at the restaurant.” 

Trepidation scours your skin like another gust of wind, raising goosebumps in its wake. Sure, you’d felt a few curious stares, maybe admiring or judging, but… surely it was normal for a small town, where everybody knows everybody, to be curious about their Sheriff’s new companion… “What d’you mean?”

Mason tilts his head, brow furrowed and hand tightening on your arm. His eyes search yours. There’s a fire there, a steeliness, something that steals your breath and fills your stomach with butterflies, anxious and anticipating. Eventually he relents with a sigh, letting his eyes slide closed. 

“You really don’t know, do you?”

A wry chuckle fans over your lips, broad hand coming up to cup your face. A calloused thumb brushes over your cheekbone, pressing into the skin a bit too firmly. Mason’s nose brushes yours, salt-and-pepper lashes fluttering over his cheekbones filling your vision as your own eyes slide shut.

And finally, Mason kisses you, warm and firm.

[carnivorousyandeere]

Rayleigh trying to hype herself up on the first day of a new semester:

(The Student Council Yans)

[carnivorousyandeere]

I Think My Cute Co-Worker Got Taken Over By an Alien Hive Mind

On a mission and aboard a ship in space, your only real friend there is the cute and shy janitor. After an accident where he crashed on a nearby planet, he's been acting very... strangely.

(just a teensy bit of nsft implications in the dialogue here, nothin explicit)

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

You're a scientist on a long-term space expedition. It's mission is to find possible inhabitable new worlds for humanity to live on in the future. Your job is to monitor and research environmental factors that could pose a threat to your crewmates and the mission and find ways to make planets more livable.

There are security officers, miners, your fellow scientists and researchers, the doctor and her assistant, a couple of maintenance androids for the ship and of course the crew who navigate and serve on the big hunk of metal you're all zipping through space on. On that crew is the ship's custodial worker.

You're not so snobbish to undervalue the importance of a clean living environment, especially in the medical wing and your own lab, but there are some on the ship that treat him like he's invisible or like he's not important just because he's not the brains or muscle on board. He comes and cleans up in your lab every day before dinner, and while sometimes you're too busy to really spend any time chatting, you do enjoy the talks you get to occasionally have.

Sometimes you're so busy that you end up working through dinner, and when you finally pull yourself out of it, you find quick and easy dishes ready for you well past the allotted mealtime. He always leaves a little candy from his personal stash alongside them, so you know it's from him.

He's a bit shy, and very quiet, but he always seems to light up whenever the two of you get to talk. You heard a rumor that he's the son of some business associate of one of the benefactors of the mission, and he just needed a job. Another rumor that he was a bit of a screw-up back on Earth and needed a fresh start somewhere far away. But to you, he was just your friend.

If you were being completely honest, you might've had a bit of a crush on him. He was just so kind and genuine, compared to the self-important scientists you spent every day with. And he was pretty cute, behind the baggy janitorial uniform and the dirt that sometimes smeared his face. He was sweet and he seemed to always be thinking of you, and he was one of the only things in your life that made you smile.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

There was a mishap one day, a near cataclysmic crash where six members of the mission crew were dislodged from the ship and fell into the low orbit of the nearby uninhabited planet.

He was the only survivor. He'd managed to land in a strange body of water where the density levels were so high that he hit the water mostly safely and stayed afloat until rescue. A broken arm and a minor head wound plus a slight concussion, but he was alive.

Other people on the crew seemed almost angry that out of the six people lost, including the ship's first mate and a researcher, the janitor was the one to survive. But you were just so happy he came back to you.

But after that day, your friend had... changed.

He was smooth and cool, almost confident? A little awkward still, but he carried himself differently. Almost like he was an entirely different person.

And he was... a lot more forward with you. Despite being so happy he was alive and even glad that he was making a move on you finally, you couldn't help but feel like something was wrong with him.

One day, he came in to clean your lab like every day and when you asked him how he was feeling, his arm still in the quick-print cast and the stitches on his forehead still healing, he just smiled.

"I'm fine." he smiled at you, standing a bit too close. "I missed you..."

You joked with him that he just saw you that morning, and he smiled that same smile.

"I've been thinking about you..." He held a lock of your hair in his fingers, seeming almost entranced by it. "My thoughts are damn near consumed by you, love."

You couldn't help the warmth that sprung to your cheeks. He was standing so close, and while he was acting odd, he was still that same considerate, sweet man.

"I want to touch you..." His voice was low and hit just right. You wanted it too, but you faltered. You told him that you weren't sure... that something felt wrong.

"Just let yourself go..." he smiled, caressing your cheek, his other hand holding your wrist. "I want you... Let me feel you."

Wrong. It felt wrong. He wasn't that type of guy. This...

You smiled, putting your hands on his chest. You told him that you were in charge here, pushing him back slightly with an authority you weren't used to wielding. But you stayed calm. Your hand lingered on his chest, pressing him against the wall.

He bit his lip, such a confident face... it only confirmed what you feared. Taking a step back, you ordered him to not move, he needed to be good for you. Your gaze still locked onto his, you pulled up a holo-screen, locking down your analyzer containment field. His smile didn't slip, but his eyes darted around with a puzzled look in them.

