#the Wraith x reader

[iku-tihku]

Cw for monsterfuckery, I guess? Nothing explicit, Y/N just wants monsters

Danny trying to wingman his friend whose a monsterfucker, and just has... peculiar taste in general.

They're hanging out, chatting shit, and okay, it starts off mild with Pyramid Head walking by. The conversation quiets because Y/N is shamelessly staring at the hulking man before turning to Danny and asking "is he single?" Okay, they like the guy with the weird head. Odd but, y'know, it's not the worst thing.

He tells them that Pyramid Head is single, obviously.

Next is Phillip.

Danny: He can turn invisible

Y/N: 🥴

Danny: ...okay, okay I'll try to make it work.

But the last straw.

Y/N, staring at Talbot: Do you think he likes-

Danny: ... absolutely fucking not. You're not fucking The Blight

Talbot now turns his head towards them, stares a second and he... he just wiggled his eyebrows at Y/N.

Danny: God damn it I'm too good at my job

Look, Y/N may not have murdered anyone but Danny thinks they should be a killer anyway because they keep killing his will to live..

[user16121215]

Should You Fight Back

A very short head cannon list about which killers would prefer a more feisty SO and which would rather you behave. In no specific order.

TW - Abuse (Mental and Physical)

Trapper : His joy is your misery. The more you resist the more he gets to crush that little fighting spirit of yours. He doesn't have any interest in someone who could overpower him as he likes to be the one in control and will quite easily lose his temper if you manage to get the better of him.

Wraith : You've got about 0.02 seconds to cease your bratty behavior before he has to beat some sense into you. This man puts so much on the line by not immediately killing you so the least you could do is show some respect.

Hillbilly : Aww please don't :(

Yeah okay sure he miiiight bonk you across the head a few times but come on now, there's no need for all that kicking and screaming. Just let the poor boy hold onto you for a lil bit.

Doctor : The good doctor revels in the challenge of discipline. Unlike certain uncouth killers who enjoy your endless torment, Herman likes to see his work lead to something and will take joy in molding you from that feisty flame into a more docile ember. And then he'll see how far he can push you before you break again.

Huntress : Anna takes pity on the vulnerable, the small, the weak. The more you act like a lost child, the more likely she is to show you any kind of affection, misguided as it may be.

Michael Myers : The man does like the challenge of a difficult survivor but you can't really put up much of a fight when you don't know he's there until it's too late. He does however really like your pitiful struggle as he has you grasped by the throat with the life fading from your eyes.

GhostFace : Yes please.

Just as much of a masochist as he is a sadist and wants you to fight back with everything you've got. Don't confuse a few landed scratches as a chance to escape. He'll let you fight him for his own enjoyment, but just know that he will always end up on top and you'll be butchered without a thought if you take a step too far.

[gruesomegateau]

Killers and their s/o's pets

some general headcanons for how killers (Hillbilly/Wraith/Spirit/Huntress) would interact with an S/O's pet and how they would feel about various animals.

Max Thompson Jr / The Hillbilly

Max is not great with a lot of animals. Not all of them, but a lot of common domestic animals. A dog or pretty much any farm animal is going to be pretty tough to get him to do anything more than tolerate. He won't hurt them or anything, but he's going to try his best to avoid acknowledging that they're there at all.

Max is fully aware that the way he views these animals isn't fair- they're animals, after all, its not like they've wronged him on purpose. But his negative associations towards them is strong.

Other animals, however, Max is fine with. He might even be okay with small dogs like pugs or shih tzus, as they barely even resemble the police dogs that lead to his dislike of dogs as a whole.

Max likes cats. Partially because the cartoons that provided him small solace from his otherwise horrid life, but he also just enjoys watching the way they move and climb. Is completely unbothered by cats bringing in dead mice or snakes. Might even pet them for doing a 'good job'.

That said, Max also gets... jealous easily. He has a lot of insecurities around the idea of people like his parents valuing animals like pigs more than him.

Just know that if you're giving your pet affection in front of Max, Max is going to want affection to. Just some reassurance that you value him, too.

Max also finds insects to be interesting. He doesn't really like flies, he's seen enough of them and heard enough of their buzzing for a lifetime, but if his S/O keeps things like beetles or butterflies, Max will find that pretty neat. And, another big plus for Max, there's not really much of a way to show affection to or receive affection from an insect, so there's not much for him to get jealous over.

Fish fall into a similar category to insects, especially since Max hasn't really seen that many fish in-person before: not alive ones, anyway.

Philip Ojomo / The Wraith

Philip is good with most animals! He used to leave food in his garage for stray cats, so he has a fondness of cats in particular.

Animals also just like Philip. An old junker dog at Autohaven would bark and growl at every other employee as they came in, but not Philip. After he entered the realm and became 'The Wraith', the crows also seemed to have an affinity towards him, though those aren't exactly 'real' animals.

Still! Philip is fond of most animals and most animals are fond of him. Animals he's not familiar with he's more than happy to learn about.

Leave him alone with an animal and when you come back he will probably be cooing over it and talking to it. Stops being so affectionate when he realizes he's no longer alone.

Not that Philip's trying to hide his fondness of the pet, he'll still pet it and talk fondly of it in front of people, but its more reserved than when he's alone.

Rin Yamaoka / The Spirit

Rin's pretty average with her feelings on and interactions with animals. Likes your standard stuff, is a bit more hesitant with more unusual pets, like snakes or spiders.

Would really like a dog if thats what her S/O's pet is, if her financial situation in life allowed it she would have liked to have one herself, but she's a bit more hesitant now, worried a dog might run off with one of her floating limbs.

Other than that, Rin also gets a bit worried about being affectionate with anything, animals especially. At least with affection towards her S/O, they both know to be cautious of the glass imbedded in Rin's skin, but a lot of animals might not always know better.

Because of this, Rin's more reserved with giving pets or physical affection towards animals, but will give them a lot of silly, affectionate nicknames.

Anna / The Huntress

If you have a pet, you need to establish that with Anna well before introducing her to it.

Its not that the idea of a pet is entirely foreign to Anna; She's seen hunting dogs, and vaguely can recall wishing for one of her own as a young girl.

But that time has long passed, and her default view of anything other than herself and children is 'prey'. Establishing that this particular animal is not prey before introducing Anna to it is best to prevent any misconceptions from taking root in the back of her mind.

Naturally very curious about animals. Observing animals to learn their behaviors and weak points is engrained into her- of course, she won't hurt your pet on purpose once its established to her that it is your pet, but the way she watches it will still feel like a predator stalking its prey.

If you have a dog, she will want to try to use it as a hunting dog. Might be disappointed if its not a kind of dog that can easily be trained to do that, or is just too small for it.

She'll be a bit lost on how to interact with a cat initially, but comes to understand their behavior rather quickly. They're hunters, too, but prefer to hunt alone unlike dogs. She finds it respectable. Will be extremely delighted by a cat bringing back dead mice or snakes; She understands it as the cat bringing back food it hunted for its family. It might not be much of a meal for humans, but she can appreciate the sentiment of it.

Not going to be very affectionate to any animal at first because she isn't sure how to be. Anna will pretty quickly pick up on how her S/O shows affection to their pet and mimic that, though her petting of animals tends to have a bit more force behind it then needed.

Generally likes pets that are predator rather than prey- ironic, considering her rabbit mask. She likes an animal that can help hunt or defend itself.

[thewailingbells]

The Wraith With a Survivor Who Constantly Runs Into Him

The first time this happened was when you were going through one of your first trials. You were doing your best to be helpful to your team. The only thing you knew how to do was fix generators and that was exactly what you did.

Being a new survivor in the fog, you knew nearly nothing about the killers in the Entity's realm. So, you were oblivious to the fact that there was an invisible killer watching your every move.

That killer was none other than Philip. He took pleasure in observing his environment and those around him. New survivors always peaked his interest and you especially had captivated his attention.

He noticed that you were like him in an odd way. You always took a few moments to look around at the scenery before continuing to work on your generator, similar to what he does before killing his victims.

You quickly finished the generator you were working on. You stood up and began running at your top speed, trying to find another generator to fix.

That was when Philip noticed you were running directly at him. His eyes widened. You weren't stopping. Most survivors could sense the Wraith's presence. It seemed that you didn't have that ability yet.

Before he could move out of the way, you ran directly into his chest. You fell on your back and cried out in pain.

Philip stared at you in curiosity. He thought you were so innocent, so naïve. You sat up and began looking around. It still hadn't clicked in your mind that you ran head-first into the killer.

He sighed. He didn't want to hurt you. He couldn't hurt you. Philip patiently waited for you to run in the other direction, and that is just what you did.

After that, the Wraith thought that situation would not happen again. Someone at the campsite has to tell you that he can turn invisible, right? Wrong. No one told you. So you ran into Philip. Again. Again. And again. Each time you were more confused then the last.

He made the decision to uncloak the next time you were about to run into him. He reasoned that this was for your own good. You needed to see him for who he was, a monster. He was expecting you to scream in terror at the sight of him, for your beautiful facial expression to turn into one of disgust.

It didn’t. You looked at him and smiled. "So you're what I've been running into this whole time?"

He nodded. You giggled and gave him a small hug. “Thank you for not killing me. You could’ve done it so many times by now. You’re so kind.”

You're adorable, and he's obsessed with you. You’re his now.

Now he absolutely loves when you bump into him while he is invisible. He will wrap his arms around you and give you a big hug before gently pushing you in a safe direction.

