#dbd frank x reader

[d34dg1rl5]

Corpse Bride

It's icy in Mount Ormond. Quietly you make your way across the snowy paths and reach the ski lodge. The legions domain.

From inside the house you could hear chatter and music. Sounds like they're having a good time. Maybe you were just a nuisance to them? Yes, they were your friends and yes, they care about you. But maybe they don't always want to deal with your problems and fears.

Just as you turned around Susie spots you. "(Y/n!) What are you doing out here? Come join us!" She grabs your hand and pulls you inside. Julie waves at you and Joey greets you with a "'Sup." Frank quickly puts back on his mask crossing his arms. "You look like shit."

You sigh and sit down enjoying the warmth emerging from the furnace. "It's just been a rough trial... Nea kept stunning me with pallets and I think I'm gonna have a bruise.."

Susie looks at you with sympathy. "Aww, poor you... I know excactly what it feels like... Don't we all?" She looks at her friends and earns Julies agreement. "Yeah, some survivors really are a pain in the ass.. Especially Nea and Feng." She takes a piece of the pizza laying in front of her.

Joey agrees aswell and talks about his experiences with toxic survivors.

Something seems weird about Frank today... He isn't his usual cocky and snarky self. He gives you glances from time to time, even though you can't see his face you can feel his eyes on you.

You look at the others. "I think I'll head back to my realm... I feel ... Weird." Susie looks at you. "Aww, already? Alright then, do you want me to walk you back?" You shake your head. "Aw, no, you don't need to." Susie nods and gets up to hug you. "Alright then, see you!"

Youwalk out the lodge and sigh looking around walking back in your realm. Suddenly you get the feeling of someone following you. You turn around taking out your knife. "Who goes there!?"

"Jeez, calm down... Pussy." You hear a familiar voice say and a snarky chuckle. "You're a killer, you shouldn't be afraid of shit in here." Frank steps out from the darkness and looks at you. "What are you doing here?", tilting your head in confusion. "Walking you home I guess."

He takes out a cigarette of his pocket and lights it. Hiw does he even have that stuff in the realm? Maybe he asked the Entity for it.. He notices you eyeing the cigarette. "Want one?" Thinking about it for a second you nod.

"Yeah, gimme one." He hands you one and puts his lit cigarette to yours and lights it. "Heh." You blush slightly and try to avoid his gaze.

"You look brutal, by the way. Real sick." You look at him. "Huh?" "Your outfit. You know. Killer look. Real sick." You look down at yourself and sigh. You were some kind of zombie, just not just thinking about brains and intestines all the time. You actually were still human. To some extent at least. Your body however looks like a nightmare. Your skin was pale with deep wounds littered over your body. Your right eye was a milky white while the other eye was still intact. You hated how you looked.

"Maybe to you. I hate this body..." He sighs and puts a hand on your back. "I was always into zombies." He nudges you and you can't overhear a flirty tone in his voice.

Frank and you walk next to each ither for a few minutes in silence until you reach your realm - a church with a dark and old looking graveyard at the backside. The churchs roof is destroyed and crows circle the cross on top of it.

"I'll see you around, corpse bride~" He grins and turns to walk away, disappearing in the thick fog surrounding the church.

A/N: IM RLLY MAD CUZ YESTERDAY I WROTE HEADCANONS FOR DBD KILLERS REACTING TO A FEM!SURVIVOR WITH A PANIC ATTACK AND I UPLOADED IT AND IT WAS JUST GONE. Like i tried everything (log out and in again, refresh my page, look at queue, privacy settings, etc.). Its just gone and im so sad 😭😔

[writer-freak]

This will be my first time asking someone for something...I'm a little nervous. Also I love what you wrote about Frank, they really made my day!! Can I make a request regarding dbd killers? (You can make any killer you want.) Especially Frank 🏃‍♂���

It's going to be a bit classic but how would they be with a s/o who is addicted touching. For example,with a s/o who suddenly opens their shoulders and starts kissing their bare skin until she get tired. But if they refuse and stop the reader, with a s/o who gets offended by them and opens her own shoulder and starts kissing it.

(I have a cousin who has this habit and it's pretty funny. Anyway you can add Nsfw if you want, I'll leave that up to you 🏃‍♂️✨)

Character: Frank Morrison/Legion, Ji-Woon Hak/The Trickster, Albert Wesker/The Mastermind, Danny Johnson/The Ghost Face and Sally Smithson/The Nurse

A/n: Thank you so much for the request and even though it took forever (I'm very sorry 😭) I very much enjoyed writing this and I hope you also enjoy reading <3. I included a little but nothing explicit smut and it's after the ~~~~~~~

Frank Morrison / The Legion

Frank never really understood why you loved slipping his hoodie off at the end of a hard day just to kiss his bare shoulder so tenderly, but at some point it started just feeling... right.

The first few times he might have instinctively flinched, not used to someone being so gentle with him. But seeing the way your face softened every time you pressed your lips to his skin made his chest ache but in like a good way.

If he ever stops you, either because he's feeling overwhelmed or simply teasing you, Frank would let his hand rest on your arm, pulling you closer.

And then, to your surprise, his lips would find your shoulder instead, pressing a bit of a clumsy but very heartfelt kiss there.

"...There," he’d mumble under his breath, almost shy. "Fair’s fair, right?"

The more you do it, the more he craves it without realizing it himself. Waiting for your kisses at the end of the day and feeling pissed off when you don't do it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment your lips ghost across his shoulder, Frank’s patience wears thin.

His breath hitches as you kiss him again, hands teasing beneath his hoodie. That’s all it takes for his hunger to awaken.

If you dare to continue, he’ll grab your hips, pulling you flush against him with a growl. "You really like doing that, don’t you?"

He shifts your shirt down your own shoulder now, lips on your shoulder with a rough, heated kiss that lingers a bit too long.

His hands roam further as your breathing quickens, and soon enough, you're both tangled, shirts discarded, and all that from one simple kiss.

Ji-Woon Hak / The Trickster

Ji-Woon laps up your attention like honey. Your fingers slipping off his jacket, your lips dragging along his shoulder, it's pure adoration, and he loves every second.

He usually lets you do as you please, basking in the feeling of being worshiped.

But occasionally, just to toy with you, he’ll stop you, grasping your wrists with that much too attractive grin of his.

Instead of leaving you hanging, though, Ji-Woon would lean in close, brushing his lips against your shoulder with deliberate slowness.

"Why should you have all the fun, hm?" he purrs, voice like silk.

He loves making you feel just as weak for him as you make him feel for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every touch you give him feeds his ego, but also ignites something primal in him.

When you trace his shoulder with kisses, Ji-Woon watches you with lidded eyes, his hand already slipping lower on your body.

Sometimes he’ll stop your teasing fingers, smirking before guiding your shirt off your shoulders and returning the favor with hot, wet kisses that leave your skin tingling.

"Such devotion," he hums against your skin. "You deserve to be worshiped too."

Before long, you're both stripped bare, his lips traveling lower, his voice purring sweet filth against your ear as he claims you.

Albert Wesker / The Mastermind

Wesker always watches you with those sharp eyes as you tug his coat from his shoulders and begin planting soft kisses along his skin.

Sometimes, though, his clothing proves annoyingly stubborn, the layers, the tight fit and then you find yourself getting a little frustrated trying to get them off properly.

He watches your struggle with amusement in his eyes, lips twitching ever so slightly at your determination.

After a few moments, with a low chuckle, Wesker steps in, quickly opening up your clothes, peeling the fabric away to grant you full access (at least when he is in the mood to do so).

He pretends to tolerate it at first, letting you think you’re in control, but deep down, your tenderness actual shakes up his careful composure.

If you get too bold, he’ll stop you with a firm hand on your wrist, holding you still as his gaze darkens.