"What are you doing, love?" His voice didn't seemed alarmed or even mildly concerned. "Locking me up? If you wanted me all to yourself, all you had to do was ask..."

You told him you didn't know what he was up to, but you weren't fooled by him. He wasn't your friend.

"What do you mean?" He pressed his hands to the shielding, like he was testing it while still talking to you, placating you. "It's me... Let me out, love."

You told him your friend, even if he wanted you, would never push past your boundaries like that. He was sweet and considerate, and the kindest man you knew. While whatever this was had been ready to hold you down to get what it wanted.

You started your scans while it just talked to you, but you didn't respond.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

An hour had passed. If anyone found out what you were doing, they would deem it too risky and demand he be ejected from the ship. It wasn't like this was the captain you were scanning, or a fellow scientist. The mission could afford to lose him. But you couldn't.

"Let me out." It still wore your friend's smile, but there was something in it's eyes. Something... old. Something consuming him. "Let me touch you, love. I want to feel your warmth."

Your hands danced across the holographic screen, lining up your scanners. Usually they'd been used for scanning minerals and water sources to make sure they were safe for humans, but they were equipped with biological scanners in the case of the med-bay's destruction or shut-down. You were looking for what ever could be possessing your dear friend.

Something had been in that water, you were sure of it.

"We need to taste you..." It's tongue lolled out from it's mouth, panting and dripping saliva. "One taste, that's all we need. And then you'll be part of us. No more worries, no more searching, no more fighting to survive... you'll finally be free."

When you didn't respond, it laughed.

"We know how much you want him." It almost seemed to be taunting you now. "We can smell it on you... Don't you want to know what it's like? His lips on yours? His touch on your skin? You've been so isolated on this ship... long, cold endless nights with no one beside you. We know his mind, love. It's plagued by thoughts of you. Oh, how he spent night after night... positively enraptured... consumed with the mere possibility of your attentions. Your affection... Your toucccchhhh..."

You tried to shut out his words as your scanners looked for a way to stop this, to get him back, but the thing inside him seemed unbothered. Almost amused.

"He loves you..." It laughed. "It's an intense, burning thing. He wants nothing more than to feel you under him, in the throws of his LOVE... Your nails digging into his back, screaming his name... His obsession is what let us in... So singularly-minded... It was almost too easy..."

"We came into his body, his mind... it was hard not to be consumed by the thoughts of you. His wants became our wants. We are one, love. His love, OUR love... Be ours, and nothing else will matter..."

You paused. The thing inside him, It was speaking in the present tense. Like he was still in there somewhere. Or at least he wasn't dead. This thing wasn't possessing his lifeless body. It was in there with him. You felt more determined than ever.

You told it you would keep it here until you found out how to get it out of him. Even if you had to study him for days, weeks, you wouldn't stop until he was safe.

"You don't know how happy you've made him, love." It smiled, licking his lips. "He always wanted you looking only at him."

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ✦ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

light novel-ass titles are so funny to me

still working on CO3 but i needed to write this. i promise it's coming soon

can y'all guess what movie i went and saw that made me think of this one?

i've been thinking of a yandere that it actually some kind of possessing entity, and the idea latched onto a sci-fi vibe.

i wanted the header to reflect a darker haired, scruffier guy with a bit of chin hair who gives off a real loser vibe, but i usually source from other people's ai images (can't be copyrighted), and damn it all if they aren't all baby-faced little guys lol

something more like this:

but that's just fanart of Eraserhead from MHA lol

[carnivorousyandeere]

The blonde dabs at his eyes with the chewed corners of his sweatshirt, blinking back tears as he studies you with those big, sorrowful eyes of his - probing your every move for pity directed at his blight.

You sigh.

"Did I call you a whiny bitch in your dream again?"

Grief struck by the mere memory of the encounter, a single tear roles down his cheek. "Mhm...."

"That was very mean of dream Y/n. Would real Y/n giving you a big hug make you feel better?"

He kicks at the dirt with the heel of his sneaker. "Maybe...."

Exhaling for a second time, you spread your arms open wide.

"Come here, Mouse Boy."

[carnivorousyandeere]

Final Girl Emmy and Slasher Darling

( MDNI, No Age in Bio DNI )

CW: sexual content, dubcon, imagery of extreme violence and gore, degradation both ways (some verbal and some implied), restraints/kidnapping

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Tied up. Head throbbing. Your beloved, beloved knife gone.

Your hands ache, fingers flexing in its absence— only for your eye to be caught by a glint of metal. Your knife… in the claws of that bitch you’d been hunting all night.

Emmy giggles, rising from her chair and bouncing over. The sound of her laugh, the pep in her step, the faint scent of a sweet perfume underneath the blood and dirt… disgusting. It makes you want to stab her through the throat, watch those eyes fade, to slam her head into the ground until her skull cracks open and her bleach blonde hair is stained with her own brains—

“Why so sour?” Emmy bats her eyelashes, pressing the tip of your knife to her bottom lip. Poking just into the softness there, threatening to split the skin, to spill that blood you so desperately want to see more of— she only grins wider at your gaze falling to her lips, twirling the knife away with a flourish. “Mad that you couldn’t catch me~?”