[phantomvegetable]

The Wraith x Reader

heaven found us tw’s: none rly. maybe a little bit of dissociation on philip’s end ? he’s just baby idk 🥹

Philip was wandering again.

Outside of trials, he seldom kept still; like a phantom he would float amidst the fog, having no clear direction nor goal to accomplish as the steamy white clouds strung him passively along.

Philip didn’t mind, though—quite literally. Almost as if he was in a haze, he would allow the fog to carry him, like a fish down a stream. Each time, Philip ended up somewhere different; sometimes a familiar scene, sometimes a completely new setting. And, sometimes, if he was lucky—the fog would deliver him something, too.

The cat in front of him stares through Philip with piercing golden eyes, her charcoal fur glinting in the moonlight. She tilts her head ever so slightly, and Philip copies the motion. As if pleased, she mrrrows politely and rises to her paws, padding over to him inquisitively with her tail held high in the air. With his free hand, he stretches out to pet her, which she happily accepts. She erupts into purrs beneath his touch, and Philip is reminded of the goodness that even the entity cannot erase.

Upon running his fingers behind her ear and down her neck, Philip finds a makeshift string collar that he failed to notice before. He traces the material down to the bell that dangles over her throat, the ornament jingling faintly as it is fondled. The cat meets his ivory eyes sweetly as if to answer his wordless question, so you belong to someone? She meows again, rubbing against his legs before sauntering off in the direction she previously came from. Philip stands straight to watch her leave, curiously finding himself being compelled to follow—so he does.

Unwavering gaze fixated on her, Philip trails behind the unnamed cat as she tinkers forward, being careful not to frighten her by the ringing of his own bell. As the fog swallows her small form for only a moment, the atmosphere shifting and exploding into chilly air, Philip finds himself in front of a roughed-up cabin decorated with various plants (native only to the fog) and odd trinkets alike; the paint stretching up and down the wood fresh, yet somehow chipping.

Most interesting of all, the cat Philip had followed was heading towards the only other person sitting in front of the cabin—someone Philip did not recognize.

You sat on a log with a paintbrush clutched delicately between your fingers, a rickety easel holding up an unshapely piece of material that had strokes of oranges and blacks strewn about the canvas. Your clothes weren’t torn or in tatters like other survivors—though they were a bit dull, and covered in paint—and your expression was one of serenity and focus; a stark contrast to the usual haunted, drained look the others usually wore. And, as you are approached by the cat that seems very familiar with your person, you dazzle her with a smile that makes Philip long for something he can’t quite place.

The sound of Philip’s bell startles even himself as he moves to get a closer look, causing your head to lift sharply until you’re pinning him to the spot with beautiful, alarmed eyes that quickly soften into something akin to understanding.

No, you weren’t one of the survivors—you couldn’t have been with the way you were looking at him. So, then… who were you?

“Look, Heavenly,” You say to your furry companion, just loud enough for him to hear, “it seems we’ve attracted another stray.”

Another stray? Philip was not a wraith of many words, but that did not mean he didn’t understand them.

Somehow, though, the way you said it was less offensive and more alluring.

You giggle—charming and angelic—and set your paintbrush down, shifting to fully face Philip. You cock your head, still smiling, and gesture to your current work in progress.

“What do you think?” You ask him earnestly, welcomingly. Philip feels himself tingle and burn with what feels like embarrassment at being put on the spot by someone so unlike him, simultaneously feeling angry at himself for not being more wraith-like. The wailing bell he held was meant for damaging and destroying, not to look like something he clung to for comfort, as he was doing now.

Still, Philip obliges you; inching forward to get a better perspective of your artwork, quickly finding himself at a loss for what to think.

Before Philip’s eyes was a painting of himself, depicted as much more docile than most others probably found him. He was standing tall amongst the throng of needle-like trees, signature wailing bell hanging by his side. The sky was a deep orange, dipping between branches and coming to rest on his shoulders in a gentle glow. Oddly enough, he was missing a face entirely; the shape of his head was there, but no eyes were to be found.

Philip tilts his head as if searching for his face, not realizing he had drawn even closer until he was hovering by your side. You watch him patiently, stroking Heavenly as you wait for a response.

“…Is… that supposed to be me?” Philip finally asks, voice gentle and hollow-sounding, pointing a finger to the painting. He sees you nod and lowers his hand, confusion settling in.

“You’ve been here before,” You explain slowly, earning Philip’s surprised gaze that you don’t meet. “I’ve seen you many times, but this is the first time you’ve come this close. It’s okay if you don’t remember.”

That’s the thing—he doesn’t remember. Why would he come here? He didn’t even know where here was. And, yet…

“…I followed your cat,” Philip says after a moment, and finally the two of you make eye contact. You look in astonishment up at him before looking down at Heavenly, then back up at him again. Then, you let out a bark of laughter.

“Heavenly got you to come here?” You chortle. “She barely listens to me when I ask her to come inside.”

Philip looks down at Heavenly, who simply blinks back up at him. He blinks back.

“…Why did you paint me?” He questions, sounding and feeling suspicious. You merely shrug.

“Ever since you first visited me, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. And when you kept coming back, I just…” You motion randomly with your hands. “Needed an outlet. You were a mystery to me.”

Philip cocks his head. “You’re really not from the trials, are you?” You give him a quizzical look.

“Trial? What trial?”

“…Nothing,” He murmurs, reaching out to pet Heavenly, who bumps her head against his hand. His lips twitch in a half-formed smile.

“Will you stay this time?” You ask, stilling Philip.

“…Probably not,” He answers, drawing away. You frown, then sigh, casting your gaze downwards. Philip feels himself being pulled back by an invisible force; the fog calling him to ‘come, come back home.’ He puts space between he and you, standing at the edge of the ivory mist that laps at his clothes in wispy tendrils. You look up at him one last time, giving Philip a sad smile.

“I guess I’ll see you again,” You say, solemn.

“…You will,” He promises, not knowing why, but knowing that he most certainly would be back. You seem to brighten at that.

“Bye, Philip,” You call as he’s sucked into the fog, into confusion, and into darkness.

[fishyvamp]

Unlucky!reader who is on their way to work. You're just listening to music walking down the street when you trip on a bit of uneven sidewalk, but before you even fall you find yourself caught in the arms of the friendly bartender from the other night. Seeing him in the daylight he's rather handsome even if his features feel weirdly blank. You thank him and nods his head helping you to your feet the same hooked feeling latching into your chest. You smile, at him watching as he points to your bag your lunch box lid loose. You must not of secured it like you thought and you close it thankful that you hadn't really tripped after all.

He held out his hand head cocked to the side and you swear he smiled slightly as you took it. The time on your walk spent with you talking and talking, saying whatever fills your mind and the walk to the shop seems so much shorter. Your boss looks almost startled to see you and you're not sure why until you realize you're here earlier then expected. Huh... That walk was shorter then you remember it being. You wave the friendly bartender off who brings your hand to his lips kissing it softly. "Till next time," his words above a whisper.

You turn around in time to see your boss shaking his mumbling something under his breath that sounded vaguely like one trade for another. You shake your head to thank him again but he's gone. That same bell from the other night chiming. You didn't catch his name... Maybe next time you'll ask.

[r3dkn0ts]

I wanted to start something on my own ( the ask box is open pls send requests I am bored ) and got inspired reading some prompts, so here's the DBD Killers' reactions to getting horribly flirted with! Including some of my own pick-up lines because I'm bad at flirting

Badly Flirting with The DBD Killers: Part 1 Featuring Evan MacMillan, Philip Ojomo, and Max Thompson Jr.

Themes: GN!Reader being cringe, an attempt at comedy, slight fluff, and implied smut Warnings: Canon-typical violence

The Trapper / Evan MacMillan - You got cornered while injured with no other survivors nearby. Shit. Might as well give it a shot, right? - "Hey, are you a hundred dollar bill on the ground? Because I'd pick you up and spend every bit of you immediately." - Your voice was wavering as you said it, even though you tried to look as nonchalant as possible. - Evan's loud puffing behind his mask made the silence even more deafening. Was he gonna mori you now? Probably. - "Nice try", was the only thing he said in his rough accent before swiftly downing you and putting you on a sacrificial hook. - He definitely wasn't going to admit that your pick-up line made him chuckle a bit inside of his head, or that it made you look cute. - He couldn't stop thinking about that for a while.

The Wraith / Philip Ojomo - Trapped in a corner in the garage at Gas Heaven, your friend Ace had dared you to finally confront The Wraith about how you felt the next time you met him in a trial, even supplying you with a pick-up line. - You certainly weren't one to back down from a challenge! This was stupid. - "Are you a fine wine? Because I'd love to taste you." - Philip stared down at you blankly, darting his stark white eyes between the concrete floor and your face. - Had you actually flustered him? Body language was all you really had to go off of, and the fingers on his right hand were twitching. - Before you knew it, he rang his bell to cloak and darted out of the building, leaving you alone in the cold garage. - Did you offend him? What if he's already in a relationship? Ah fuck, you didn't think of that. - You didn't know it, but he watched you run out of the exit gate, cloaked. You didn't even see him for the rest of the trial. He was too embarrassed to face you any time soon. - Much to his surprise, that was the first time he had ever gotten physically aroused after being taken into the fog. He had business to take care of after you left.