But instead of fully denying you, Wesker leans in, his lips brushing against your shoulder with precision, leaving a heated mark.

"If anyone will indulge in such affections" his voice is dangerously low, "it will be me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your kisses are a dangerous game with Wesker ,one you always lose, deliciously so.

As your lips work along his shoulder, he watches you like prey, stopping you with a firm hand just as you begin to crave more.

"Enough," he commands, but only so he can slide your own shirt from your shoulders slow and calculated.

His lips descend onto your exposed shoulder, teeth scraping lightly as he whispers in your ear. "You forget who’s in control here."

And from there, he dismantles you, piece by piece, kiss by kiss, until you're breathless under his total dominance.

Danny Johnson / The Ghost Face

You slipping behind Danny, easing his robe down and tracing your lips over his shoulder? It's the kind of intimacy he secretly craves.

He’d chuckle under his breath, pretending to be unaffected, but his breathing always betrays him.

If he ever stops you, just for the little thrill of watching your reaction, he doesn’t leave you wanting for long.

With a sly grin, he cups your face, shifts your shirt aside, and plants a playful kiss on your shoulder.

"You’re not the only one who can do a little skin to skin" he whispers, eyes almost sparkling.

Danny always makes sure your games end with him holding the upper hand, or at least, making you feel like he does.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your touches always stir something dark in Danny, a wicked possessiveness.

When you start kissing along his shoulder, he smirks, then halts your hands for a moment, just to flip the script.

Tugging your shirt aside, he sinks his teeth gently into your shoulder, marking you with a satisfied hum.

"Didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did you?"

His touches grow rougher, his hands slipping under fabric, fingers roaming freely as clothing falls to the floor, leaving you completely vulnerable to his attention.

Sally Smithson / The Nurse

Sally is delicate. She trembles slightly as you pull down her robe and lay soft, reverent kisses on her shoulder.

Your touch is one of the few sensations that brings her back from the fog of her torment.

Sometimes, though, the vulnerability overwhelms her, and she gently halts your hand, unsure how much she can handle.

But seeing your soft eyes waiting patiently encourages her.

Slowly over time, she gathers courage, and with slightly shaky hands, brushes your shoulder free of fabric, pressing a feather-light kiss there.

"I... I want to give you the same," she whispers, her voice quiet but sincere.

With you, Sally is learning how to give affection as much as she receives it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sally’s breath always grows shallow when you begin, her robe slipping from her shoulders beneath your lips.

The vulnerability makes her hesitate, but when she finally finds her courage, she returns your affection gently.

Carefully, she slips your shirt aside and presses soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder, savoring the warmth of your skin beneath her lips.

What begins as hesitant touches soon turns desperate, both of you slowly undressing each other as soft gasps fill the dim room.

Divider by: @uzmacchiato

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[florestmoon]

EYE FOR AN EYE CH 2 (Ghostface x Reader x Frank Morrison)

Summary: You’re met with the sad reality of what is your friendship with Frank; and you continue to get weird phone calls.

Contents: Angst, lots of angst with our boy Frank.

A/N: hiii hope you enjoy reading! This is just me setting more of the story, promise it will get much more interesting later on (;

Tick…Tick….Tick…

There was 5 minutes left in your last class. You settled your chin on your palm, glancing at the window to your left. The sky held a light grey tint, the clouds only a shade darker—looks like it will be raining today. The fact had you regretting not accepting a ride from Mary this morning and taking your bike. You wondered if you were going to be unlucky enough that it would start pouring during your 10 minute ride home.

Maybe you could even ask—

“Who??” A voice behind you interrupts your thoughts.

“Frank.” Another states with matching excitement.

Your head nearly turned fully in a knee jerk reaction at the name but it was a small enough glance that you noted it was the two cheerleaders to your right, then you kept your head turned towards the window. If you dared look long enough , you would have had to deal with the two blondes—both who you knew well enough that they wouldn’t miss the chance to humiliate you and call you out for staring.

“He beat the shit out of him in the cafeteria.” She continues. “They were talking near where those freaks hang out and the next thing I saw was Frank punching him on the floor. It took two teachers to pull him off. I think he broke his noise. Cathy said he was bleeding all over the floor..”

“Holy shit!” You can’t refrain the frown pulling at your lips when you hear them stifle their giggles. “So that’s why I saw Sheriff Mccall outside of the principles office on my way to class… You think they’ll take him out in handcuffs?”

“Hopefully. That would be hot.” Another set of giggles between the two before the forgotten clock strikes 2 P.M. and the bell rings. The class erupts in a chaos of shuffles and sighs of relief, but you continue to listen to the girls conversation as your notebook is shoved into your bag.

“What the hell did Billy say to him?”

“I don’t know. But Billy is an idiot. Everyone knows to not fuck with Frank, he got major anger issues or something.”

No. Frank was the idiot. You thought as you walked past them on your way out of the classroom. A destination set in your footsteps.

The school year had just started. It's only been one week since the school year begun, everyone settling into their new schedules and preparing for the following months that included the few important events during senior year. Dances, exams, prom, but most important for you—Graduation. That was something that you had promised yourself to be your one true focus, along with college applications and the overwhelming idea of scholarships—the only ticket out of this town.

It should’ve been on Frank’s mind as well but as you made your way to Principle Dickens office, and you caught a glimpse of him through the tiny window on the door, you realize that maybe Frank didn’t give a shit at all.

It was a surprise you even thought he would care with the way he was slumped back against one of the chairs in front of the desk.

His posture giving away what his thoughts were about whatever was coming out of the Principle Dicken’s mouth, the man nearly popping a vein that was protruding from his bald head as he rambled on. The Sheriff also couldn’t control his own expression of annoyance, seeming to want to just take Frank from the office. Whether it be his own distaste of the trouble maker and wanting to put him in the county jail overnight, or to get away from the drawn out lecture.

Taking your eyes away from them both, you finally focus your eyes on Frank. There was a small bandage on top of his nose. A spot of blood standing out agains the otherwise clean and white gauge. Looks like Billy managed to get one good shot.

You can’t imagine how he must look though.

Frank tilts his head back rolling his eyes. This only spurs Dickens to continue the verbal assault. Finally, his eyes lazily gaze towards the door and you both make eye contact. You grimace at the sudden tension that shifts in his body. With an awkward smile, you pull yourself away from the door and sit down on the bench a few feet away from it before any of the older two men notice your presence as well.

It’s also been a week since you both even acknowledged each other at school. There was a few glimpses here and there of Frank’s favorite red and grey varsity jacket in the school hallway or in the parking lot on your way out, but there was always either all three or one of the other friends in his group. Other than that— you haven’t seen or spoken to him. The last time being the time you both spoke on the phone after the tense encounter.

You let your bag fall on the floor beside your feet and examined your hands.

You imagine, with perfect clarity, how it all happened. That expression of his— sharp eyes and a deep scowl that followed Frank everywhere he went, turning away before surprising the other teen by throwing a punch straight to the jaw. Knocking him by surprise, Frank would take advantage and kick him to the ground, grabbing his shirt as he struggled on the ground and continued to throw blow after blow. You knew the only way Billy would have been able to mark Frank was when the two teachers pulled him off and held him back, and he took his chance to make himself look not as weak in front of the whole cafeteria.

But you knew his hands were perfectly clean (contrary to his face) while Franks was bruised and held some cuts from the impact.

“Freak.”

You glanced up noticing three jocks, all huddled near one of their lockers and glancing towards you. They snickered as you held their gaze before finally looking down at your hands again. Throat burning as your body tingles with humiliation.

Staring at your own hands, turning them around to glare at your own untouched knuckles, you wondered what it would feel like to lose control that way. It was natural for Frank. You only seen it once before, when you were 15 and he was 17, and a kid at the park thought it was funny to throw rocks at the stray cat you were just gaining the trust of with a can of tuna. The way his eyes shined bright with…excitement as the kid cried, clutching his eye and running from the both of you.