Your throat burns with impotent rage. Your jaw clenches, all the horrible things you wanted to say dying on your lips. All you can muster is a hoarse, pathetic whisper. “Kill me.”

It would be better than listening to her gloat, to see the glow of life in her any longer.

“And end the fun? No way!” She pouts. “Things were just getting good! It took sooooooo long for you to wake up.”

She leans in conspiratorially. As if anyone else were around to hear. “I’ve heard about sickos like you, you know? On Criminal Minds and shit. Is it true that you can’t make girls cum, so you just kill them instead?”

Your blood rushes in your ears. She leans in, eyes far too wide and bright— you aim, and spit— only to hit the spot just below. Emmy wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, fingers still curled around your knife.

“You missed, dummy,” Emmy giggles, bringing her hand to her mouth, pink tongue peeking out to lap at the spit quickly drying over her bruised and bloodied knuckles.

The wind is knocked out of you. The world is turning backwards, the concrete floor swaying under your chair and chains until you’re sure you’re going to be seasick— Emmy plops onto your lap, holding the back of your neck with one hand and letting the other drape over your shoulder, knife dangling against the back of the chair.

“Come onnnnn,” she pouts, grinding against you harder as you grit your teeth and try to turn your head away, “don’t you even wanna try to prove me wrong?”

[carnivorousyandeere]

Some notes about that feminine slasher Darling I wrote the other day because I love them. [Tw: Mentions of assault, Murder]

Has been described as hauntingly beautiful and often mistaken for female by peers. They've always had hostile urges, but the night they became who they are now was the result of an attack that left their face permanently scarred. Has trouble believing/trusting people who idolize their looks because they think they're just "another pretty face" like the one who attacked them claimed.

Man hater, but not actually- They target a specific type of person who just happens to be male half of the time. Can be found hovering around bars or similar locations where suspicious individuals may linger.

Due to their tendency of hurting those who hurt others first, many if not all of their yans stem from seeing Darling as an angel who saved them. They aren't exactly a saint, but they won't go out of their way to kill someone devoted to them unless they could potentially jeopardize their operation.

They do have certain approach depending on the level of obsession from admirers.

Making vague posts about them online: Strange, but they'll let them have their fun.

Watching them from afar in locations where they have been spotted: High alert, may move elsewhere to avoid detection. If Yan follows them there will be consequences.

Taking Photos, attempting to follow them to their current hide out: A single warming in the form of spilled blood. Any action after will result in the loss of limbs or life (unless Yan manages to get the swoop on them or woo them in that short time frame)

Has a weak spot for victims of abuse and those who feel like life/those around them have abandoned them which comes back to bite them in the ass more often than not.

"Oh, sweetheart- You don't want to be with someone who has to scrape guts out of their clothing every night. You're still young, you'll find someone who sees you for you" <- Who hears that and doesn't want them more? Certainly not their Yans.

Longs for someone who wants them for more than just their looks. If someone, say for example, complimented their knife skills they'd genuinely get a little flustered.

You're beautiful~ = Haha, you are too kind....

Your talent with a blade is unmatched, it'd be an honor to have your name carved in my skin: You're a freak. Where's the number to your therapist's office.... Nobody's ever said something that nice about me before..

[carnivorousyandeere]

So true!! A treat to write and a treat to read 🤙

Slasher reader is always fun asf to read 😌🙏🙏🙏

They're fun to write too- Slasher yans/characters in general have their benefits, but want if I want Reader to be the slasher with a bunch of weirdo horror fanatic fans

[carnivorousyandeere]

Dragon; Spiraling

fire, hoarding, fairytale

Day 17 of @ozzgin’s Yantober and @yandere-sins’ Monstober! Will I be done with 2024’s by the time Oct rolls around this year? Who knows!

The wind stings your eyes. Tears run down your cheeks. Brambles and brush tear at your skin.

Freedom.

So close you can taste it.

Your old village, just beyond the treeline—

“My crown jewel! Gone, gone!” The dragon’s wail shakes the very earth beneath your feet, sending you tumbling to the dirt.

No, no. This can’t be it. This can’t be the end—

The dragon passes over you, wingbeats like cracks of thunder.

Your past— everybody you’ve ever loved—

You can’t tear your eyes away from their annihilation. Fire rains from the sky, an illustration of hell straight out of an illuminated manuscript.

Everybody gone, at the whim of that tyrannical beast, in the name of its love.

The only mercy is the wind drowning out the screams.

[carnivorousyandeere]

A Date with Mason

Content Info/Warnings: GN reader, reader is a bit shy and possibly experiencing some level of stockholm syndrome, jealousy and possessiveness, kidnapping/captivity, the werewolves have no real concept of personal space, food/eating, tiny mention of blood, possibly more. Ask to tag!