The Hillbilly / Max Thompson Jr. - The three other survivors were sacrificed. You thought you were about to get chainsawed in half, but he stopped revving when you looked like you were about to say something to him. He was curious. - "Hey, if you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber!" - Your comment made him tilt his head to the side like a confused puppy and lower his chainsaw. Did you just compliment him? Why? - His second assumption was that someone had dared you to compliment him as a joke. He was always the butt of the joke, so why would anyone actually compliment him? He's hideous! - You noticed him getting caught up in his head, so you took a chance and gently placed a hand on the deformed flesh of his arm. He flinched a bit and looked back down at you. - "Are you okay? I really did mean that. I think you're cute." - Max simply stared at you in silence. He was really, really confused. Were you serious? You sounded serious. - He looked back down at the hand you still had on his arm. You went to take it back, scared he was angry, but he grabbed your wrist as you did and pulled your smaller hand into his. - For a moment, he just looked at your hand. Your skin felt so nice against his. He had never felt someone touch him unless it was meant to hurt him. He liked this new feeling. - For once, Max felt himself smiling. He knew he had to let you go, though. So he let you leave through the hatch after you promised him you'd visit him later.

[rootsofdread]

May I request some headcanons for The Knight, The Blight, and The Wraith with a twitchy boyfriend who has trouble staying still? Sometimes I'll be sitting still and my head will jerk to the side randomly or one of my legs will kick out and it drives me insane to the point I have trouble falling asleep sometimes :(

i have a similar problem! mine get soo bad when i'm tired lol. we're in this together anon ✊

Philip Ojomo / The Wraith:

Philip tends to keep a close eye on you. He worries about you -- even if you've told him not to be -- and fears you may hurt yourself accidentally, so he just wants to make sure you're okay when he knows that your twitching is acting up. If you're standing together he'll put his hand on your shoulder or around your back, but otherwise, he frequently checks in on you.

In a really weird kind of way, he finds your twitching...comforting? It lets him know you're still with him. When the two of you are close in any way, like when you're laying together or he's holding your hand, and he feels you jerk around, he pulls you closer. He would prefer it didn't happen, for your sake, but he appreciates knowing you aren't suddenly gone.

And he's certainly no stranger to having problems sleeping, being haunted by nightmares, himself; so he knows how you feel, to some extent. When he feels you jerk around in bed, he'll immediately wrap his arms around you and lean his head into your back or chest. He doesn't really know how to help you, because he doesn't know how to help himself, but he hopes that helps...at least a little.

Talbot Grimes / The Blight:

Talbot has always loved having you around since he met you; he finally has someone more like him around the fog. It really does something to his old, shriveled up heart seeing you do the exact same thing he does. Granted, his are more frequent; it still has always made him happy.

And he always tries to make this clear to you. Even before you were together, he'd frequently hobble over to you just to sit with you. He's not much of a talker, so he usually conveys his thoughts through gestures or tapping his cane. He didn't think you understood for a while, but was delighted when he realized you did.

When you're having problems sleeping, he'll always offer you some sort of tonic or tincture to relax you and help you sleep. If you don't want any, that's fine, he'll let you cuddle up and rest your head on his chest, so that he can rub your back while he reads quietly beside you.

Tarhos Kovács / The Knight:

Tarhos was always interested in you from the moment he saw you. He's never seen someone do...that, before. He had long assumed you were cursed for your hubris, once upon a time, or something similar. Yet, you seemed to be taking it quite well. Resolve is one of his favorite qualities in a person.

He's always around to make sure nobody gives you a hard time for something out of your control -- something so inconsequential, at that. The last thing he wants is for you to feel embarrassed about it. If anyone so much as snickers, they will meet his blade.

When you're frustrated by not being able to sleep, he tells you that fire is important, but it will be better spent elsewhere. He settles you back down, tucks you in, and will usually either read to you or recount stories from his time as a true knight for you. By this point, you've probably heard all of them, but he still hopes they soothe you.

[5eraphim]

Just read you DBD killers x Altruistic Reader (it was amazing, btw) and am now wondering if you could Deathslinger and or Wraith and Doctor too for it?

Aww, thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this installment as well, and thank you so much for the request, I really appreciate it :)

Part 1 (Not required reading, but if you wanted to read more)

Rating: PG

Characters: Doctor, Wraith and Deathslinger

Word Count: 1.5k

Requests are currently open <3

The Doctor

Oh, this is gonna be good.

The Doctor is more knowledgeable than other killers and quickly picks up. You weren't unskilled or stupid given his eerily accurate ability to read and analyze people he'd maintained in the entitie's realm.

Furthermore, Herman was genuinely fascinated with you. His mind constantly tries to find new stimulation to fuel new experiments. And never before had he seen a survivor so dedicated to altruism as you were. Considerable given how long he'd served the entity in this realm.

From this point on, he would ensure you were in a near-constant state of madness. Constantly plaguing you with visions and auditory hallucinations, an agony where you were never sure you could trust your own mind. Herman wanted to observe and see if he could break you with this alone. If just a little spark of madness were enough to snuff out your altruism and lead you to behave as selfishly as the rest of your team. For some time, he was proven, unfortunately, correct.

In this state, you were blinded to the fact you were running past injured survivors you could've easily stopped by to heal. Racing in a blind panic from visions of the Doctor when he wasn't there and wasting your time cowering in fear while the rest of your team was forced to try and win the match without you. All the while, Herman felt a sick sense of pride, knowing he'd broken someone who once was so staunchly altruistic.

It was terrifying for you. Unable to ignore your team members' glares and cold shoulders after losing the match because of your inability to control your madness. The humiliation stung, though deep down, it was getting other people hurt that really got to you.

In the subsequent trial you fought against Herman, you spent what felt like ages mentally preparing yourself to fight the madness and swore you wouldn't let him break you so quickly as he had before. But, ultimately, you realized no madness could compare to the hatred you felt for him.

Eventually, you got your wish and found yourself facing off against the monster in question, hearing his skin-crawling giggle as he no doubt instantly had his eye on you. Though this time, you refused to let him have the upper hand. Staring him down, daring him to make the first move and prove you weren't so easily intimidated. You waited, expecting him to use his power or to start charging forward. You didn't expect to hear him taunting you, slowly drawing nearer with a composer you'd never seen from him before.

"What a privilege it is to possess such loyal prey."

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to hold your ground and not flee like before. You continued to stare him down from your position. Internally you were waiting to sprint off the moment he charged at you for real. Internally you reasoned with yourself it was wise to keep him here as long as possible to buy your team more time. But his words caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but wonder what he meant by this.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were upset it'd been so long since we'd seen each other."

His words sent a chill down your spine. There was an off-putting edge to his words you'd never seen before. Enough to send you sprinting away, swearing to prove yourself to the rest of the team this match. You did your best to ignore the way you could've sworn you could still hear his voice in the back of your mind as you sprinted away.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I've so missed breaking you with my madness. It looks like we need to compensate for the lost time then, doesn't it?"

The Wraith

This truly hurt him to watch.

The only way he'd managed to endure his sadistic role in this realm inflicting pain upon the innocent was to let himself believe everyone here was evil. To convince himself, this was a place of misery for miserable people. The idea he was only doing what he was told, and if the survivors were in his position, they would do the same. It was simply the way things were. 

But when he watched you never failing to stop and heal a teammate in need, the way you were so unafraid to take a hit for another despite the danger it meant for you awoken something within himself that lay dormant for a long time. 

The Wraith wasn't afraid to take his suffering, this inner turmoil, out on you. How dare you remain so gentle and hopeful in a world which broke so many. He projected much of his guilt of becoming complacent in the suffering of others onto you, and every act of altruism he observed from you only spurred him on. Not allowing himself to think about the blatant denial he used to cope. 

When he finally discovered how your team didn't work nearly as hard to save you, he realized how much he resonated with you.

He desperately felt he needed to communicate with you. He could ignore the obsession no longer. But, as much as he wanted to hate you or see you as everything he couldn't be, he knew it was all a lie. 

After a fierce trial between you and him, he decided it was time to make his move. You were in such a panic watching your team fall one by one as you just couldn't seem to work fast enough. You failed to realize how you were being carefully monitored by the killer. Phillip moved as silently as a shadow behind you, not even needing to cloak himself as your fear fueled you, blinding you to the danger at hand.

Typically, when you saw the hatch spawn and knew the game was nearly over, you were always so relieved, but not this time. Instead, all you could focus on was the guilt you felt not being able to save anyone, hardly managing to preserve yourself against the killer you feared the most. 

You could hear Phillip's bell chime close behind, your stomach sinking as you realized you were almost certainly about to die. Sure enough, after you ran close enough to nearly touch the hatch, you felt a hard blow between your shoulder blades. Knocking you down with the sheer force of the attack.  

You waited for the mori that never struck. Instead, you heard a voice whispering in your ear,

"You want an easy way out. I can tell you want to keep your morality intact, but this is no way to do it. So please, don't end up like me."

And with that, the monster seemingly vanished altogether, as you were left alone, trying to force yourself to crawl forward despite how your head spun, unable to forget his words. You may not understand what he meant by this, but for a moment, you couldn't help but feel more compassion than fear for the monster.

The Death Slinger

When Caleb wised up to the way you were acting so recklessly with your own life, he was furious. He was forced to grow up tough in life and knew altruism like this would kill you. Though Caleb didn't want to admit it to himself, he also resented watching you save others, knowing he never had the luxury of someone doing the same for him when he was alive.

His tip-off about your intentions was watching you work on the generators. He may not have the best "people smarts," but he was an engineer in life, and he can tell a lot about someone by listening to them work on mechanics. Your competency quickly disproved his initial read of you as unskilled. In other words, you weren't going down so fast because you were just easy prey. You knew how to save yourself. There was just something else going on here entirely.