There was a denial of your own stir of enjoyment at the sight of it all, especially after Frank simply wiped his hands, grabbed yours and lead you to where the cat had escaped to.

How would it feel? Losing control that way?

You came back to reality when the door slammed shut, and the subject of your thoughts spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

Frank pursed his lips, watching you stand up and waste no time in examining his face. He flinches when you reach your hand towards his nose before stopping yourself. You note the absence of any handcuffs on his wrist and the sheriff by his side, a wave of relief rolling through you.

“Jesus Frank, I thought you were about to be taken to jail” You hiss. “What the hell are you thinking getting into a fight on the first week of school!”

“It doesn’t matter.” He grunts, grabbing your arm, the gentleness contradicting the roughness in his voice. He pulls you to walk beside him as he leads you down the hallway. “The dumbass deserved it.”

“Oh really.” You deadpan, both of you stopping before his locker. “I can’t imagine anything he said deserves him getting beaten so badly that you had him bleeding all over the cafeteria.”

“You weren’t there.” Frank opens the locker and grabs his backpack that was stuffed in there. He begins to shove a few of his things in it, grabbing a few photos that were pinned on the inside that you didn’t catch a glimpse of. Your eyes had focused on some of the sharpie writing that on the other side of the small locker door.

Julie + Frank <3

Suz was here (:

F.J.S.J

“How did you know where I was?”

It’s slam shut before you can read the rest.

“Some cheerleaders were gushing over how hot you would look being taken out of principle dickens office in handcuffs .” It starts to register that he had taken out nearly everything in the locker. “I’m surprised McCall even let you go. I thought I would have to wait for him to leave the room to talk to him..”

“Why?” Frank can’t hold back a smile as he pulls his back pack over one of his shoulders. “Were you going to sweet talk him into letting me off the hook? Use his sweet spot for you?”

You ignore the small hint of humor in his voice and look him in the eyes, seriously. “Maybe. How did you get off the hook anyway?”

Frank smile faded into a nonchalant expression. “I didn’t.”

You groan.

“You got suspended.” He begins to walk towards the double doors and you follow him. “How long this time? A week?”

When he doesn’t respond you let out a gasp. “No way. Two weeks?”

He pushes the doors open but pauses at the first steps towards the parking lot. You watch his expression carefully, holding the same uncaring attitude but the tension in his jaw gives it away. One look at his backpack again and your stomach drops.

“You got expelled.” You turn towards the door in a swift moment. “No way I’m going to talk to principle Dickens and I’ll make him change his mind—“

“I doubt that will do anything.” Frank stops you once before you can push the doors open once again. “Look, I’m glad the asshole expelled me. I’m sick of this place.”

“But you need to graduate.” You stare at him in shock, his cool attitude triggering a nerve. “How can you be so careless about this ?”

“I already flunked two times, it’s like not that asshole was going to let me graduate anyway.”

“You don’t know that !”

“Sweets.” Frank groans. “I’m happy about this. I can get a job full time now, make some extra cash. Have more time to myself.”

“What about college?”

“I don’t give a rats ass about college.” Frank scoffs. “Not everyone bases their life around that like you do.”

“But..” You pause with frown. “What about our plan? Us leaving Ormond?”

“You mean, your plan.” Frank says too quickly, and he seems to regret as fast as it came out. But it had its impact all the same. You stepped back, swallowing hard.

Right. There was no such thing as Our or Us anymore for you and Frank. The small piece of hope you were holding onto desperately crumbling in front of you. You tried so hard to run away from the fact that you were on your own now.

“Sorry.” You finally push out, your cheeks burning hot from shame mixed with the sudden embarrassment and irritation of accepting it.

“Wait—“

“Youre right.” You interrupt him, pulling away when he reaches out for you.

His face was a mix of emotions as he watches you try to push your own hurt from showing in your face. One look at the parking lot behind him and you see the same three teens that you admit you grown to dislike. They all stood besides his truck, not hiding the fact that they were watching the interaction.

You brush past him and make your way towards where the bike rack is. Your bike was the last one left, you take out the key as Frank follows behind you.

“That’s not what I meant.” He tries.

“I get it. Things are different. I’m stupid to think our plan was even still a thing.” You struggle with the lock for a second but it clocks, and you swiftly pull the bike onto the side walk . “You haven’t even spoken to me since school started so I don’t know what I was thinking coming to check on you.”

Frank places his hand on top of yours that were grabbing the handles and prevents you from walking away from him again. “You’re the one that’s been fucking ignoring me. Who’s the one that’s been calling you all summer?”

“Who’s the one that started ditching me earlier this year.” You fire back and you both stare at each other. A few drops of rain start falling on you both. “Who’s the one that made new friends, got a girlfriend and started forgetting our weekly movie nights.?”

“That’s bullshit.” Frank tenses, his gaze tight on yours, but you continue to push.

“You’re the one that started avoiding me. You found new friends and decided that they were better.” You pull away from his grasp and nearly run over his foot with your bike. He steps away before it does.

It looks like he’s going to continue arguing but you stop him.

“Speaking of which. You better go, Frank.” You nod towards his truck and he finally notices them. Eyebrows furrowing, although debating something. “Have fun with whatever plans you have next.”

