#the last survivor watching this go down like: girl help im boutta be murdered by two lovey-dovey f r e a k s shhdhdj

[phantomvegetable]

♡ Hello there ♡

Coming in to politely ask if you'd be happy doing a request for Legion (of the Frank variant please). 100% fine with creative liberties, but I'd adore a story following along the lines of the reader being an old flame before he ended up in the fog, and he is delighting in being a general nuisance for old times sakes. Why be nice and romantic when you can be a pain ♡

ALSO! All the best to you, your writing is really cool from what I've read, and I'm hyped you opened up requests ♡♡♡

h-HI *VIBRATING UNCONTROLLABLY* KSKSKSKDJ

YES ABSOLUTELY <33333 i love the dynamic, hehehehehheehhe

THANK YOU SO MUCH btw ;;A;; it makes my day / makes me want to write more when I hear things like this !! I really appreciate it <3

Legion (Frank) x Reader

ghosts of the future notes: soulmate au, legion members are 18+ at time of disappearance and during reader’s interactions w/ them before the fog tw’s: frank is an ass, strong language, canon typical violence & maybe some torture ?

What would it take to find out what happened to Frank Morrison?

That would be your question for the next two years after his disappearance along with his friends (if you could even call them that—they mostly just followed him around like deranged cult members… but, then again, they were your friends, too). The fucker left you with far too many questions, an unforgiving anger, and the tragic mark of a soulmate.

Yes, Frank was your soulmate—it was proven by the unsuspecting fingerprints wrapped around your wrist in an attempt to grab you during one of your more violent moments of roughhousing. It left Frank speechless, for once; meanwhile, you went berserk. Julie was his girlfriend, not you—you were just some bonus lackey with far too much time on your lonely hands and a concerning obsession with crime.

You avoided him and the Legion for days; only coming into contact with Frank when he approached you one night, alone and seemingly troubled.

“We’re finally doing it,” Frank muttered with his hands in his pockets, masked face turned away from you. “Making a name for ourselves. It’s happening tonight.”

“Good for you,” You barked out bitterly, arms crossed as you stood uneasily in your living room. “I won’t bail you out if you guys get caught.”

“Come with us,” Frank offered after a beat of silence, finally facing you with an outstretched hand. Just looking at it made you shudder—made you want to run and hide. He seemed to sense your discomfort and pocketed his hands instead, straightening himself out before you.

“I—“ You shifted, glancing away warily. “I can’t.” Frank seems to pick up on the double meaning, huffing in irritation.

“Look, Toots. Just because we’re marked or whatever doesn’t mean we haf’ta act like strangers or nothin—“

“I don’t care!” You had snapped, baring your teeth like a caged animal. “Maybe it doesn’t mean that much to you, Frank, but it does to me.” He doesn’t respond. You curl in on yourself even tighter and turn your back to him. “So just—just go.”

You didn’t mean for him to take it literally. He left you alone after that, going so far as to vanish seemingly from existence after the uncovering of a janitor’s dead body just a few days later.

But you wouldn’t let him get away that easily.

The stubborn fire that kept you alive this long coaxed into you following Frank’s trail, leading you down the same path that ended up with blood on your hands. The fog came shortly after. And when it did, you were still the one hunting. Hunting answers, hunting a hunch, hunting feelings that wouldn’t go away.

The trials were easy. You simply had to slash, stab, and destroy through them until the fog returned you to the same decrepit building that quickly became home; and, the place that you continued your search.

“Still obsessing over lover boy, hmm?” A sickly sweet voice purrs from behind, stirring you from your pondering. You barely flinch.

“What do you want, Danny?” You sigh, removing your mask to rub at your face in exhaustion.

“What, I can’t visit my favorite psycho?” He chirps playfully, fiddling with the decaying photo of you and the Legion from where he sits in the dark. You swipe it from his grubby little hands with a look that could kill. “Easy, tiger,” The masked murderer lifts his hands in mock defense. “I was just looking.”

“Yeah, well, could you not?” You groan, hunching over various notes splayed out messily on a desk. “I’m trying to concentrate.” You feel his stare on your back, the sensation louder than the silence that follows.

“You know, I could just show you where he and his puppets hang out.” The way you turn around and stare at Danny is almost comedic.

“What?” You seethe out after a moment, bones popping from how tight you ball your hands into fists. “You mean you knew where he was this whole time and said nothing?” Danny shrugs.

“You never asked.”

The urge to strangle someone was never stronger than in that moment, and you told Danny as much. He just smiles coyly from behind the mask.

When you arrive at Mount Ormond, the numbing cold is a welcomed sensation as freezing winds nip at your skin. Anything to distract you from the nerves that ate at your insides like maggots feasting on a corpse.

The instructions Danny gave you were simple enough, and even though the drawing of the cabin where the Legion supposedly camped out in was utter shit, you found yourself on the doorstep of a to-be reunion with your old mates. It felt way too formal to knock; so you fell into the familiar habit of entering unannounced, climbing through a second-story window that was left unlocked after discovering that the front door wouldn’t budge. Typical.

Tiptoeing through an unwelcoming room consisting of one worn-out couch and a busted TV, the telltale mark of a Legion mask—Susie’s, from the looks of it—resting on a torn cushion has your heart lifting as your fingers stretch to brush against it. They really were here. You swallow thickly.

“Susie?” You find yourself calling out, stepping into the empty corridor. You look left, then right. Nothing. You try a room down the hall, finding no sign of life there either. “Joey? It’s me!”