Despite all this, he cannot help but feel sympathy for you. Nothing upsets him like treachery, and the way no one else seemed to care whether you lived or died really affected him.

Caleb needed no additional reason to hate the survivors. But when he watched you limping post-trial around the fire with the others. It didn't matter to him how survivors were always restored to perfect health before every trial. That didn't change the fact it should be them in pain, not you!

Despite his obsession, you were hardly aware the cowboy was so obsessed with stalking you. After all, he was just the type to leave personal matters outside of trials, and from your point of view, the killer was just as ruthless and cruel to you as he was to anyone else. Though you couldn't shake the way, you could swear you saw his ghostly phantom-like eyes following you well after the match. 

You were seriously taken off guard when you were pulled right behind him with the awful grip of his bayonet. Caleb leaning down to whisper in your ear,

"If you want to dig your grave to protect these snakes, you call a team. I won't stop you. But don't be surprised when you find a knife in your back that doesn't belong to a killer."

[1-800-cr33py]

I am- stuck on- Phillip (Wraith) from Dead by Daylight so much cause he- he just like me fr- and WE BOTH LIKE MATH AND SPACE- (I am referring to the dating sim. He is- yeah I love him)

Anyways uh- yeah I want some SFW wraith headcanons with a Gn!reader (so everyone can enjoy)

Ask and you shall receive :D

Phillip’s love language is quality time and acts of service, as I believe he’s wary of letting others touch him.

He loves tracing shapes onto your skin when you’re permitted down time together. Phillip loves to be cradled in your arms and just. Exist. No sacrifices, no butchering innocence. Just existing in a point in time where nothing and no one else matters to him but you.

I think Phillip finds playing with his s/o’s hair is calming. Whether you have straight hair or 4c coils, if you’ll allow him, he’ll definitely play with your hair, styling it if time is permitting.

I think the Wraith is very crafty, shaping jewelry out of old twine from Coldwind, pretty rocks he finds in the forest, you name it.

Phillip is a quiet soul, he’d rather show his affections than say them.

We know that screenie of him and Nurse dancing? Yeah thats his. He loves to dance with his partner.

He smells like old, wet wood and the earth after it rains.

Please baby him from time to time, he gets so tired of having to pear as threatening and such.

He used to like writing, so he enjoys watching his s/o write and read aloud.

That’s all i got for rn, but I’ll probably make a pt.2 to this because I love the Wraith.

[notspiders]

Oh, Honey! (Bumblebee! Reader x Monster! 141)