You give him one last glance before walking away with your bike by your side, desperate to get away. He doesn’t stop you this time.

~~~

The can of cat food open with a pop— the smell striking your nose as you toss away the lid before making your way out into the night. The rain thankfully had stopped for the night, only leaving behind a chilly air and the smell of damp grass.

You walked towards the trash cans near your garage, setting down the can on the ground next to them.There was no sight of the cat you been feeding yet, but you knew by morning the can will turn up empty. You grab the empty one from the morning before.

“Fucking bitch!”

A door slam shut and out came your neighbor, the 30 year old man stumbling down the path towards his car. He barely acknowledges your staring as he enters—well really throws himself clumsily into the car, the headlights nearly blinding you as the engine roars to life.

“John!” A woman yells as she exits the same door. “Where the hell are you going?!”

John ignores her, the radio drowning out her yelling his name when he drives off , wheels skidding across the pavement as he disappears down the road. She tilts her head back, her body deflating in exhaustion, palm rubbing against her forehead as though wiping something away.

She doesn’t seem startled once she notices you watching her, only dropping her arm and throwing you a sheepish smile. She ignores the way you look over her scrubs before searching for something on her face, anything to indicate that he had hurt her again.

Jenny was always good at hiding it. After your two years of living next to her, you caught on the pattern of their relationship. You learned early on to not step in, getting scolded for trying to call the police on the bastard. So you learned to watch and make sure nothing went too far.

“Hey..” She crosses her arms across her chest and steps down the steps. “Uh, how’s the cat?”

“Good.” You state, relaxing once you note she seems to be untouched. “I think she’s pregnant. Her belly looks a bit bigger.”

“Or maybe you been feeding her too much.” She smiles, eying the can in your hands. “I saw that she eats the whole can now. How’s the stock holding up? Do you need me to buy more ?”

You shake your head, finally opening the trash can lid and tossing the can inside.

“I should be good for a few more days.” You wipe your hands on your sweats. “I’ll let you know once I’m out..thanks by the way.”

Jenny only nods and seems to turn to head back inside but you stop her.

“Uh..you’re okay..right?” You hesitate, not knowing whether you were pushing it.

You and Jenny had a small relationship where she would always greet you, either if she was leaving for her 12 hour shift at the only hospital this town had or if she was just returning from it by the time you got home from school. Once she had noticed the stray cat that begin hanging around both your yards and you only being able to feed it slices of ham, she made an agreement that she would buy the stocks of cat food and you would be in charge of feeding her.

There was always nights like tonight, where John would make a scene, either throwing things around the house in a drunken rage or having a full blown screaming match. You noticed the black eyes but like any other person in your life, she was good at lying and brushing it off.

“I’m okay.” She throws you one of those smiles and you feel a tug of annoyance at it. The fakeness of it, as though she was trying to protect you from something that you already knew the truth to. So what was the point?

“Its late and freaking cold, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“It’s not that late.” You mutter, shrugging. She also always treated you like a kid, you weren’t sure if you hated or liked it sometimes. “It’s Friday”

“Right, still. It’s dangerous for you to be out so late, you never know who’s lurking around.” She remarks and heads up the steps. “Well goodnight.”

“Night.” You watch her head inside, lingering for a few minutes, hoping the cat would pop up but nothing. You go back inside, locking the door. Her remark sent shivers down your spine, prompting you to shut the curtains on the kitchen window before going down the hallway to your room.

Before you could shut the door, the phone rings.

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of it, its ringing slicing through the silence that you grown accustomed to in the house the past hour. There didn’t seem to be any sound from your fosters bedroom, no worry to answer the phone and see who was calling this late so you make your way to the kitchen again.

“Hello?” You answer once you put the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Yes?” You rub your eyes and look at the clock. 10:36 pm.

“Who is this?”

“Um..” You cock your head in confusion. “Well who are you trying to reach?”

“Jenny.”

You pause, registering the raspy low voice. It sounds almost muffled, it’s a voice you don’t regconize. But you do recognize the name.

“Um sorry.. you got the wrong number.”

“Did I?” The voice croons, seemingly to be amused by the fact, you couldn’t pin on why. “Then who is this?”

You frown, the night a few weeks ago replaying in your mind. How do you know it wasn’t some creep trying to get off again?

But they knew Jenny, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Still, you’re cautious with your answer.

“I’m her neighbor.” You look towards a small post it note you had pinned to the fridge. Jenny had given you her number a few months after you moved here, telling you to call her for anything. “I have her number though, I can read it out to you—”

“No that’s okay.” The voice hums. “I think I prefer to talk to you.”

You blink, at lost for words. A small burn tingles at your cheeks.

“You never answered my questioned.” There seems to shuffling on the other side, the person moving around and you suddenly feel this urge to look at your surroundings. “Who am I talking to?”

“I don’t exactly feel comfortable telling you my name.” You finally answer, trying to make your voice stern but it wavers. “I’m not going to talk to some stranger over the phone, so do you want me to give you Jenny’s number?”

“Don’t be like that sweetheart.” The voice teases, they let out a small amused chuckle. “We don’t have to be strangers. Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine.”

You bite your lip, you couldn’t help but feel a bit intrigued. But you knew better. Even if the sudden nickname disarmed you, you couldn’t ignore the fact that this was some creep.

“Tell me yours first.” You finally say. The voice only chuckles again.

“How do I know you will tell me yours?”

You shrug, forgetting that they couldn’t see you but they seem to predict it, the raspy voice flowing out the phone before you can say anything.

”Well that’s not fair, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches in surprise. Your hand grips the phone tight as the uneasiness settles back.

“what..how do you..who is this?”

“A friend of Jenny’s.” He muses, and you feel yourself start to grow impatient. Was this some type of prank? There was no way this was John, he was too drunk to even be able to plan a prank call. Plus, this was the stupidest type of prank call. It wasn’t even funny.

There was no way this was Frank. He would at least make it more amusing, less creepy.

“Yeah well if you were a friend of Jenny’s, you would at least get the right number.” You open the curtain, noting the lights were on in Jenny’s home still.

“But I do have the right number.”

“You don’t.” You say sharply. “I’m going to hang up now. So last chance, do you want her number or not creep.”

“Cute.” The voice doesn’t sound amused anymore, there was something…different to the tone now. You barely noticed it before the upbeat tone comes again and they sigh, giving up.

“Alright, since you insist.” They click their tongue. “Give me Jenny’s number then.”

You grab the note off the fridge and clear your throat, unsure whether you should but begin reading off the numbers. Right when you say the last number , the phone clicks. They hung up and you’re left standing there.

You wait to hear a distant phone ringing, coming from Jenny’s kitchen window that’s right across from yours.

Minutes pass by and the house stays quiet. The raspy voice echoing in your head. She never gets the call that night.

[yanderedbdimagines]

Hello, I really like the way you are writing! So what would you think of yandere Frank, Jake, David, the doctor and the spirit (together or seperate, you decide),with an obsession (survivor) that is very sarcastic, always fighting back and always doing the opposite thing they want from her/him, just to annoy them? If you don't have time or don't want to write about this, it's ok. Just ignore this request then. Have a good night/day!

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

Part 1 - Part 2

Warning!: Cussing.

The Doctor

It’s truly fascinating how predictable you are. How defiant you can be. And yet, you still captivate him.

Most survivors break or start to crumble under fear. They scramble. They beg. They cry. They always end up submitting to him.

Not you. At least, not in any trial he’s ever seen you in.

You stopped fearing him long ago. Stopped treating him as the incomprehensible terror that others do. Instead, you regard him with nothing but seething defiance, as if he were some insufferable nuisance rather than the very monster that dictates your suffering. A beast whose authority you refuse to acknowledge. A force you meet head-on, teeth bared, unyielding even in the face of certain death.

He learned that quickly. Herman Carter is a man who thrives on absolute control.

And yet, here you are. Still running. Still fighting.

Still making his pulse thunder with every sharp glance, every scathing retort, every reckless refusal to submit to him. How infuriating. How utterly delightful.

His boots slam against the frozen earth, crushing brittle ice beneath his relentless pursuit. Snow scatters in his wake, the cold biting into his skin, though he hardly notices. Not when he’s so singularly focused. The crackle of electricity hums at his temples, a steady, pulsing rhythm that casts erratic shadows along the decayed walls of Ormond Lodge.