Word Count: 2,552

Thank you so much for the commission, [redacted]! This version of the story is anonymized for the comfort of my lovely Commissioner, who gave permission for all of you to enjoy this fic as well 🫶

If you’re interested in a commission, please feel free to DM me for more details!

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ── ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ ── ☁︎ ⋆₊⁺⋆ ☽ ⋆₊⁺⋆

“Hey.” 

The word stirs you from a peaceful nap. You glare blearily up at Mason for waking you, wrinkling your nose and trying to pull the blankets up to cover your face. He huffs, though not without affection. The bed shifts with his weight as he sits next to you and rubs your shoulder.

“C’mon, s’time to get up. Got a surprise for you.”

Your heart thrums with excitement. You’ve learned to trust Mason’s surprises— he’ll bring you movies, soft blankets, trinkets he thinks you’d like to decorate your room with. Though you know these gifts are meant to buy your complacence, your affection, each one brings you warmth. Without Mason overtly asking anything in exchange for the gifts, unlike some of the other werewolves, it’s easier to pretend they’re given unselfishly.

So, when he moves again to pull down the blankets a bit, you let him. He points to the door, where a more formal outfit than you’re used to hangs from the door. The cut, the color… it’s gorgeous.

He stands to let you get up. You can feel his eyes on you, gauging your reaction as you run your fingers over the fabric. Mason doesn’t miss your quick grin.

“Also got you some shoes.” Mason sidles up next to you, dipping his head to draw your gaze to the floor, where the pair sits. “Go on, get ready.”

You blink at him, uncertainty plain in the way your fingers tighten, crinkling the fabric. Before you can muster the courage to ask for privacy, he’s stepping into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. You let out a shuddering breath, steeling yourself. He’s not the type to pretend to give a privilege like that and take it away, you tell yourself. He begins to hum to himself quietly. Johnny Cash, maybe.

The clothes fit perfectly. You bite your lip, gently rapping on the door.

Mason cracks the door open, eyes widening as he takes you in with the full outfit, breath catching in his throat. He turns and coughs into his sleeve. His voice is gravelly, strained.  “...You look nice.”

A little laugh escapes before you can help it. “What, cat got your tongue?”

He rubs a hand over his face, but doesn’t respond. Damn, if you’re not going to be the death of him. As soon as your confidence had come, it crumbles into a shy warmth under his gaze turning back to you. And slowly, carefully, as if worried he’ll suddenly change his mind, you cross that threshold you haven’t been allowed to for months. You stop just outside the doorway, almost at a loss for what to do next.

Your voice comes again, meek this time, “shouldn’t we leave a note? Everyone will be worried if they come to my room, and I’m not there…”

Mason’s eyebrows raise in surprise, settling down as his eyes crinkle with a warmth that sends your heart racing even faster. He rests a hand on your back. “S’okay. They already know.”

Mason leads you down the hallways of the lodge. To set your mind even more at ease, he brings you to the front desk, where the other werewolves are hanging out. Mateo sniffs and immediately looks up from painting Hana’s nails, shoving the brush back into the bottle and rushing over to you.

“You look stunning!” Mateo gushes, moving to adjust your neckline. His fingers flirt over your shoulder, playing with your hair.

Hunter and Cyrus put down their book and old Nintendo DE respectively. They and Hana watch from where they’re sitting. Ace saunters around the counter, openly looking you up and down. 

He bumps Mateo out of the way with his shoulder, prompting a disgruntled “hey!”

Ace grabs your hand and presses a kiss to it. You feel him open his mouth to say something when Mason moves closer, rumbling low in his chest.

“Give them some space.”

Ace’s smirk dissolves into a baleful glare, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. “Fine.”

His eyes slide back to you, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “Have fun if you can, with that old stuffy old coot.”

Mason scoffs, looping his arm with yours and damn near pulling you outside where his truck waits for you. 

It’s overwhelming. 

The outside world is so much more than you remembered. So much brighter, louder. 

Music crackles over the old radio, sunshine streams in from the windows, the old road making the ride bumpy.

It’s strange, you muse. Just a few months ago, you’d had a whole life outside of this town, the pack that had claimed you as theirs. As ephemeral as a desert mirage– the more you chase the memory, the further away it feels.

Mason’s pinkie nudges yours on the center console. You risk a glance over at him. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s a ruddy tint across his cheek, spreading to the tip of his ear. His left hand flexes around the steering wheel. You look away before he can meet your gaze.

The town is closer than you remembered, too. It’s not long before you’re driving down the town’s main road, taking in all the picturesque buildings that had drawn you in last year, all of the flowers and people emerging for the spring.

Mason pulls into the parking lot of a cute little building and pauses, hands flexing around the steering wheel. With a steadying breath, Mason hops out of the truck and walks around to open the door for you. His hand finds its way to your back as soon as he shuts the door behind you.

The two of you walk into the building— a restaurant, judging by the host that greets you. Curious eyes follow you as the host leads you to a table for two. Mason feels it too, his hold around you tightening until it’s time to pull out the chair for you.