General Warnings: Mostly fluff. Reader is female and is described as rather small and chubby. Reader is clumsy. Reader has a very large family. Characters may act out of character. Poor grammar is likely. Cussing. Part 1??? Note: Monster! 141 belongs to @bluegiragi

~~~~

Price watches you through the window.

Truthfully, he isn't sure how he and his team ended up here. One day they were being chased by a bloody team of zombies/cannon fodder, the next- he's laying on this extremely cozy bed (although it is a bit small) with his wounds nicely patched. Soap has gone hunting with the other women. Ghost is satisfied that they're all safe in this... rather massive cottage and has been snoring away in the next room for the past hour. Gaz has told him that he's going to just fly around and keep an eye out- just in case if the enemies somehow find themselves through the dense woods and into this clearing.

They really were lucky, Price thinks. According to you, the woods were a force themselves. Navigating through it, especially at night, is practically impossible. Compasses don't work. There's no signal and, of course, any type of aircraft just fail here. The woods are miles long and unless you packed enough supplies- it's suicide to dive back in and try to find your way out. It's just that sometimes the woods can help you, and sometimes the woods just gives you Mother Nature's middle finger and kills you. So there's that.

Naturally, the team was suspicious.

1) The explanation made no sense. 2) They were just outnumbered by a ton of enemies and to stumble upon this welcoming lot is... well, it's too good to be true, yeah? 3) You and your family are just way too happy. 3.1) There are no guys in your family. Your mother stated that men generally just wandered in, the family would treat them, and then they go away by themselves after a few nights. 3.2) Honestly, all of you look the same. Maybe there's like, a difference in hairstyles, body types, and obvious age gaps between the women here and there, but Jesus… Gaz has already made the mistake of confusing you, your cousins, your many sisters, and other random girls multiple times last night. 3.3) Scratch out the 'massive cottage' you guys claimed it to be. It's a mansion. Your 'family' is very large. There are many aunts, other women, cousins, other girls that were adopt into the family- Just no men. All living under the same roof and might as well be an army itself with how efficient you all did your tasks.

That said, it's very rude to point guns at innocent, clueless civilians. You, an adorably chubby, little bumblebee-hybrid (identifiable by the two rather pathetic buzzing wings behind your back), opened the door to them last night and stared blankly at their guns before cheerily ushering them in without freaking your head out. Next thing they knew, they got some quality homecooked meals cooked and served before them, plenty of drink (the honey mead everyone shared is excellent), proper treatment with their wounds (with... herbs), and warm beds. Ghost had stayed up the whole night and snooped around (just in case) but reported nothing interesting except for a few old hunting rifles and some overdue library books. Yes, each girl did carry a tiny foraging knife, but he's pretty certain they could still punt them like footballs ten at a time.

Morning comes- the team properly introduce themselves without being too specific of their occupation. There was a great deal of oohing and aahing as Price unfolded his one wing. His smoke did cause one girl to faint and her mother quickly asked for Price to... stop. He did his best and has, for now, stopped smoking his cigar. Everyone just steered clear from Ghost. Many children were petting Soap's head and playing with his fluffy tail, and others were stroking Gaz's wings.

Despite all the attention, Price's gaze is always on you. Maybe it was because of the fact that he's seen you first. You were just the cutest out of all of them. He wanted to whisk you away just to squish every soft part of your body and have you cuddled up beside him in his nest back home.

He's sorely disappointed to be told that he needs to return to bed so that his wounds can heal faster. No matter. The window gives him a very nice view of the clearing outside. Some girls are tending to the farm. Others are beekeeping. Plenty have gone to the outskirts of the forest to forage or hunt. Soap has offered to go out with the girls and they gladly accepted his help. (Tomorrow, he'll get off of this bed and join everyone too.)

Right now, you're picking the berries in your garden. It's amusing to watch you. Sometimes you bend over to pluck a few pretty flowers too- he's gotten a very nice view of your plump arse here and there. He's watched you buzz your small wings to just barely get a foot in the air and pluck an apple off the tree. Oh, how he wished to simply go out to lift you up himself... Your weight would be nothing to him.

From his observations, he's smartly deduced: Your body is round. Your little wings aren't designed for distance.

He loves the way you'd burrow your nose into any flower. Sometimes you remind him of Johnny's eagerness by the way you'd get a bit too enthusiastic and faceplant into the bed of flowers to take in the scent.

Price watches you get up, bump into your cousin (or is it sister? Or is this another girl? He couldn't be arsed), and the two of you collectively squeaked and apologized at the same time. Adorable. Fascinating. Beautiful. He hasn't felt this way ever since the time he xaight the glimpse of the shiny Excalibur in that stupid rock.

The lunch horn has been blown. He's been told that today's meal would be freshly baked bread and creamy chicken with wild rice soup. There’ll be tea and coffee for the drinks.

Price wishes his lunch would just be you.

[user16121215]

Typical Trial Against the Killers

TW - Unhealthy displays of affection, Abuse (Mental and Physical), General dickishness

Herman Carter (The Doctor)

• You are the absolute last person to go.

• The good doctor won't even look in your general direction until everyone else has been taken care of.

• He's just waiting until you're on your own and he has all the time in the world to play around with you.

• Entity forbid you end up at Léry's Memorial Institute. That place was his home, he knows every little crack and corner by heart. There's no possibility of hiding, and he's faster than you are.

• If you somehow manage to escape without him getting a hold of you, be prepared for absolute hell next time you're placed against the doctor.

• He's a very prideful man and doesn't like losing in general, but when his obsession manages to slip through his fingers, there's no force on this realm, or any other, that can hold him back.

• He may even forget about everyone else and focus on you right from the start if he's angry enough.

• If this man can get you on a medical table, or anything similar, may the Entity have mercy on your soul.

• Herman likes the chase as much as any old killer but when he's had enough, it's time to claim his reward by strapping you down and inflicting his special kind of treatment he tailored just for you

Max Thompson Jr (The Hillbilly)

• Completely focused on you from the start

• As soon as he realises you're there with him, he goes mad trying to catch you.

• Most of the other survivors will escape if you're in a trial with the hillbilly because he won't leave you alone.

• This does mean that you'll probably get left behind since no one can really help you out.

• Your survival depends entirely on how fast you can run and how well you can hold your breath in a locker.

• Once he manages to catch you, he'll take his time and won't rush over to any hooks. He likes to hold you.

• He will grab you as much as he can. Instead of bashing you on the head with an oversized hammer, if he can latch onto your arm or just yank you back by your shirt he'd much rather do that.

• Your skin is so much softer than his own. So he'll delight in, not so gently, grasping any exposed flesh. Watching how it squishes between his fingers.

• This does of course lead to some rather oddly shaped bruises.

• He doesn't necessarily want to hurt you and is definitely less malicious than his colleagues. Max has never been exposed to any kind of positive relationship in his life and doesn't know how to handle these emotions he feels around you so he reacts the only way he knows.

Evan Macmillan (The Trapper)

• He'll chase you, but you won't get hooked right away.

• You'll either be left in one of his many traps or just crawling your way to help.

• Evan loves watching you limp and crawl away as he casually chases after you.

• If you're particularly annoying during a match, he might hook you just to get you out of the way, but he would much rather take his time with you and will most likely let someone unhook you just so he can chase you all over again.

• One of Evan's greatest delights is making you watch as your team dash through the exit gate without giving you a second thought.

• The look of betrayal and anguish is one he could just eat up on anyone but it has a certain extra hit when etched into your face. Especially if it was his own hands that carved it there.

• He finds it an absolute delight to watch you crawling towards the hatch, only for him to yank you back by your ankle as your fingers just brush against the metal. He gains extra satisfaction of he can yank a broken ankle, most likely given to you by own of his traps.

• He doesn't mind so much if you do escape. Obviously he doesn't like losing, but he knows you'll be back. You're his little toy after all, and he will get to play with you again.

Philip Ojomo (The Wraith)

• Mmmm did somebody say stalker?

• If you're uncomfortable with the feeling of having somebody's eyes on the back of your neck constantly, well tough luck.

• Trials with this boy are usually short and sweet.

• He's more focused on watching you and how you work than paying attention to the Entity's nagging.

• He's going to try and get as close to you as possible. Meaning that if you're not observant, he's going to be standing behind you as you're going about your business.

• He might even crouch down next to you and just stay there observing your face as you get your work done.

• Probably one of the only killers that will allow you to escape a trial. Or he'll go easy on you at the very least.

• Doesn't mean he won't ruthlessly beat the shit out of you if you get too cocky after you escape from him a few times. Mistaking his generosity for some kind of skill on your end is just not going to fly and he needs to make you painfully aware that any victory you celebrate is down to him.

• A 'Thank you Mr. Wraith.' Would be nice if you could just StOp SqUiRMING FOR TWO SECONDS.

• He just needs you to remember that although he may take certain liberties when it comes to you, he's still here to do a job and that job is to kill you.

Anna (The Huntress)

• Anna doesn't treat you much differently in a trial, even if she's fond of you.

• Not familiar with any human interaction outside of the very limited experience her mother provided have left her ignorant to anything beyond primal instinct.

• Death is just part of her understanding of affection.

• She loved her mother, her mother died.

• She loved the children, the children died.

• She may love you, and you suffer the same fate.

• Though you are different because you come back from death.

• Which only inspires her to kill you again.

• The hunt is courtship, the pain is yearning and death is love.

• And while she hunts, hurts and kills other survivors, you remain special to her and although nothing is different in the executions between you and your fellow sacrifices, to her it is night and day.

• She expects you to know that.

• She doesn't understand that you can't see the difference.

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Synopsis: When your fiancé breaks up with you, you start to question your timeline; who needs a man when you can have a baby yourself? Who better to ask for help on creating one than your arch-nemesis Kyle Garrick?

Note: F!Reader, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: none; besides a terrible grasp of british-isms

Chapter One: Piss off Kyle

It was while sitting beneath the awning of your favorite bistro that you’d come to a great realization. Hugo Montclair, your fiance of three years, was not just a bore but a bit of a jackass. 

Also, the lavender cake was no longer listed on Le Misa’s menu. So, technically two great realizations. As bad as it sounded, one concerned you more than the other.

Squinting you give the laminated sheet another thorough read to confirm your suspicions and… ah, yes. It’s not there. Where it should be between the ladies fingers and the lemon cake is an empty, discolored space. 

With a manicured finger you chip away at the corners to reveal the sloping letter ‘L’ beneath the meticulously placed correction tape. 

This was no good.

“Siggy, darling have you heard a word I said?”

You hum in reply, still deeply baffled with the current conundrum. Hugo calls your name again, not satisfied until you’ve given him your attention. 

He leans his head down to be in your line of sight. He’s a bit too blonde and polished for you not to focus your attention on. Like a shiny beacon. You try not to sigh deeply and instead plaster on a smile. 

“Yes, I heard you darling, you want to break up because you’re seeing Maddie from downstairs.”

Hugo extends his dainty manicured hands across the small table to cover yours above the menu. 