But he doesn’t need to rush. Not this time. Not when he knows you.

He has studied you. Mapped every instinct, memorized every habit, every desperate maneuver. Others are mere test subjects, their fates inconsequential, but you… You are something else entirely. Something infinitely more precious.

Which is why, when he catches you, he’ll be gentle. A rare kindness. A mercy reserved for you alone. Because he’s long since decided he’ll be keeping you.

You feel him before you hear him.

That low, insidious hum. The telltale whisper of something unnatural lurking just beyond your senses. Waiting. Watching.

But then… The unmistakable thunder of boots, pounding against the frostbitten ground, closing in like a death knell.

Your muscles coil, but not with fear. No, something much hotter surges through you, igniting in your chest, curling in your gut. Fury.

“Damn it, you son of a bitch! You ever take a day off?!”

The words rip from your throat, sharp and scathing, slicing through the frozen air with all the venom you can muster.

You should be focused on escape. Should be calculating every possible route, should be maneuvering, strategizing, weaving your way toward safety.

But no.

Because it’s him.

And the moment you hear that sound. That scrambled laugh… Something in your core twists. Warped and guttural, his amusement is fractured, distorted, bleeding through the static-laced air like the death rattle of something far beyond human. The charged atmosphere crackles against your skin, tiny jolts prickling along your spine.

Your instincts scream at you to run faster.

But instinct alone isn’t what drives you.

You hate him. With every fiber of your being, with every ragged breath, every aching muscle. With a fury so visceral it borders on something vicious, something that dares to eclipse mere survival.

And that’s why you refuse… Refuse, to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes.

Sadly, it’s amusing to him.

Most survivors, when they know they’re cornered, when they feel the predator breathing down their necks. They scream.

You? You snarl. Like a caged animal, he managed to corner you. Wild and untamed. Teeth bared, hackles raised, rage burning in your glare, daring him to take one step closer.

And Herman. He simply laughs. A low, indulgent chuckle rumbles from his chest, the sound distorted, fractured, like static slithering between radio frequencies. His massive frame looms over you. A monolith of raw strength and something far more insidious. An intelligence that does not simply crave, but calculates.

The wires threading through his scarred, muscular arms pulse with restrained energy, casting eerie, flickering light over the snow-laden ground. The dim glow accentuates every ridge and contour of his form. To the broad expanse of his shoulders, the brutal scars that mar his flesh, the twisted remnants of past experiments etched into him like a morbid masterpiece.

And you… You’re trapped. Caught between him and the rusted remains of a snow-covered trash container, your breath clouding in the frigid air. But you refuse to cower.

He sees it in your stance, in the way your fingers twitch, flexing with anticipation. Ready to shove him, strike him, fight him.

You always fight.

But he doesn’t want a struggle. Not this time.

Not when he’s spent so long learning your little habits, your little games, your little weaknesses. He’s mapped you down to the finest details. The quickening of your pulse, the shift of your weight when you prepare to run, the fire that ignites in your glare just before you lash out.

No, he wants you perfectly intact, he reminds himself.

His rough, cracked hands move with uncharacteristic care. Calloused fingers reaching, not to strike, not to seize, but to touch.

His fingertips graze your cheek, the contact featherlight, and yet… Electric. A faint, tingling charge lingers in his wake, sending shivers racing down your spine. Your breath hitches, unbidden, and his amusement hums through the air like an unstable current.

A little gift from him. A reminder.

That he is here. Inside your skin. Inside your head. Inside of everything.

He drops his weapon, and his other hand finds your wrist, curling around it. Not restraining. Just keeping you. Holding onto what is his.

"Still so stubborn," he muses, his voice a low, distorted murmur, warped through the device prying his mouth into an unrelenting grin. "So resilient."

He tilts his head, ever so slightly, his gaze unwavering as he watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest. Your breath warm against the frozen air, your heartbeat hammering just beneath his fingertips.

You are furious. Fuming. Every muscle in your body is tight, locked, poised for a strike.

And yet… He knows you’re resisting the shiver.

His breath hitches. Sharp, measured and absolutely predatory.

"I wonder, dear girl… would you still fight if you knew I wouldn’t hurt you?"

Your glare sharpens, unflinching, a firestorm of rage and defiance.

"Shut up. I know you will. Don’t fucking lie to me, you freak."

A slow drag of his finger down the warm curve of your clavicle, his touch a contradiction. Gentle, reverent, yet injected with something far more wicked.

"Amusing," he murmurs, voice dropping to something darker, richer, threaded with something too close. His lips strain against the cruel device forcing his mouth open, his fingers lingering at the dip of your collarbone, pressing down ever so softly against it. Just enough to feel the way your pulse jumps.

"Well, I believe you’d bite and claw until your very last breath."

His head dips lower, impossibly close, his voice threading into something quiet. Something intimate. "And still… I’d be delighted if you did."

His unblinking eyes widen further, reveling in the way your body betrays you, just for a second, just enough for him to feel the rush of your pulse beneath his touch.

How thrilling.

How utterly fascinating.

Your pulse, thrumming beneath his fingers. The fire in your eyes, burning even as the cold air licks at your skin. The way you refuse to bow, refuse to break, refuse to be his.

His mind drinks in every flicker of defiance, every breath, every tremor, savoring the moment as though he could carve it into permanence.

But then…

A blaring siren.

The sound rips through the frozen air, shrill and unrelenting. Self-explanatory. The exit gates.

Herman’s fluorescent eyes snap upward, his entire form going rigid. A flicker of darkness ignites in his gaze, clearly ugly and inconvenienced.

He should have known.

You feel it before you see it. The subtle shift in his grip, the tightening of his fingers around your wrist. Not enough to hurt. He would never break his most important test subject.

But enough to send a very, very clear message.

"Not yet…"

The words slither past his teeth, low and vibrating with something dangerous and final. His voice, even warped and distorted, drips with quiet promise.

But you…

You steal that moment right from underneath him.

That fraction of a second where his mind, sharp as it is, is not completely focused on keeping you still.

Your body moves before your mind can fully process it, instincts roaring to life. With one violent, wrenching twist, your wrist slips free, burning against the friction of his grip.

Then you run.

The frozen ground is slippery beneath your feet, each breath a ragged, desperate heave. Your legs scream, muscles searing with exertion, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Because you know he’s behind you. Of course he is.

Boots slam against the earth, snow scattering as his towering frame cuts through the fog, relentless and determined. Electricity crackles, the very air warping around him in unstable pulses of static-laced hunger.

But you don’t dare look back.

Not until your trembling hands slam against the control panel,  then pressing down, activating it.

And then you squeeze right through, your body twisting as you throw yourself through the opening, the icy air slicing against your skin.

The Entity’s fog curls around you. Safety at last.

Herman stops in his tracks, his weapon left behind.

His form stills, his sharp, manic grin frozen in place, his breath halting in his chest.

He watches… Watches as you vanish out of his sight.

The static around him pulses almost wild and erratic, before crackling out in an abrupt, deafening silence.

He slowly exhales.

His body shudders, fingers twitching, his jaw flexing ever so slightly. A low, near-silent chuckle bubbles up from his chest, crawling past his teeth like the remnants of some dark, twisted amusement.

"Ah."

His head tilts, electrodes sparking faintly, his ever-gaping grin twitching as his unblinking eyes remain fixated on the space where you once stood.

"Fascinating."

His tongue drags across the inward-facing side of his bottom teeth, his breath slow, measured.

The laugh starts as a small, fractured sound, then grows, unraveling into a series of quiet, warbling giggles, his shoulders quaking with the force of it.

Because, deep down, he knows.

Knows this isn’t over.

Knows you belong to him, whether you realize it yet or not.

And next time?

Next time, there won’t be an exit.

The Legion (Frank Morrison)

It’s almost unfair how much fun he’s having.

You can hear him before you see him. Quick, eager footsteps crunching against damp grass, weaving between broken fences and half-rotted wood with a kind of purpose that sets your nerves alight. And then…

"Wow, for a guy who thinks he’s terrifying, you sure are easy to outrun. Need a head start?"

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Sharp, mocking and dripping with challenge. And they hit their mark.

Frank stops mid-step.

For a moment, just a moment, there’s silence.

A shift in the air. The unmistakable hum of tension coiling tight. His head tilts slightly, the eerie, frozen grin of his mask staring back at you, his breathing even. Too even.

You always do this.