Mason sits in front of you, crossing his arms and surveying the restaurant. He’s cleaned up as much as he can, with his shaved face and the nicest shirt he owns, but there’s still hints of that rugged, wild nature of his that puts him at odds with the rich tablecloth and fine silverware between you. You can’t help but smile a little at the thought.

The waiter comes to take your drink orders, looking to Mason first, who only nods at you to go first. Mason nods in approval as you say what you want, eyes fixed on yours even as the waiter turns to him and asks what he’ll be having. 

“A whiskey on the rocks.”

The waiter nods and bounces back to the kitchen. The conversation dies down, Mason watching as you pore over the menu. The amount of choices is simply incredible. You clear your throat, raising your eyes to catch another glance at Mason, only to meet his gaze again. Had he even looked away…?

“What are you going to get?”

“Steak.” He tilts his head. “How about you? What’re you hungry for?”

“I’m not sure yet...”

The waiter comes back over just in time to clear the silence. Mason’s lip curls in a small smile at the way your eyes light up at your drink. Mason gives the waiter his order first, giving you a moment to enjoy your drink. When the waiter turns to you, their eyes and Mason’s practically boring into you, you suddenly feel a bit shy. Mason senses your hesitation, and orders for you. He chooses something you’ll like without a second thought, as if some of your preferences come as easily to him as breathing.

Not your preference for freedom, though. You shove the thought down.

As you wait for your food, you slowly grow more comfortable, loosening up and beginning to chat with Mason. He seems to loosen up a bit too, eyes crinkling when you laugh at the bits of dry humor he sprinkles into the conversation.

The waiter comes out with two plates, smoothly laying them in front of you and Mason. The waiter looks proud of themself, giving a little bow, leaning a little closer to you than you expected. “Enjoy~!”

Mason takes in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly as the waiter nods to him as well. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he watches the waiter flounce back to the kitchen.

Your eyes flick from him to your food, catching on his steak. As he cuts into it, it begins to damn near bleed. Your stomach knots at the sight, torn between a hunger of your own, and the reminder that you could just as easily be the next thing on his plate.

“You want a bite of mine, darl?”

You shake your head, hurrying to eat a bite of your own food. Mason watches you again, that wolfish stare picking apart your every reaction as always. You and Mason make small conversation between bites. You manage to draw out more stories from his day job, from what it’s like to help manage the lodge.

Mason finishes his meal first, leaning back in his seat.

You pause between bites, feeling the full weight of his gaze again. It makes your skin feel hot, almost too tight. Does he even realize how heavy his stare is… what he does to you? You’re not totally sure what it is you feel when he looks at you. Desire? Fear? Your heart skitters like a scared little rabbit almost every time, but it’s not… entirely unpleasant.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Mm?” Mason tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, darling.”

You finish your meal too, and Mason is quick to  lay some cash on the table and offer his hand as you stand.

”C’mon.”

Mason’s grip is tight as you walk past the families and other couples dining, feeling their gazes now too. Some of them wave at the sheriff, prompting tight smiles and curt nods. Even as you exit the restaurant, and try to make a joke to break that strange tension, he remains silent. It’s like a summer thunderstorm, those moods. Roiling over in what seems like the blink of an eye.

Once you get to the truck, you take in a deep breath and one more moment to look around. There’s a twinge in your chest. The need to cement the memory of those blooming flowers, the faint murmurs of music and other people talking from the restaurant. 

Mason shuts the door for you, careful to avoid closing it on your clothes.

The truck ride is quiet too. Perhaps Mason forgot to turn the music back on, or perhaps he just needed the silence. You want to say something, to ease the tension rolling off him in waves, but your throat feels tight, your tongue leaden. Mason glances over at you. His hand comes to rest on your thigh, thumb running back and forth gently as if in apology.

He only relaxes as the town falls away into the rear view mirror, and then disappears. Mason drives past the lodge, squeezing your thigh reassuringly when you give a questioning look.

The road opens up to a grassy clearing, surrounded by trees and beyond them, the silhouettes of mountains. They rise sharp and white as fangs against the start of sunset. Mason carefully maneuvers the truck, sidling into the clearing and backing up slowly to an old tree stump.

Mason hops out and walks around to open the door for you. You slide your hand into his. He leads you to the back of the truck, pulling up the cover to reveal blankets, pillows, and a little picnic basket. You fight a smile, recognizing it as Hana’s from the little plastic butterflies hot glued all over it.

Mason continues to hold your hand as you step up onto the tree stump, then up onto the bed of the truck. He pulls himself up beside you, and settles to sit up against the cab of the truck. He opens the basket, revealing some bottles of soda, cider, and beer, and some small sweets he hoped you’d like.

The sunset bathes the clearing in a golden light. Crickets hum, and a warm breeze tickles your skin. You try a bite of one of the little desserts— some of the other werewolves’ attempts at a petit four, you think— and he grabs a beer.

Mason lets you steer the conversation, as he usually does, humming in response as you talk more about what you’d thought of the restaurant, what you think of the books Hunter and Cyrus have brought you, anything else that’s been on your mind lately. The dusk descends ever-more rapidly, it seems, the breeze turning colder as the evening wears on. 