“I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

His eyes are carefully soft and his expression does that awkward stretch people do when attempting to project a facsimile of contriteness. In this case it just makes the skin around his mouth pucker oddly, displacing the filler he swears he gets for preventive measures.

You pat his hand politely with a smile “It’s fine, Hugo, really. Do you think I can borrow your menu? I think there's been a bit of a mistake.”

You are sliding the paper to your side of the table before you can finish the sentence. Hugo is a bit taken aback and blanches.

Another sweeping glance at Hugo’s menu reveals much of the same. 

There’s no lavender cake.

“Look, I know this is hard to take in but I want us to try to at least be amicable. We’ve been together for years and your parents and friends adore me.”

At this you snort but quickly cover it with a cough. Your parents tolerated him at best and your friends had made it well known they disapproved of Hugo. (Something about being a posh chihuahua enamored with its own self importance.)

You frown thinking of the dramatics his mother would put on inevitably, so sure you’d ruined the engagement to her son on purpose. 

But really what could you do? 

It wasn’t the most convenient thing to have your boss's beloved son kick you to the metaphorical curb, but technically you were the one who had been cheated on. Totally not your fault this time!

“I said I got it, you can’t help who you love and etcetera.” You give a cluck of your tongue before looking up once more hoping to catch the circling barista's eye. 

The mid afternoon lunch crowd at Le Misa’s is blessedly tame for a Thursday. The gloomy weather outside makes it easier to spot the jittery teen in a crimson red apron. The poor girl is glued to a corner, hunched over and clutching a notepad in white knuckle grip. 

She sees you shift in her periphery and snaps terrified eyes to your half raised arm. You do your best to smile sans teeth as you wave her over, coaxing her closer with small fluid movements. 

You hope you’re projecting calming vibes because she looks a bit green around the gills from the very thought of being needed by a customer. 

When she’s meters from your table you lean forward, your tits and belly squash a bit over the table causing your empty saucer to clatter before settling. Hugo, despite his offended chittering, stops long enough to stare at your chest. With a roll of your eyes you ignore his open panting. Typical.

“Hi darling,” you chirp in an octave higher than your usual. “I just had a quick question about the cakes? There used to be a lavender one here, I’ve been ordering it for years. Can you tell me what happened to it?”

“Um w-well.” The trembling girl blinks are twitchy and rapid, sputtering out um’s and oh’s.

‘Oh, no’ you think to yourself. 

You might have broken her. Still, you nod your head in support waiting for her to gather her wits. The poor thing was obviously a new employ with a bitch of a case of social anxiety.

Your efforts are for nothing in the end because a loud clearing throat causes you both to freeze, just as it’s seem she’d gotten up her courage.

Your cheek ticks as you watch the skittish girl clam up again. Hugo’s gaze has pried off your cleavage long enough to laser something disapproving and pointed at the side of your forehead. 

He’s even doing that thing with his face that you’ve always hated. His cheeks suck in like a goldfish and he does the eyebrow raise and head cock that screams ‘I am very displeased.’

“What? I just need to ask her something. I'll be just a sec.”

Hugo’s frown only deepens and he lets out the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard from a thirty two year old man.

It causes you to roll your eyes. Really, why couldn’t he just break up with you through text? This whole kerfuffle was starting to drag on and ruin your already limited lunch hour.

What happened to just saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ or ghosting like a normal person? 

You give the hovering teenager a tight smile and lift a single manicured finger to signify the need for a moment. She scurries back into the safety of the French doors into the cafe's interior before your hand has a chance to lower.

“Hugo darling,” Your tone is careful, neutral like the one you use to disarm your irate clients. 

“I’m really not upset I promise, we’d barely begun planning the wedding and we never got around to moving in with each other. Really there’s no harm-”

“She's pregnant.” he blurts out suddenly. 

A record scratches in your brain because, “What?”

Hugo grimaces. “She’s about three months pregnant. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

One blink. Two… before you’re sure there wasn’t a punchline coming. 

“Are you taking the piss right now?”

“Sweetheart,” His hands raise in defense “don’t get upset-”

“Oh what the actual FUCK Hugo? You told me you wanted to wait until marriage before considering children!” Your hiss is low and dark. 

More than a small part of you is satisfied with his flinch back to avoid your venom. You're slightly aware of the scene you’re causing but really! The man had kept his sperm under lock and key like his swimmers were precious jewels!

It’s the one thing he’d put his foot down about, content to let you drive the relationship otherwise.

‘I have to be considerate of my legacy as a Montclair, Siggy.’

‘We can talk about it after the wedding, Siggy.’ 

You didn’t understand the hang up because the Montclair clan were as distant from the crown as you were to Beyoncé! Still he’d been adamant about not having a child out of wedlock. 

You’re not very kind about reminding him of the fact either.

“I did mean that, I swear,” he ruffles his coiffed blonde hair, the pomade holding firm but is no match for the havoc his slender fingers trail. “It just happened and Madelyn and I decided it was a good thing.”

He huffs “I mean let’s be realistic Siggy, she’s different from you. She’s a bit more equipped to take care of a child than you are.”

Oh ho! Now that was rich. You were chomping at the bit to hear how the barely legal heiress was better equipped to birth a baby than you were!

“How so!” Your tone is one translating the utmost disbelief and sarcasm. 

Hugo waves a hand in the air, it’s so dismissive and you consider punching him in the nose for it. “She’s just much more flexible.” 

Well ouch?

There’s a Rolodex of adjectives your litany of exes used to describe you before they dumped you. 

Uptight, strict, aloof, intense. ‘Heartless harpy who feeds on the souls of innocent men’. 

The last one came from a starving poet who’d been freeloading on your nice suede green couch before you'd kicked him and his lute out. How you managed to find the one man in London with dreams of being a modern day bard, who knows.

(You did admire his ways with words and his tongue was capable of art). It had admittedly stung a bit more than the others and you needed an extra hen session with the girls to unpack the resulting feels. 

Nonetheless, you’ve never been called inflexible. 

Matter of fact, you were pretty fucking flexible! Your Pilates teacher had crowed about it several times during class, thank you very much.  (Maybe he was just trying to get you to put out but still, a compliment was a compliment.)

Momentarily you consider if that was actually supposed to be a dig at your weight but Hugo frantically rambles on as if reading your mind. 

“I just mean that you work long hours at Mum’s firm and you’ve told me yourself you wouldn’t stop working even if you were pregnant.”

“So what!”

“So, that’s an awful way to raise a child Siggy! Madelyn works for herself and has the time to dedicate to a baby that you don’t.”

“Of course she has the time!” you cry out in exasperation, ignoring Hugo’s shushing. If he wanted you to react better he shouldn’t have dropped this bomb in public!

“She teaches yoga to the elderly in her perfect fucking apartment! I’ve been a barrister for all of 2 seconds and I can’t just give up my position!”

Hugo rolls his eyes with the dramatic flare only an aristocrat could pull off. “I’ve been trying to work on our relationship for months; you’ve blown me off every time saying you were working or there was a crisis with your friends.”

“I thought proposing would change things but…” The sad look does make some guilt well up into your veins. 

Hugo’s shoulder drop and his blue eyes are a bit misty. It makes your throat close with panic. Hugo was prone to sobbing and you really needed to intercept that train before it derailed.

“Hugo-”

“It doesn’t even feel like you like me sometimes!” He’s hiccuping and throwing his hands in the air in exasperation before you know it. 

Oh for fucks sake!

“It’s like you view me as more of a convenience than a partner. I’ve only ever seen you truly happy over coupons or work or cakes!”

Fat tears roll down his face and you’re handing him your linen napkin with a sigh. He thanks you and blows his nose loudly enough for other tables to glance your way. Wonderful.

When he composes himself you try to refute him.

“Hugo, that's not true, I like you,” His gives you a look of complete disbelief that sets you on the defense. “Really I do! I just…”

Your brows furrow as words evade you. You really wish he would have just broken up with you via text.

“I show it differently that’s all.” Your shoulders sag in defeat.

Hugo gives you a sad smile. It’s watery and his face is still a bit splotchy.

“But not like Madelyn does. Be honest, did you ever love me?”

You feel like an absolute bitch because you can’t answer him. After a while you both accept that it was about as much as you could say.

It’s only when you’re halfway to the office that you realize you never did get an answer about the cake.

Kyle Garrick had a radar for when you were about to make a fool of yourself. The man had somehow been privy to every embarrassing moment you’ve had in your shared building. You couldn’t prove it, but he had to have some kind of sixth sense for your personal humiliation. 

There was no other explanation because the entire six years you’d lived across from him, he was always conveniently near when shit went awry.

Like that time you locked yourself out wearing only a ratty towel when reaching for a parcel. His stupidly pretty face only twitched in amusement seeing you hunched over and dripping wet. 

You’d been attempting to jimmy the cheap lock with a stray paper clip you found discarded nearby. It hadn’t gone well, as you’d been more focused on trying to keep your tits and thighs within the thin, cotton fabric.

(They really should make towels for bigger girls more accessible, honestly it was ridiculous!)

It hadn’t been your finest moment but he could have had the decency to look away. Instead, he leaned his broad shoulder against his doorway, content to watch you struggle. 

You’d snapped at him asking what his problem was and his only reply was ‘nippy in here, isn’t it?’ 

He did eventually help you break into your flat, but only after you’d called him as many names as you could think of. He’d waited out your tantrum without as much of a twitch. He’d simply taken the paper clip from you and sank to the floor in front of the doorknob.

His big hands were surprisingly much more dexterous than yours. You’d never admit to the lump in your throat or the shudder starting at your toes while staring at the long brown digits.

It didn’t help that his whiskey colored eyes bore into yours with an unspoken question when you made a panicked sound. The side of his head had grazed your breasts and the back of the hand holding your towel when he shifted on his knees. The light touch was clearly accidental, but still molten lava shot through you like a rocket on fire.

Intrusive thoughts of him kneeling before you in another context caused you to choke on your saliva. You tried so hard to clear your throat subtly but an embarrassing wheezing sound still managed to escape. Add insult to injury, the infuriating man had to pat your back when your body wracked with coughs.

You weren’t proud that you told him to fuck right off when he finally got the door open. You ignored his sarcastic ‘You’re welcome, luv” and slammed the door in his smug face. 

That was nearly two years ago and the start of your vendetta against the irritating neighbor.

Per usual, he finds you just outside your doorway causing a scene. This time, you’re being clung to by your now ex-fiancés mistress.

Madelyn’s wails are loud, keening things that are razor sharp against your eardrums. Her tearful pleading is loud enough for you to miss the ding of the elevator as it stops on your floor. 

Kyle strides from the lift like a living bronzed Adonis. 

With gritted teeth you curse every deity known to mankind.

Wonderful. Truly, amazing actually!

He’s clearly coming back from a run, His arms are comically large and gleaming with a thin layer of sweat on his brown skin. You’re able to make out the intricate tattooed shield containing the numbers ‘141’ on his bicep. It’s the first you’d seen of it (not that you were keeping an eye out for it before). 

His sleeveless jumper is damp and half zipped to show off a view of his firm pectorals and the first row of his 6-pack. You’re about to peek lower to his loose gym shorts when he catches your stray perusal and raises a singular brow.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Just peachy, Kyle, thank you.” you snipe in a clipped tone. “Please feel free to run along.”

Your snarky dismissal is prickly enough that most people would call you a cunt but would blessedly sod off. 