You always say things that make his fingers twitch, make his thoughts spiral, make him want to grab you and shake you and-

God, you don’t even know, do you?

Frank has been in love with you for longer than he’s willing to admit, tangled up in something sharp-edged and uncontrolled. Not because you fear him, no… Because you refuse to. Because you mock him behind his back, call him a melodramatic wannabe killer with no real bite. Because you fight him at every turn, spitting insults when others would scream, dodging his attacks when others would beg.

Because you never do what he wants. Even when he wants you to love him.

And then, with a sudden, breathless laugh, he bolts forward.

He’s fast. Too fast this time around. He’s already closing in before your mind even catches up.

“You really make this easy, y’know?” he muses, voice smooth, almost affectionate in its mocking. “The others run. They panic. But you?” A chuckle, deep and rough. “You get me fucking excited.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, your breath a frantic, uneven mess as you push forward, weaving between the abandoned fences and rotted garden beds.

A realization too late.

You don’t remember seeing him move, but suddenly, he’s there.

The knife gleams as he swings, but you’re ready, twisting at the last second, the blade missing your ribs by inches. You crash against him, shoulder slamming into his torso. He barely stumbles, fingers grazing the edge of your sleeve as you tear yourself away, sprinting into the mansion.

The mansion is dark, moonlight slanting through fractured glass, casting eerie streaks across his mask. His breath is steady, unhurried, even as he steps forward, like he already knows you won’t escape him this time. Or so he believes.

“You know,” he says, voice dipping into something softer, something meant just for you, “I think I like you best like this.”

Your fingers curl into fists, nails biting into your palms. You should be thinking of an escape route, of a way to outmanoeuvre him, but something about him- his voice, his posture, the absolute ease in the way he moves, makes your blood boil.

“You’re out of your damn mind.”

His grin is evident, even beneath the mask. “Yeah? And what’s your excuse?”

There’s no time to answer. No time to plan. Because in the next second, he moves.

The knife whistles past your shoulder, slicing through the air just as you duck, heart pounding in your throat. You spin, barely catching sight of him lunging before you bolt again, tearing through the manor’s suffocating halls.

A dead end.

Your back hits the wooden frame of a door that won’t budge. You try again, rattling the handle, but it won’t give.

Shit.

A hand slams against the wall beside your head.

The knife follows, embedding itself just inches from your throat, the force of it rattling the wood.

You barely have time to react before his free hand moves.

Not to stab. Not to strike.

To touch.

Fingers glide along your cheek, slow, deliberate, mapping the shape of your face like a sculptor learning their craft. The mask tilts slightly as he leans in, so close that you can hear his breathing from behind the thin barrier of plastic, each inhale measured, calculated, like he’s savoring this moment.

“You keep running,” he murmurs, his voice honeyed, almost gentle. If not for the feral hunger laced beneath. “But it’s pointless. You’re fucking mine.”

His fingers trail down, following the curve of your jaw, pausing just below your ear. His touch lingers, feather-light yet possessive, as if he’s memorizing the very beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

“You always fight,” he muses, thumb dragging over the sensitive skin at the side of your throat, pressing down just enough for you to feel the weight of it. “I love that about you. But it doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

His other hand ghosts near the knife embedded in the wood, as if considering retrieving it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he stays right there, drinking in every flicker of defiance in your eyes, every unsteady breath you take.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he continues, voice smooth, laced with something almost affectionate. “I don’t need to hurt you to fucking own you.”

Your stomach twists.

“You were never gonna leave this trial.”

The words settle like lead in your lungs, heavy, suffocating.

Then, the siren blares.

Frank goes still.

For a second, his entire frame tenses, a flicker of something ugly flashing through his dark eyes behind the mask. His grip tightens on the knife, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched beneath the plastic. The air around him shifts, thickens, his entire presence coiling with something volatile, something barely contained.

A low and frustrated growl. Dangerous.

Your moment.

With a sharp jerk, you break free, shoving him back with every ounce of strength left in your body. He staggers, just slightly, just enough. His fingers graze your wrist as you rip yourself away.

And then you run back outside.

The ground is slick beneath your feet, each step a frantic, desperate push forward. Your breath tears from your lungs in ragged bursts, legs burning, every muscle screaming at you to keep going. You don’t dare look back.

But you can hear him.

Boots pounding against the earth, his pace relentless, the sound of his chase weaving into the frantic rhythm of your pulse. He’s close. So fucking close. You can feel him, that oppressive weight of his presence looming behind you, thick with something possessive, something hungry.

A snarl, half growled, half laughed.

“Run, baby. Let’s see how far you’ll get.”

Your fingers slam against the control panel, almost fumbling, clearly trembling. The moment the mechanism clicks, you don’t hesitate. You twist your body and throw yourself through the opening, the icy air slicing against your skin like a blade.

The Entity’s fog curls around you. The overwhelming silence of safety.

Frank stops in his tracks.

His breath is heavy, shoulders rising and falling in deep, measured inhales. His fingers flex at his sides, grip tightening and loosening around the knife as his gaze locks onto the spot where you just stood.

Then, slowly, almost lazily, his hand drifts up to his mask.

With one slow, deliberate motion, he peels it off, revealing sharp, angular features twisted in something between amusement and frustration. His head tilts, tongue swiping across the inside of his cheek, the silver gleam of his tongue piercing catching the dim light.

His breath catches once, then twice. Halfway between a sigh and the beginning of a laugh.

And then, finally, it spills out.

Low. Soft. Amused. But laced with something deeper and darker.

“You really think you won, huh?”

His dark eyes gleam, tracking the last wisps of fog as they swallow you whole. His amusement lingers, curling at the edges of his mouth, but beneath it, something colder simmers. Something patient and almost cruel in nature.

Frank Morrison doesn’t need to scream his obsession. He doesn’t need to make it obvious. He’s smarter than that. More patient. Because love… Real love, in his mind, isn’t something rushed.

It’s something earned.

And next time?

There won’t be an exit.

Because next time, he’ll make sure you never fucking run again.

The Spirit

The air in Autohaven Wreckers is thick with rust and oil, the scent clinging to your lungs like a brand. The scrapyard looms around you, jagged metal carcasses stacked high, their hollow frames whispering in the wind. The flickering glow of distant headlights casts eerie, elongated shadows against the wreckage. The world feels abandoned. Hollow. And yet…

You are not alone.

A sharp breath. A shift in the air. A static hum reverberating against your skin, deep and raw, like something clawing at the fabric of existence itself.

Then…

A flicker.

A shape materializes in front of you. Tattered, trembling and wrong. Barely a woman. Her form fractured, as though the universe itself is unsure if she belongs. She fades in and out, her presence tethered to reality by something fragile, something desperate.

The Spirit.

Her body, once whole, now hangs in tatters. Frayed bandages coil around her body in uneven strips, the only barrier between the remnants of what’s left of her humanity and the world that tore her apart. Jagged shards of glass remain embedded in her flesh, glinting under the faint light, half-buried wounds refusing to heal, locked in a state of eternal suffering. Her skin, blueish and streaked with deep, angry gashes, bears the remnants of a violence too cruel to name. Arms and a leg cleanly severed for a torso. A past that refuses to let her go.

And her hair, wild and unkempt, floating as if weightless, frames her face entirely, shifting in the air like something alive. The movement does little to hide the torment in her features, the sorrow carved into every twitching muscle. She is agony made manifest, her form trembling with pain too vast to express, her silence a wail that never finds release.

She watches you with milky eyes. Unblinking. Shuddering with something unseen, something barely contained.

You should run.

Instead, your lips curl, a breathless laugh escaping before you can stop it. "Damn, you really need to work on your bedside manner. You know, if you actually want people to stick around."

The words linger between you like a challenge.

She jerks.

A soundless inhale, a tremor rolling through her body like a current. Her fingers twitch at her sides, jerking toward you, spasming in their hesitation. As if she wants to reach for you, but something in her is splintering apart at the thought.

She moves.

Not in steps. Not in strides. But in glimpses.

One moment, she stands before you, her form flickering at the edges. The next, the world seems to warp, space bending around her as she vanishes, only to reappear inches from your side.

Too close.

A sharp sound rattles in her throat. Her hand snaps up, just shy of your wrist. Trembling, grasping for something she does not dare to take.