A comfortable silence settles over the both of you for a time. You let your gaze slide to Mason, admiring him in the waning light. He’s all rough edges worn soft with time, not unlike the mountains that cradle you and that sleepy little town to the south. Something wild and rugged lays at the hearts of both, drawing you in like a moth to the flame.

His gaze has long since moved from vigilantly scanning the edge of the forest, to staring up at the stars wistfully.

It’s a strange expression on him. You run the back of your hand against his, smiling at the way he instinctively lifts your hand close and turns his face to press a kiss to your knuckles. His stubble scratches your skin and makes you wrinkle your nose playfully— he’d been perfectly clean-shaven when he’d woken you up! You wonder if that’s a werewolf trait, or if he’d have been like that as a human too.

“What are you thinking about?”

”You,” he sighs, lips still pressed to your hand. His brows furrow, eyes sliding shut. “The others.”

You laugh. “What, worried they’re going to burn the place down by accident while we’re out here?”

Mason snorts, shaking his head and moving to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you into him. “You’d be surprised.”

The small smile you’d pulled from him soon falls back into that faraway, pensive expression. He breathes in deeply, steadying himself. “Truth is… I don’t like the way they were looking at you… y’know, back at the restaurant.” 

Trepidation scours your skin like another gust of wind, raising goosebumps in its wake. Sure, you’d felt a few curious stares, maybe admiring or judging, but… surely it was normal for a small town, where everybody knows everybody, to be curious about their Sheriff’s new companion… “What d’you mean?”

Mason tilts his head, brow furrowed and hand tightening on your arm. His eyes search yours. There’s a fire there, a steeliness, something that steals your breath and fills your stomach with butterflies, anxious and anticipating. Eventually he relents with a sigh, letting his eyes slide closed. 

“You really don’t know, do you?”

A wry chuckle fans over your lips, broad hand coming up to cup your face. A calloused thumb brushes over your cheekbone, pressing into the skin a bit too firmly. Mason’s nose brushes yours, salt-and-pepper lashes fluttering over his cheekbones filling your vision as your own eyes slide shut.

And finally, Mason kisses you, warm and firm.

[carnivorousyandeere]

A Date with Mason

Content Info/Warnings: GN reader, reader is a bit shy and possibly experiencing some level of stockholm syndrome, jealousy and possessiveness, kidnapping/captivity, the werewolves have no real concept of personal space, food/eating, tiny mention of blood, possibly more. Ask to tag!

Word Count: 2,552

Thank you so much for the commission, [redacted]! This version of the story is anonymized for the comfort of my lovely Commissioner, who gave permission for all of you to enjoy this fic as well 🫶

If you’re interested in a commission, please feel free to DM me for more details!

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ── ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ ── ☁︎ ⋆₊⁺⋆ ☽ ⋆₊⁺⋆

“Hey.” 

The word stirs you from a peaceful nap. You glare blearily up at Mason for waking you, wrinkling your nose and trying to pull the blankets up to cover your face. He huffs, though not without affection. The bed shifts with his weight as he sits next to you and rubs your shoulder.

“C’mon, s’time to get up. Got a surprise for you.”

Your heart thrums with excitement. You’ve learned to trust Mason’s surprises— he’ll bring you movies, soft blankets, trinkets he thinks you’d like to decorate your room with. Though you know these gifts are meant to buy your complacence, your affection, each one brings you warmth. Without Mason overtly asking anything in exchange for the gifts, unlike some of the other werewolves, it’s easier to pretend they’re given unselfishly.

So, when he moves again to pull down the blankets a bit, you let him. He points to the door, where a more formal outfit than you’re used to hangs from the door. The cut, the color… it’s gorgeous.

He stands to let you get up. You can feel his eyes on you, gauging your reaction as you run your fingers over the fabric. Mason doesn’t miss your quick grin.

“Also got you some shoes.” Mason sidles up next to you, dipping his head to draw your gaze to the floor, where the pair sits. “Go on, get ready.”

You blink at him, uncertainty plain in the way your fingers tighten, crinkling the fabric. Before you can muster the courage to ask for privacy, he’s stepping into the hallway and shutting the door behind him. You let out a shuddering breath, steeling yourself. He’s not the type to pretend to give a privilege like that and take it away, you tell yourself. He begins to hum to himself quietly. Johnny Cash, maybe.

The clothes fit perfectly. You bite your lip, gently rapping on the door.

Mason cracks the door open, eyes widening as he takes you in with the full outfit, breath catching in his throat. He turns and coughs into his sleeve. His voice is gravelly, strained.  “...You look nice.”

A little laugh escapes before you can help it. “What, cat got your tongue?”

He rubs a hand over his face, but doesn’t respond. Damn, if you’re not going to be the death of him. As soon as your confidence had come, it crumbles into a shy warmth under his gaze turning back to you. And slowly, carefully, as if worried he’ll suddenly change his mind, you cross that threshold you haven’t been allowed to for months. You stop just outside the doorway, almost at a loss for what to do next.