The disgustingly fit nuisance just removes his headphones from around the cartilage of his ears and continues to linger just outside his door with crossed arms. Behind Madelyn’s trembling back you make a harried shoo-ing gesture. It’s meant to somehow relay that you had everything under control. 

You did not of course, but the last thing you could stand right now is Kyle fucking Garrick in the mix of this shit-show. No matter how angelic the bastard looked in the dim lighting of the hallway, he had an uncanny ability to piss on all of your emotional reserves. 

“Siggy!” Madelyn’s blubbering cuts off Kyle's next words. “I’m so, SO sorry!” She immediately descends into another fit of sobs against your cleavage. 

There’s a bit of an awkward lull when Kyle snorts out a laugh.“You think she can breathe in there?”

With closed eyes you lean your head back to look at the ceiling, shooting a ‘fuck you very much’ to the universe. 

You’d come home 20 minutes prior with murderous miasma cloaking you like a second skin. After being publicly dumped (without even the comfort of sweets to soothe the humiliation) you’d gone straight back to work just to deal with piles upon piles of paperwork. 

Your only reprieve was Hugo’s mother canceling her standing appointment with you. You’d still been forced to work with the old woman’s assistant and to your disdain, he was just as persnickety as his employer.

By the time you’d made it home on aching feet and a splitting headache your thoughts were filled with the desire to stuff yourself with a big fat American cheeseburger. Specifically one from the shady shop around the corner that you suspect may be a mafia front. They made damn good cheeseburgers though. 

Your mind had then of course wondered to the possibility of being caught up in a police raid and if ‘wanting to support local business’ be a good enough excuse to get you off the hook.

It’s how you missed the pint sized ambush lying in wait for you.

Madelyn had been planted outside your door in electric pink spandex and light up sneakers. She’d spotted you coming out of the lift and attached herself onto you before you could make a proper run for it.

Since then you’d been stuck holding her instead of the greasy end of a heart attack masquerading as a sandwich. Fat tears continue to wet the collar of the fleece outer coat you’d nabbed at a bargain sale.

“How long has she been like this?” Kyle asks with a raised brow.

Ignoring him, you do your best to wrestle Madelyn’s stiff form back enough to meet her eyes. 

The younger girl’s face is red and splotchy, snot and mascara darkened tears stain her usually fair skin. Her mousy brown hair could use a wash as well but you aren’t unkind enough to point it out. Even though she did shag your husband to be, it was clear the girl was torturing herself with guilt.

It is a bit unfair that the smudged makeup does nothing to detract from her beauty, much to your petty disdain. 

She’d make gorgeous babies with Hugo…

The thought makes you scowl. It was time to make a retreat.

“Madelyn, I’d really like to get into my flat. I don’t want to speak to you to be honest and I need you to let me go.”

More helpless wailing comes out of the younger woman.

“P-Please Siggy, I just need you to know I never meant for this to happen! Hugo and I tried to keep away from each other and I don't want you to hate me or the b-baby!” By the end she’s blubbering herself into hyperventilation. 

From the corner of your eyes you can make out the door of your neighbor adjacent to you crack open. Whipping your neck to get a look at the nosy pissant gets the older woman to slam the door closed with a fearful squeak. 

This had gone on too long.

Forcibly you use your hip and extra weight to maneuver the hysterical woman from your person. You hold her flailing arms to prevent her from launching herself back to your front. When she whines you’ve finally reached your breaking point.

“For fucks sake, you’re making a bloody scene!” You bark out, “I don’t care about Hugo!”

Madelyn flinches.

“But you care that we’re having a baby, right?”

It’s only when Madelyn lets out a whine of pain that you notice you’d been holding her thin wrists in a vice-like grip.

A forgotten Kyle chooses that moment to slink closer, his hands cup Madelyn’s shoulder carefully, despite your death glare.

“Maddy, darling, why don’t you let go for me.”

The brunette woman startles having finally noticed his presence in the vicinity. 

“Oh, Kyle! I didn’t know you were here!” It’s insulting how quickly she wriggles from your hold to catapult herself into Kyle’s waiting arms. 

With disgust you watch Kyle pat the shorter woman’s hair much like one would do a pet. Something about watching him with her makes your hackles rise farther.

“Why don’t you come in and calm down, hm? I’ll make you that tea you like and we can watch something.” Kyle makes a humming noise meant to soothe. It pisses you off but seems to work like a charm.

Madelyn’s sniffles subside dramatically and she rubs her hand across her button nose.

“Yes, that does sound lovely, but I need to talk to Siggy...”

You flinch as the two turn towards you once more. Kyle must see the cornered look in your eyes because he rubs his hands along Madelyn’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear. 

Madelyn nods and enters Kyle’s flat without any further hesitation.

It’s like the nearly thirty minutes of being held hostage outside your own home means nothing against his soft words.

God, you hate this man with every fiber of your being.

With a scowl you rummage through your bag for your house keys. Why did you have so many gum wrappers inside? You really need to clean your bag out. 

It’s not until you hear a throat clear that you realize Kyle still watches you from the threshold of his home.

“What?” Your tone makes a muscle in his cheek twitch. You hate to say it but it satisfies you to know at least you have some effect on him.

“Are you alright, love?” 

That causes you to abandon your search. You squint at his open expression and the genuine concern you see there. It’s unexpected and makes you a bit uncomfortable. How pathetic did you look that even your enemies pity you?

“I’m fine. Not like you actually care anyways.”

The last part was said in a mumble but Kyle’s sharp ears catch it. 

“Oy, what is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer to you crowding your space. 

Your senses are bombarded by the heady scent of the bergamot and cedar wood notes in his cologne. Coupled with the tangy smell of his natural musk, your brain does that thing where it shuts off and reboots itself.

“Siggy.” Kyle reaches out to touch your arm sending an electric current between you two that causes you to jolt back. He frowns, stepping closer, crowding you before you wield your bag in front of you like a shield and sword. 

“Garrick, I really, really don’t want to talk right now.” 

“Sig-”

“No, no, no! I don’t want to hear it! I’ve had a shite day and the cause of it is currently waiting for tea and cakes in your flat! I’m the one that deserves bloody tea and cakes for fucks sake!”

Enraged, you shove your hand through your bag and come in contact with the puff ball attached to your keys. 

You’re frantically unlocking your door and shoving inside your home, refusing to give the universe another moment to make a mess of your ruined day.

You look at Kyle as he stands in utter confusion and give him the dirtiest look in your arsenal. 

“Cheers, I hope you enjoy your sweets with Madelyn but you can piss right off, Kyle!” 

You slam the door with finality.

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[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; torn by their obsession, the pack crumbles—now feral shadows of themselves. ghost, spiraling into hunger and rage, unleashes his fury.

★ warnings; obsessive behaviour, unhealthy coping mechanisms, violence (sybil gets hurt!), blood and gore

☆ story masterlist

The Rose District was a place of shadows—where the dimly lit streets bled into the underworld, where the stench of decay lingered in the air, and whispers of trouble hid behind every corner. Ghost had never liked coming here, but tonight, he had a purpose.

You had been raving about some rare herb for the past few days, an ingredient you couldn’t find anywhere else. Ghost, seemingly indifferent to your ramblings, had made a mental note to find it for you.

He moved with silent efficiency, his half-wraith nature allowing him to blend easily into the darkness. His eyes scanned the corners for any signs of the itinerant vendor he knew to hang around the area. The herb was supposed to be rare—dangerously so—but he couldn’t bring himself to care beyond getting it and making you happy.

That was, until he heard a soft voice, muffled and frightened, cutting through the usual hum of the Rose District. It wasn’t the sound itself that drew him—plenty of people got into trouble here—but there was something in the air, a pull.

He stepped out of the shadows, his eyes narrowing as he saw the scene unfold a few feet away. A young woman—her honey-brown hair gleaming faintly in the dim light—stood cornered by a group of rough-looking men. They smirked, closing in, their intentions clear and unkind.

Ghost could have turned away. He didn’t know her, and getting involved in these kinds of situations wasn’t exactly his style. But something in him shifted, a tug in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake. He sighed, his usual apathy mixing with a sense of obligation he couldn’t place, and stepped forward.

“Leave her,” he said, his voice low, barely a whisper, but it carried an unmistakable weight. The men froze, eyes flicking up toward him. They were the type to recognize danger when it appeared, and Ghost—his towering frame half-hidden by his hood—was clearly not a figure to be trifled with.

One of the men sneered but backed off, motioning for the others to follow suit. “Not worth it,” he muttered under his breath, casting one last leer at the girl before disappearing into the shadows.

Ghost watched them retreat, then turned to the girl. She was trembling slightly, her brown eyes wide with fear and gratitude. This was routine for him, helping folk when he had to, stepping in only when necessary. He was about to turn and leave, to forget this ever happened, when she spoke.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft, vulnerable.

Something about it made him pause, just for a moment.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rough, more out of habit than genuine concern.

She shook her head, a slight smile forming on her lips, but before she could respond, her hand brushed his arm.

It was nothing—just a fleeting touch, accidental. But in that instant, something shifted. Ghost pulled back slightly, confused by the sudden wave of emotion crashing over him. It was subtle, at first, just a faint whisper in the back of his mind, but the longer he looked at her, the louder it became.

He tried to shake it off, tried to remember why he had come to the Rose District in the first place—there was something he needed to find, something important.

A strange sensation crawled up his spine, sinking deep into his mind. He felt… tethered, as if something in him latched onto her presence, a root slowly winding its way into his thoughts, making her impossible to ignore. His apathy slipped away, replaced by a growing need to stay close, to keep her safe, to protect.

He found himself stepping closer instead of retreating, his usual detached composure slipping as he studied her. She didn’t seem aware of the effect she was having, of the slow, insidious way she was beginning to unravel everything inside him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a little softer than before. The words felt automatic, like he was trying to regain control, but his mind was already clouded.

“I got lost,” she said, her eyes darting nervously toward the dark streets surrounding them. “I didn’t mean to—thank you, again. I’m Leah by the way.”

Ghost’s thoughts were hazy now, unfocused, as he repeated her name over and over again in his mind.

“We should go,” he muttered, gesturing for her to follow him. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t understand why he felt this way, but he couldn’t leave her alone now. Not when the pull was so strong.

By the time they reached the edge of the district, the thought of the herb he was supposed to find for you had completely faded from his mind. All that mattered was Leah—and keeping her near.

. . .

Plates sat piled in the sink, crusted and acrid with the remnants of old meals. Dust had settled over every surface, thick and undisturbed. The smell of neglect filled every corner, the windows streaked with grime, letting in only the barest slivers of weak, muted light.

The pack's home lay in shambles, reflecting the twisted obsession that had taken root in their minds. Every room told the same story—untouched and uncared and ignored like everything else that wasn’t Leah.

John’s instincts as a hunter—the sharpness, the clarity of purpose—had dulled, eroded by worry and exhaustion. He barely left the house, even though he should’ve been out there, doing what he did best, leading them. His guns, his gear, lay untouched, gathering dust in the corner. The man who had always been their steady hand, their anchor in the storm, was unravelling, his focus split between trying to hold the pack together and his concern for the woman who had somehow become the centre of all their lives.