You don’t see the heartbreak in her eyes. The way her expression fractures, the way her nails bite into her own palm instead, the sharp pain grounding her in the moment.

You only see the opportunity. Your body twists, muscles coiling tight before you bolt through the wreckage.

She doesn’t follow. Not at first. She stands there, frozen, as if trying to understand why you always do this. Why you always run. Why you never let her get close willingly.

A whisper of sound.

The scrapyard hums with absence, with tension, with the sickening knowledge that she is near.

A gust of wind howls through the wreckage. Metal groans. A shadow shifts.

You barely have time to react before she is there. Only for you to spot the hatch.

Hope slams into your chest like a hammer, but there is no time for hesitation. You dive for it, breath catching in your throat as your fingers grasp the edge. The moment your body slips through, the world above disappears into nothingness.

And she?

She watches.

A ragged breath rattles in her lungs, her body trembling with something awful, something aching. Her fingers twitch, curling toward the empty space where you had just been.

You got away. Again.

She was so close.

You always do this. Always fight. Always push her away.

And the worst part?

You don’t even realize how much it destroys her.

[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!!’

[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 Will Own You

Day 4 of Kinktober 2024

Dead by Daylight Pairings: Frank and Joey | The legion X F!Reader Rating: M | Mature | NSFW 18+ MDNI Word count: 1.5k+ CW: Knife play, degradation, blood, threats Summary: You have intentionally pissed off two members of the legion and look at that they want their dues. Prompt: Praising and degrading | “I won’t apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.” Ao3

This was fuckin’ insane, Joey had thought as he pinned the newest killer to the wall, you. You had been taunting the two since they first laid eyes on you. Your cocky grin, carefree easy attitude, and constant bragging about being so much better at the trials set the two of them off in ways that they hadn’t been pushed before. It didn’t help that you had the uncanny ability to copy just about any killer's MO just by watching them, often wearing masks made to look like the killer you were copying. It pissed Joey off, but Frank… he wanted to own that, to own you.

The feeling only amplified because you were wearing a mask that looked like a patchwork of Joey’s and Frank’s right now. Letting them know you had just gotten a 4k stealing their tactics. “Like it?” you purred unphased by the decently sized man who pinned you to the wall by the collar of your hoodie.

Frank just laughed, “Fuckin hell bitch, if you wanted us, all you had to do was ask.” the smile was evident in his voice even if you couldn’t see it behind his mask. Joey just shook his head. “This isn’t funny, Frank.” malice dripped from his voice as he stared you down. Frank sighed placing a hand on the other legion’s shoulder. “Why don’t we have her pay us for using our likeness.” the words felt dangerous, but exactly what you wanted. “Happily,” you chirped a wide grin hidden underneath the mask. Joey let go letting your feet finally meet the floor. “On the couch, arms on the back, ass in the air,” Frank commanded watching you a bit too excitedly scramble to comply shaking your ass in front of them. “Good girl,” he cooed. 

“Fuckin slut more like,” Joey spat walking up first, hands tracing the curve of your ass. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had been wanting this for a while too. Frank and him having late nights over shitty beer talking about what they’d do if they ever got their hands on you. The taller legion’s hand teased the edge of your waistband pulling it down enough to expose your panties to the cold winter air of Ormond. A damp spot already forming as he traced the outline of your slit applying pressure as he brushed your clit. 

You yelped loudly as Frank came up next to him smacking your ass laughed at the way it rippled. “Just perfect,” Frank's words came out breathy as he pulled out his knife. The tip of it drags along the center of your crotch causing a hitch in your breath. Joey steps away for Frank to work eyeing his friend suspiciously. “How easy it would be to carve you up and make you nothing but a bloody mess? You walked right in and taunted us, but I know you’re a good girl aren’t you Copycat? You’ll listen to us and play nice right?” the knife trailing up your back before pressing against your throat yanking your head back by your hair. You swallowed thickly nodding your head. “Good girl,” he purred. Letting your hair go and pulling the knife away only to feel him cut a slit in your panties exposing your dripping folds.

“Like I said she’s nothing but a whore,” Joey growled taking Frank's spot behind you, his hands now bear tracing the edges of your folds applying pressure, but refusing entrance. The tall of the two was taking his time watching your twitches and whining as he moved. Growling lowly he threw off his mask, “Eyes front.” he hissed watching as you tried to look behind. 

Joey bent down tongue licking a thick strip against your heated sex feeling the enlarged clit under his tongue. His hands spreading your ass apart allowing him to go deeper sucking and lapping as he went. Frank just gave a hearty laugh as he moved to your front undoing the front of pants as he pulled out his cock. It wasn’t particularly girth, but it had length, “Be a good girl and take it all.” he cooed lifting your mask so those pretty lips of yours were exposed.

Complying easily you opened wide feeling as Frank slowly thrusted in and out, going deeper each time as if to let you kind of adjust. Joey seemingly got more aggressive as his sucking turned to gentle bites tugging at bits of flesh every so often. “You want to do that, Thing?” Frank asked pausing long enough to point at something. You couldn’t tell what, but a whine hummed against the cock now pressing down your throat as the warmth of Joey’s breath left you. Legs shaking slightly. “Don’t worry Copycat.” Frank cooed stroking your face as he began to move again. “Joey’s just getting something special.” your skin prickled as you felt a cold blade against your thigh the sharp blade cutting into your flesh as hot fluid began to drip down. 

“God, you are nothing but a slut. I cut you just a little and I see your pathetic hole clenching around nothing. No self-respect, I swear.” Joey growled shoving two fingers into you harshly pushing you hard against Frank, his cock going deeper causing you to gag and clench around the fingers that were curling and twisting as the aggressive killer began to stretch you. “You like this don’t you, having two men using you like a fuckin’ toy. I will admit you’re warmer and better than a Fleshlight. But that’s not saying much.” His words are harsh, especially against the praise that Frank kept giving. Not that you could complain as the pleasure had been slow building and nice. 

Frank was just enjoying himself. Using your throat for his pleasure, “If she’s nothing but a toy just stick in already.” he laughed a bit too loudly. His thrusts became more aggressive hitting the back of your throat over and over again. The thought already had your cunt grip Joey’s fingers more even as they stopped. You felt so empty as he pulled away, but it was only for a moment before you felt something press in, something much larger and thicker than his fingers. Large low-hanging balls smacked your clit as Joey’s cock pressed in harshly slow but sharp thrusts pushed inside you. You were whining and moaning tears staining your cheeks at the feeling of being speared on both ends felt like too much and not enough.

Frank just laughed feeling your throat tighten each time Joey thrust in the two of them enjoying themself. Their pace was in sync one pulling out as the other thrust in over and over again. It was too much your core snapping at once as you felt yourself gushing around Joey’s length a wave of ecstasy clawing its way through your system as the world around you spun the feeling of both cock thrusting in and out of you only dragging the feeling on longer.

The moment passed and you felt limp, but they weren’t done, “Fuckin’ slut, that’s all it took?” Joey scoffed as he picked up his pace not caring to maintain pace with Frank who was still lazily thrusting in and out of your throat. “You get off so fuckin’ easy don’t you, having two angry killers using this useless cunt. Drooling from both ends, I oughta tie you up and put you on display for the others. Let them know how easy you are. I’m sure they’d love that, love to see a slut so eager to put out.” he was leaning forward now hand around your throat tightening it around Frank's hard member.

“I bet some of them would love payback for you stealing from them. What better way then letting them use your Slutty little pussy.” his words came out rough and strained. Frank’s pace had picked up as well, your mind becoming mush as he continued to degrade and taunt you. “Fuck Joey, you want to tighten just a bit more,” Frank grunted pushing deeper. Joey chuckled darkly, grip becoming firm as his pace faltered just a bit. He was close and by the twitch in your mouth so was Frank. The two of them groan loudly as they finish almost in sync, filling you up as their cum shot deep inside you. The three of you collapsed as their collective climaxes faded. They pulled out softly, watching the way their cum dripped down both sets of lips.

“Good girl,” Frank cooed tucking himself back in before moving to the front of the couch. Joey pulled your pants off the rest of the way sitting down on the couch and pulling you close against his chest. Frank happily moved on top of you laying his head against your chest and playing a little bit with your tits. You finally looked down at your thigh where Joey had cut, their initials carved in the flesh angry and red. Noticing you squinting at it Frank chimed in, “I won’t apologize for having you marked up, everyone should know you’re taken.” Joey hummed in agreement. “You’re ours now, no one is allowed to touch you without our say. Now get some rest, we’re just getting started.”