Your voice comes again, meek this time, “shouldn’t we leave a note? Everyone will be worried if they come to my room, and I’m not there…”

Mason’s eyebrows raise in surprise, settling down as his eyes crinkle with a warmth that sends your heart racing even faster. He rests a hand on your back. “S’okay. They already know.”

Mason leads you down the hallways of the lodge. To set your mind even more at ease, he brings you to the front desk, where the other werewolves are hanging out. Mateo sniffs and immediately looks up from painting Hana’s nails, shoving the brush back into the bottle and rushing over to you.

“You look stunning!” Mateo gushes, moving to adjust your neckline. His fingers flirt over your shoulder, playing with your hair.

Hunter and Cyrus put down their book and old Nintendo DE respectively. They and Hana watch from where they’re sitting. Ace saunters around the counter, openly looking you up and down. 

He bumps Mateo out of the way with his shoulder, prompting a disgruntled “hey!”

Ace grabs your hand and presses a kiss to it. You feel him open his mouth to say something when Mason moves closer, rumbling low in his chest.

“Give them some space.”

Ace’s smirk dissolves into a baleful glare, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. “Fine.”

His eyes slide back to you, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “Have fun if you can, with that old stuffy old coot.”

Mason scoffs, looping his arm with yours and damn near pulling you outside where his truck waits for you. 

It’s overwhelming. 

The outside world is so much more than you remembered. So much brighter, louder. 

Music crackles over the old radio, sunshine streams in from the windows, the old road making the ride bumpy.

It’s strange, you muse. Just a few months ago, you’d had a whole life outside of this town, the pack that had claimed you as theirs. As ephemeral as a desert mirage– the more you chase the memory, the further away it feels.

Mason’s pinkie nudges yours on the center console. You risk a glance over at him. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s a ruddy tint across his cheek, spreading to the tip of his ear. His left hand flexes around the steering wheel. You look away before he can meet your gaze.

The town is closer than you remembered, too. It’s not long before you’re driving down the town’s main road, taking in all the picturesque buildings that had drawn you in last year, all of the flowers and people emerging for the spring.

Mason pulls into the parking lot of a cute little building and pauses, hands flexing around the steering wheel. With a steadying breath, Mason hops out of the truck and walks around to open the door for you. His hand finds its way to your back as soon as he shuts the door behind you.

The two of you walk into the building— a restaurant, judging by the host that greets you. Curious eyes follow you as the host leads you to a table for two. Mason feels it too, his hold around you tightening until it’s time to pull out the chair for you.

Mason sits in front of you, crossing his arms and surveying the restaurant. He’s cleaned up as much as he can, with his shaved face and the nicest shirt he owns, but there’s still hints of that rugged, wild nature of his that puts him at odds with the rich tablecloth and fine silverware between you. You can’t help but smile a little at the thought.

The waiter comes to take your drink orders, looking to Mason first, who only nods at you to go first. Mason nods in approval as you say what you want, eyes fixed on yours even as the waiter turns to him and asks what he’ll be having. 

“A whiskey on the rocks.”

The waiter nods and bounces back to the kitchen. The conversation dies down, Mason watching as you pore over the menu. The amount of choices is simply incredible. You clear your throat, raising your eyes to catch another glance at Mason, only to meet his gaze again. Had he even looked away…?

“What are you going to get?”

“Steak.” He tilts his head. “How about you? What’re you hungry for?”

“I’m not sure yet...”

The waiter comes back over just in time to clear the silence. Mason’s lip curls in a small smile at the way your eyes light up at your drink. Mason gives the waiter his order first, giving you a moment to enjoy your drink. When the waiter turns to you, their eyes and Mason’s practically boring into you, you suddenly feel a bit shy. Mason senses your hesitation, and orders for you. He chooses something you’ll like without a second thought, as if some of your preferences come as easily to him as breathing.

Not your preference for freedom, though. You shove the thought down.

As you wait for your food, you slowly grow more comfortable, loosening up and beginning to chat with Mason. He seems to loosen up a bit too, eyes crinkling when you laugh at the bits of dry humor he sprinkles into the conversation.

The waiter comes out with two plates, smoothly laying them in front of you and Mason. The waiter looks proud of themself, giving a little bow, leaning a little closer to you than you expected. “Enjoy~!”

Mason takes in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly as the waiter nods to him as well. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he watches the waiter flounce back to the kitchen.

Your eyes flick from him to your food, catching on his steak. As he cuts into it, it begins to damn near bleed. Your stomach knots at the sight, torn between a hunger of your own, and the reminder that you could just as easily be the next thing on his plate.

“You want a bite of mine, darl?”

You shake your head, hurrying to eat a bite of your own food. Mason watches you again, that wolfish stare picking apart your every reaction as always. You and Mason make small conversation between bites. You manage to draw out more stories from his day job, from what it’s like to help manage the lodge.

Mason finishes his meal first, leaning back in his seat.

You pause between bites, feeling the full weight of his gaze again. It makes your skin feel hot, almost too tight. Does he even realize how heavy his stare is… what he does to you? You’re not totally sure what it is you feel when he looks at you. Desire? Fear? Your heart skitters like a scared little rabbit almost every time, but it’s not… entirely unpleasant.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“Mm?” Mason tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, darling.”