Gaz rarely touched his books now, his once-meticulous study routine had been discarded, left to gather dust along with the shelves sagging under the weight of broken trinkets and forgotten potions. The thought of casting a spell, of focusing on anything outside of Leah, seemed almost impossible now.

Soap, once the energetic heart of their pack, had become consumed by his inner beast. His werewolf side, once held in check by a fierce loyalty and steady self-control, had slipped its leash. The wildness in him had grown more pronounced, his pacing erratic, his growls more frequent. He snapped at the others, a low, rumbling threat in his throat whenever they got too close. His restlessness filled the air, his anxious energy like static that crackled between them all.

And then there was Ghost. Of them all, he was the worst.

He had stopped taking the tonics you prepared especially for him—those essential mixtures that kept his half-wraith nature in check. Without them, the feral part of him had completely taken over, spiralling out of control. His skin had taken on a pale, deathly hue, his eyes burning red with the hunger that gnawed at him from within.

Things eventually did break apart.

The air in the house was thick with tension as the four of them gathered around in the dim light of the living room, a fire crackling in the hearth but offering no warmth.

Leah, despite having her own space above Laswell’s bar, had made herself at home in their place. It seemed so natural at first, like she belonged there among them. For a while, she stood out in the chaos, pristine and pretty amid the disarray.

But then, a sudden illness settled over her.

She had stopped eating days ago, and with every shallow breath she took, each spiralled deeper into their own madness.

The tension was unbearable, each day blending into the next, an endless cycle of sleepless nights and anxious pacing. They had stopped caring for themselves and each other. Fights broke out over nothing, their frustrations boiling over with every glance, every word.

The house that had once been a home was no longer a sanctuary. It was a reflection of the decay in their hearts, a hollow shell of what it had once been, crumbling under the strain of their obsession love.

“She needs more than we can give her,” Gaz said quietly, his voice laced with frustration. He rubbed his temples, as if trying to ward off the pounding headache that had settled on his temple for days. “I’ve tried every spell I know. None of it’s working.”

“Spells?” Johnny scoffed, his pacing agitated. “Spells aren’t what’s gonna fix her. We need to get her out of here, take her to someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“And who, exactly, is that, Soap?” Price shot back, his voice rising. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his face shadowed with exhaustion. “You think there’s someone out there who can handle this? Someone we can trust with Leah?”

Soap growled low in his throat, his enlarged nails flexing at his sides. “Better than sitting here, watching her waste away while you all argue over nothing.”

“We don’t know even what’s wrong with her!” Gaz snapped, losing his temper.

“And sitting here debating it is helping how?” Soap shot back, his eyes flashing in the low light. “We’ve been going around in circles for days. She’s getting worse, and all we do is talk, talk, talk!”

Price stepped forward, his face dark with anger. “We can’t just run off blindly. You think you’ll make it two blocks without something worse happening? The moment we leave this house—”

“This house is a tomb!” Soap snarled, his voice cracking. “She’s dying in there, and you want to sit here, playing it safe? You’re the one losing it, Price. You’ve lost your edge. You’re not thinking straight.”

Price moved so quickly that Johnny barely had time to react. They were face to face in an instant, both of them bristling with raw anger, their tempers flaring. “You want to say that again?” Price growled, the hunter in him itching to lash out.

Gaz stood up abruptly, pushing them apart with a frustrated grunt. “Enough! This isn’t helping anyone, least of all Leah.” He turned to Ghost, who had been eerily silent throughout the argument. “Ghost, you’ve barely said a word. What do you think?”

Ghost, standing in the corner, his form barely visible in the shadows, seemed almost detached from the scene. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, flicked to Gaz, but there was no recognition there, only a raw, feral hunger. He hadn’t taken his tonic in days, and it showed—the half-wraith within him was clawing its way to the surface, gnawing at the last vestiges of control he had left.

“We’re wasting time,” Ghost finally muttered, his voice guttural, barely human. His muscles twitched with unspent energy, his body wound tight as if ready to explode. “She’s dying. And we’re doing nothing.”

“We know that,” Gaz said softly, trying to reach him. “But we can’t just—”

Ghost’s eyes flickered, a dark intensity flashing across his face. “Then stop talking. Do something. Or get out of my way.”

Before anyone could react, Ghost was gone. He moved with inhuman speed, disappearing through the door in a blur of shadow and cold air. They barely had time to process it before the chill of his absence settled into the room.

Price cursed under his breath, turning back to the others. “Damn it, he’s gone feral.”

Soap’s pacing resumed, even more agitated now. “We can’t keep him locked up forever. He was bound to snap.”

“And now what?” Gaz asked, his voice hoarse with worry.

But despite the renewed sense of urgency, the argument had changed nothing. Leah still lay feverish in the other room, her condition worsening by the hour. And with Ghost gone, it felt as if the last thread holding them together had finally snapped.

And outside, in the night, Ghost stalked the streets, driven by an insatiable thirst, slipping deeper into the feral haze that consumed him. The city, bathed in the cool autumn moonlight, was ripe for hunting.

. . .

That cool evening you strolled through the dim streets with Sybil at your side. It was a rare moment of quiet, a stolen breath of normalcy after weeks of carefully orchestrating your life away from the pack.

No contact, no messages, no nothing. You were trying to move on, and of course failing miserably.

You tugged your cloak tighter around your shoulders when something suddenly felt… wrong. An icy chill washed over you, setting your nerves on edge, like a storm creeping in from the horizon.

Then you saw him.

Ghost.

His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were bloodshot, wide with hunger, glowing faintly in the dark like a feral animal.

Then you noticed the blood. Fresh streaks ran down his arms and neck, his clothes stained and torn, his skin smeared with it. Clearly not his own. He had already hurt someone. Maybe worse.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Simon?” you called his name softly.

He didn’t answer. He just stared. Unblinking. And then, with terrifying speed, he lunged.

Panic surged through you, and without thinking, you ran—your only thought was to get back to the shop. Trusting wholly that Sybil was by your side, you sprinted through the streets, your breath coming in frantic bursts, the pounding of his feet behind you growing louder, faster.

You barely made it through the door, slamming it shut and locking it just in time. But there was no time to catch your breath. Ghost was right behind you, slamming into the door with such force that it cracked. Your heart was racing in your chest as the door gave way under the weight of his attack, splintering open.

He barged in, and the destruction began.

He tore through the shop like a whirlwind, knocking over everything in his path in his blind attempt to catch you. Shelves collapsed under his weight, glass bottles shattered, herbs spilled across the floor, the once-familiar scents mixing with the pungent stench of blood and sweat.

“Stop!” you screamed, but it was useless. He couldn’t hear you. Couldn’t stop.

He pounced at you again, and Sybil, ever fearless and faithful, intercepted him. She sank her teeth into his leg, snarling fiercely, and for a moment, it slowed him down. He roared in pain, staggering, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in fury. But with one hard swipe of his hand, he sent her flying across the room. She hit the wall with a pained whine, her body crumpling to the floor.

“Sybil!” you wailed, heart splintering at the sight of her.

He stumbled on his injured leg, collapsing like a rag doll. But he wasn’t done.

Before you could react, his hand shot out and latched onto your ankle, dragging you down with terrifying strength. You hit the floor hard, pain shooting up your leg as he pulled you toward him, his grip crushing, his nails digging into your skin, drawing blood.

You cried in pain, instinctively twisting your body and kicking him—hard and square in the jaw. The impact was brutal, and his head snapped back with a sickening crack. For a moment, his grip slackened, and you scrambled to your feet, gasping for breath.

But it still wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

You limped towards the cauldron over the hearth, the brew still bubbling inside, before latching fiercely into it and toppling it towards him. The boiling liquid splashed all across the floor and against Ghost. His howl of pain ripped through the air as steam rose as his skin sizzled and burned, blistering down to the bone where the unfinished position had hit him.

You were barely holding on as you manoeuvre yourself around him and the torrid concoction, your body trembling as you picked up Sybil and darted towards the stair, desperate to get away. Every step was agony, your ankle throbbing from where he’d grabbed you.

You managed to slam the door to your apartment shut, locking it with shaking hands, but it felt so fragile. Too fragile. The sounds of Ghost’s growls echoed below, followed by the scraping of claws on wood.

He was coming.

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking uncontrollably as you dialled Laswell’s number. The line rang and rang, but there was no answer. Your heart sank, panic rising again. You tried over and over, but no response came.

The door shuddered as he reached it, his nails scratching and clawing at the wood, a relentless assault that made your heart pound painfully in your chest. You clutched Sybil tightly in your arms, her body trembling against yours. She was hurt, but alive. You pressed your face into her fur, tears streaming down your cheeks as the scratching continued, a reminder that he wasn’t going to stop. Not until he had you.

The weight of it all—Ghost’s betrayal, the destruction of your shop, Sybil—threatened to suffocate you.

All you could do was wait. Wait for the sun to rise, for the light to finally push back the nightmare.

But deep down, you feared that by then, it might be too late.

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[fishyvamp]

Imagine a medieval!AU where Princess!reader is betrothed to King Macmillan. He's cold and distant to you and the only one who seems to show you the slightest sympathy is Sir Ojomo the knight tasked with your safety. He's the one taking you to all your dress fittings, he's the one who listens as you complain that your betrothed seems too busy with the Captain of the guards to even speak with you. That pesky man always glued by the kings side.

Sir Ojomo knows something you don't and he hates the king for it. The king will never love you no matter how much he tries, but this marriage will always be one of convenience and politics. You will produce his heir, but once a son is born he will likely never touch you again.

Though what Phillip hates the most is how he finds himself craving the company of the future queen. He hates how his mind is filled your laughs and corny jokes. He hates that when he closes his eyes at night his dreams are filled with nothing but your naked form and the way it would look glowing under the moonlight. He is a traitor to the crown for even having these dreams. For having these visions of the woman who belongs to his dearest friend the king.

[r3dkn0ts]

WELCOME to THE R3DKN0TS BLOG

🔞 !! DO NOT PROCEED PAST THIS POINT IN THIS POST OR MY BLOG IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 !! 🔞

Now that that's out of the way, I'm Matty ( @r3dr0pe ) and this is my 18+ Dead By Daylight / Slasher reader-insert blog! I used to run one of these years ago, and I just got the itch to come back to write some more. Below the read more break will be my rules, masterlist, and more!

RULES

Sources I write for - Dead By Daylight ( obviously ) - The Texas Chain Saw Massacre 1974 - Halloween 1978 + 2018 - A Nightmare on Elm Street 1984 - Friday The 13th 1980 + 1981 - Scream 1996 - Silent Hill 1 + 2 - Resident Evil 2 + 3 + 7 + 8 - Dead Rising 1 + 2 + 3 - Outlast 1 + 2 + Whistleblower - All Five Nights At Freddy's games + movie

I will write - Headcanons ( up to 3 characters x reader ) - Short imagines ( up to 3 characters x reader ) - Gender-neutral readers ( no specific genitalia ) - Non-binary, FtM, and MtF readers ( please specify any preferences for anatomical terms or gendered language ) - Cis male readers - Kinky shit ( read here for more info )

I will not write - Anything I'm not comfortable with / on my "no" list here - Fanfics ( just don't have the energy for it most of the time ) - Underage characters or readers ( even if platonic ) - Pregnant characters or readers ( breeding kink is fine! ) - Non-consensual romance or sex - Cis female readers

DBD KILLER MASTERLIST

DBD SURVIVOR MASTERLIST

MISC. HORROR MASTERLIST