[annokan]

Not a big fan of Feng, but Nadia Oh's got your number song made me draw this lmaoalollol

[darthwhorecrux]

MINORS DNI

Frank Morrison/Legion x Survivor!reader

TW: smut, mentions of stabbing and a knife

You hadn't properly kept track of time, but you knew it had been long since the fog first took you, long since you had been entrapped in this godforsaken place. You had been here long enough to go through the five stages of grief, and long enough to realize that you still had needs to be fulfilled, even if that meant sacrificing your morals and your pride.

That's why you were now the last survivor in Frank's trial, waiting for him to find you and fuck you senseless. A predator onto prey, Frank Morrison had been making moves on you for what had to be months now. You denied him each time, slapping his wandering hands away when he had you cornered during a trial, only to get slashed, hooked, and sacrificed, the brutal price for rejecting him. One day, whether you were unusually horny or just out of your mind, it didn't feel so bad to have his hand fondling your breasts, and you ended up letting him do whatever he wanted.

You'd been sleeping with him for a few weeks now after having discovered that the sex was surprisingly good. The more you did it, the less shameful you felt. If you were going to suffer for eternity, might as well try to enjoy yourself here and there, and after the last few trials, you needed this, needed him.

You waited patiently inside a house in Haddonfield, sitting atop an abandoned bed, savoring the comfort of the cushy material while you had the chance and the peaceful quiet with no one else around. You kicked your shoes off and curled up in the corner, flinching at every little noise and creak in the house as you anxiously anticipated Frank's arrival.

You heard footsteps downstairs, and then his loud mouth, "you in here, shitbird?"

"Yeah, upstairs!" You called back shakily, listening to his boots clunk up the stairs and down the hall.

It was dark, making you shiver when Frank's silhouette appeared in the doorway. He stood there, watching you furled in on yourself against the wall. As he got closer, you realized his mask was already off, and his hood down, his scarred face illuminated by nothing but the moonlight shining in through the broken window.

The bed dipped as he sat on it, wrapping a calloused hand around the back of your calf. "You cold?" He snickered.

"Yes," you hissed defensively, shivering on cue. "Take your shoes off."

"Since when do you think you can order me around?" He scoffed and roughly yanked you forward, but there was a grin on his lips. Unlike most of the other killers, there remained a human element to Frank.

"It'll be more comfortable," you mewled. "Please?"

He huffed, reluctantly releasing your leg and moving to pull his boots off, unceremoniously tossing them into the opposite corner of the room. "This better, sweetheart?" Frank cooed sarcastically.

"Mhm," you nodded, lips tugging into a cheeky smile. "I'm still cold though."

"That's hardly my problem," he said, then added smugly, "you won't be cold in a few minutes," as he reached to pull down your skirt.

You grabbed his wrists to stop him. "Can't I wear your hoodie? Just until I warm up?"

"You are so goddamn needy today," he groaned in annoyance. "But fine. Any other requests?"

"Not right now," you giggled.

He shook his head as he started to pull off his jacket and hoodie. You struggled to make out his expression in the dark, hoping to see him smiling. Once his hoodie was off, he went back to your skirt, practically ripping it down your legs before lifting your top off just as aggressively. He reached behind your back with one hand to unclip your bra, hissing as he watched your nipples harden after being exposed to the chill air.

He reached for you, taking one of your tits in his hand and running a thumb over your nipple. You moaned and squirmed. "Frank, please," you begged, shivering to remind him.

"Alright, alright." He reluctantly released you, grabbing his zip hoodie and throwing it around your shoulders. You pushed your arms through each sleeve as he held it up, pulling it around your torso and humming contentedly at the fleeting warmth of his body heat.

"This isn't cuddle time," he reminded you, pulling it apart to reveal your breasts again. He took another moment to admire them before pulling his knife out and using it to cut your panties off, pulling the ruined material away from your skin.

Completely exposed aside from his hoodie around your back and arms, you pulled your knees to your chest, trying to stay warm.

"Huh uh," Frank shook his head at you. "Open them now."

You pouted but obeyed, leaning back onto the bed and spreading your legs apart.

"Fuuuuck." He threw his head back. Your eyes dropped to his pants, watching greedily as the fabric tightened around his crotch. He wasted no more time, undoing his belt and pulling both his pants and boxers off in one go, throwing them off to the side with the rest of your clothes.

He crawled toward you, pressing a finger to your heat. "Knew you'd already be soaked," he laughed meanly before spitting on you. You gasped, and he chuckled again, mixing his juices with yours before pushing them into you. Now it was your turn to throw your head back, whining and arching your back as he curled his finger inside you.

"What are you being so fucking quiet for?" He asked you angrily, pumping and twisting his finger in and out of you faster and faster. "No one's around. You had better get loud or I'll give you a reason to scream."

You cried out, moaning louder at his command. "That's it," he slurred. "That's my good little slut." He added another finger, and you got impossibly louder, hips bucking into his palm as his hand slapped against you viciously.

You knew your voice was going to be hoarse when you got back to the fire, but you couldn't care at the moment. You wanted to be good for Frank, to let him see how obedient you could be because that's how you got what you wanted.

"You ready to get fucked yet?" He asked, grabbing a handful of your breast and pinching your nipple.

You squealed and squirmed. "Yes! Yes! Please give me your cock, Frank, please!"

You whimpered when he pulled his fingers out of you, only to push his dick inside moments later. He wasn't necessarily small, but not too big either, but he was thick, so thick that no matter how many times you took him, you still always felt the stretch when he first started.

And Frank being Frank, he hardly ever gave you time to adjust, pushing in to the hilt once before starting to pound into you. He slapped your tits and then wrapped his hand around your neck to anchor himself, roughly snapping his hips against yours. All the while you stayed loud for him, though it was becoming less and less of an act as you struggled to take his fat cock into your tight walls.

"Look so cute in my hoodie," he grunted, applying light pressure to your neck. Your cheeks warmed at the compliment. "Love watching your pretty little pussy take my cock while you're wearing my hoodie. You're fucking mine. You got that?"

"I'm yours," you croaked out the affirmation. "I'm yours."

"Yeah you are." His pace was brutal. The entire bed creaked and shook as he practically pounded you into the mattress, and though you were starting to sweat in his jacket, you didn't dare tell him about it. You'd rather keep it on, knowing now that he liked seeing it on you, that it made him get so possessive.

Frank's hands fell to your waist, his fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you against him now with each thrust. The heat in your core was becoming unbearable, and you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he beat you to the punch. "Gonna cum," he repeated, pressing a hand to your stomach to hold you down.

He struggled to hold it in, his thumb messily pressing against your clit to rub tight erratic circles. You grabbed his wrist, trying to push his hand away but he used his other hand to pin your hands down and away from him, continuing his assault on your pussy before the both of you were shaking and jerking uncontrollably. He held you down as he came inside of you. That was one perk of living in this realm. For whatever reason, you couldn't get pregnant, which meant Frank could fill you up as much as the both of you wanted.

You were both panting, lying in that dingy little bed next to one another. Frank never hung out for long, always slightly afraid the Entity would get mad if he took longer than he needed to. He got up and pulled his pants and boxers on before throwing on his leather jacket.

"Wait." You sat up, slightly dazed. "You don't want your hoodie back?"

"Nah." He didn't look at you as he spoke, zipping his jacket up. "Just keep it. I'll get it back when we go to the next trial anyway."

He left without another word, heading to the hatch to shut it before going to open one of the exit gates for you. He may have never stayed long after, but after you told him that you preferred the exit gate, that the hatch freaked you out, he always took the extra step to make sure you got out the way you wanted.

You put your regular clothes back on before pulling Frank's hoodie on over top, appreciating the added warmth for just a little bit longer as you made your way down to the open gate. Normally, Frank disappeared elsewhere on the map, never sticking around to watch you leave, but he was here now, standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his mask back on. It looked a little goofy without his hood pulled up over it. You tried not to laugh.

"Having second thoughts about letting me go?" You joked nervously.

He scoffed, suppressing a smile. "See you soon, smartass."

To your surprise, when you appeared back at the campfire, you looked down to find that the Entity let you keep the hoodie.

[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.