You finish your meal too, and Mason is quick to  lay some cash on the table and offer his hand as you stand.

”C’mon.”

Mason’s grip is tight as you walk past the families and other couples dining, feeling their gazes now too. Some of them wave at the sheriff, prompting tight smiles and curt nods. Even as you exit the restaurant, and try to make a joke to break that strange tension, he remains silent. It’s like a summer thunderstorm, those moods. Roiling over in what seems like the blink of an eye.

Once you get to the truck, you take in a deep breath and one more moment to look around. There’s a twinge in your chest. The need to cement the memory of those blooming flowers, the faint murmurs of music and other people talking from the restaurant. 

Mason shuts the door for you, careful to avoid closing it on your clothes.

The truck ride is quiet too. Perhaps Mason forgot to turn the music back on, or perhaps he just needed the silence. You want to say something, to ease the tension rolling off him in waves, but your throat feels tight, your tongue leaden. Mason glances over at you. His hand comes to rest on your thigh, thumb running back and forth gently as if in apology.

He only relaxes as the town falls away into the rear view mirror, and then disappears. Mason drives past the lodge, squeezing your thigh reassuringly when you give a questioning look.

The road opens up to a grassy clearing, surrounded by trees and beyond them, the silhouettes of mountains. They rise sharp and white as fangs against the start of sunset. Mason carefully maneuvers the truck, sidling into the clearing and backing up slowly to an old tree stump.

Mason hops out and walks around to open the door for you. You slide your hand into his. He leads you to the back of the truck, pulling up the cover to reveal blankets, pillows, and a little picnic basket. You fight a smile, recognizing it as Hana’s from the little plastic butterflies hot glued all over it.

Mason continues to hold your hand as you step up onto the tree stump, then up onto the bed of the truck. He pulls himself up beside you, and settles to sit up against the cab of the truck. He opens the basket, revealing some bottles of soda, cider, and beer, and some small sweets he hoped you’d like.

The sunset bathes the clearing in a golden light. Crickets hum, and a warm breeze tickles your skin. You try a bite of one of the little desserts— some of the other werewolves’ attempts at a petit four, you think— and he grabs a beer.

Mason lets you steer the conversation, as he usually does, humming in response as you talk more about what you’d thought of the restaurant, what you think of the books Hunter and Cyrus have brought you, anything else that’s been on your mind lately. The dusk descends ever-more rapidly, it seems, the breeze turning colder as the evening wears on. 

A comfortable silence settles over the both of you for a time. You let your gaze slide to Mason, admiring him in the waning light. He’s all rough edges worn soft with time, not unlike the mountains that cradle you and that sleepy little town to the south. Something wild and rugged lays at the hearts of both, drawing you in like a moth to the flame.

His gaze has long since moved from vigilantly scanning the edge of the forest, to staring up at the stars wistfully.

It’s a strange expression on him. You run the back of your hand against his, smiling at the way he instinctively lifts your hand close and turns his face to press a kiss to your knuckles. His stubble scratches your skin and makes you wrinkle your nose playfully— he’d been perfectly clean-shaven when he’d woken you up! You wonder if that’s a werewolf trait, or if he’d have been like that as a human too.

“What are you thinking about?”

”You,” he sighs, lips still pressed to your hand. His brows furrow, eyes sliding shut. “The others.”

You laugh. “What, worried they’re going to burn the place down by accident while we’re out here?”

Mason snorts, shaking his head and moving to wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you into him. “You’d be surprised.”

The small smile you’d pulled from him soon falls back into that faraway, pensive expression. He breathes in deeply, steadying himself. “Truth is… I don’t like the way they were looking at you… y’know, back at the restaurant.” 

Trepidation scours your skin like another gust of wind, raising goosebumps in its wake. Sure, you’d felt a few curious stares, maybe admiring or judging, but… surely it was normal for a small town, where everybody knows everybody, to be curious about their Sheriff’s new companion… “What d’you mean?”

Mason tilts his head, brow furrowed and hand tightening on your arm. His eyes search yours. There’s a fire there, a steeliness, something that steals your breath and fills your stomach with butterflies, anxious and anticipating. Eventually he relents with a sigh, letting his eyes slide closed. 

“You really don’t know, do you?”

A wry chuckle fans over your lips, broad hand coming up to cup your face. A calloused thumb brushes over your cheekbone, pressing into the skin a bit too firmly. Mason’s nose brushes yours, salt-and-pepper lashes fluttering over his cheekbones filling your vision as your own eyes slide shut.

And finally, Mason kisses you, warm and firm.

[carnivorousyandeere]

Baron from Wwdits is genuinely fuckable like look at his other pics

LOL no, I know, he gets a glow-up and all but honestly i'd smash either version

[carnivorousyandeere]

Imagine asking a yandere to “fuck you like they hate you” and they just start crying because they could never hate you, how could you even say that—

[carnivorousyandeere]

Yan Superhero

Intro