“They’re not here,” A strikingly haunting voice that makes your breath stutter says coolly from behind, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up straight and chills to prickle all along your arms. Turning to face your ghost, your gaze strikes like iron against Frank’s green one hidden from behind a smiling mask that looks like it’s taken a decent beating over the years. His arms are crossed, and he leans nonchalantly against the wall in an unbothered display. But you knew Frank, and he was pissed. And, quite honestly, so were you.

You find your fists tightening as you stand across from him just like that night, becoming more and more angry. Even more annoyingly, Frank senses this and sighs, unwinding his posture to mimic that of someone trying to calm a wild beast. “Toots—“

That did it.

With a snarl, you spring forward; your fist connecting with Frank’s stupid smiling mask and cracking it nearly in half. He grunts out in shock as he tried to dodge your right hook, hands instinctively catching your wrists just like they did that fateful day and pulling you with him as Frank is sent careening to the floor.

And, just like that, the two of you are whisked into a trial.

You’re still on top of Frank when you spawn outside, wrestling him into the snow.

“What is wrong with you?!” Frank hisses, teeth bared visibly from where you broke his mask.

“What’s wrong with me?!” You laugh cruelly, using your hips to pin him down. “What’s wrong with you?! You fucking disappeared, Frank!” He exerts an impressive amount of strength in order to throw off balance, flipping you over.

“And why would that fucking matter to you?” He retorts. “You’re the one who shut us out!”

“Well excuse me for needing a minute!” You bristle, struggling against his hold. “I had just found out that my soulmate is an asshole who also happens to be insane!”

That strikes something in Frank. He growls audibly as he pulls you up, immediately shoving your face into the snow and making a hasty retreat. You gasp as you stagger to your feet, spitting out melted chunks of ice. You whip around to search for your culprit, eyes narrowing at the sight of Frank running towards the town.

“Coward!” You call after him, giving chase.

You pass multiple survivors that are surely watching on in a stupor as you catch up to Frank, tackling him to the ground again. The two of you grapple until he has you pinned again, this time holding a knife to your throat. Your fury flares.

“Enough!” He commands. “If you want to prove something so badly, why don’t you show me what you can do?” Frank emphasizes his point by pulling his knife away and hurling it at the first unlucky bystander that attempts to flee, sending him to his hands and knees. As the man—Dwight, you bothered to remember—cries out in agony, you glare up at Frank’s slowly-forming smirk, knowing he’s caught your interest.

“Fine,” You relent, and Frank releases you. You stomp to where Dwight grovels, brandishing your own weapon and striking him down without a moment’s hesitation. Jutting your chin over your shoulder at Frank—who fails to hide his smugness—you remove the knife embedded in Dwight’s shoulder and toss it at the brute’s feet, pulling your own accoutrement free. Without waiting, you move on to your next victim, leaving Frank behind to watch you ruthlessly chase them down. He grins, joining you in the hunt.

The two of you manage to bring down five of the eight survivors, wreaking havoc to generators along the way. It becomes a sick sort of game between the two of you to see who can kill the most, and just how diabolically you executed the final blow. Unexpectedly, it does a lot to bring your anger to a simmer; your tensed muscles finally relaxing from their coils as you hack, hack, hacked away.

Another survivor falls to the ground beneath you, dead.

“That’s six,” You announce, Frank just a few feet ahead of you. He laughs—a sound that tickles your brain.

“Keeping count, are we?” He teases. There’s a playful lilt to his voice that you haven’t heard in years—a welcomed gesture.

“Someone has to,” You quip back, and Frank laughs again. You smile.

You step over the carcass and vault the window that was so narrowly missed by the unfortunate woman Frank has trapped underfoot, coming to stand by his side as she squirms and fights to no avail.

“You’re sick!” She gasps, moaning in pain as Frank increases pressure, surely breaking a rib or two.

“That’s no way to talk to the lady,” He jeers, eyes flickering at you. You snort.

“Both of you! You t-two are—ack—psychos!”

You half-expect another witty remark from Frank, half-expect him to snuff her out.

What you don’t expect are his next words.

“Then we must be perfect for each other,” He mumbles, making your ears perk. “We’re soulmates, you know?” Your heart backflips.

“Frank,” You begin to warn him, but he continues.

“Fuckin’ soulmates, you hear?” He suddenly grabs your hand and you go rigid, the contact making your stomach turn. The two of you had been wearing gloves for the entirety of the match, so no marks would be visible—but the touch was enough to make your skin tingle underneath the material. The woman’s brows tighten.

“K-Killers can’t have soulmates,” She wheezes. “You don’t have souls.” Frank’s hand tightens around your own.

“Well it’s a good thing you ain’t God, ain’t it?” He utters snidely before driving his heel down as hard as he can, ending her life. Seven. You let go of Frank’s hand and step back, Frank letting you.

“What the hell, Frank?” You whisper in a shaky breath, clouds of white dispelling the sentiment.

“…I’m sorry,” He tells you finally, turning to face you in shame. His eyes speak of the remorse he feels. “I completely disregarded your feelings when we found out we were marked, and I’m sorry.” Your chest swells in a flurry of emotions.

“But… but you disappeared,” You remind him, unconsciously drawing in on yourself. Frank, ever so cautiously, takes a step towards you.

“It wasn’t my fault,” He speaks calmly, eyes boring into your own. “I was taken by the fog, same as any washed up bastard that ends up here.”

“But—but Julie?” Frank sighs.

“Jules and I… it’s complicated,” He grimaces. “She freaked when she found out I was marked and it wasn’t wit’ her. She doesn’t know it’s you.” Your mouth feels dry.

“But…”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Frank’s voice is low and a husk away, and you didn’t realize just how close he’d gotten. “I’d say you’re fighting for reasons to stay angry at me. Why did you come all the way out here?” Is his disarming question—that, paired with the way his hand brushes cheek when he moves a strand of hair behind your ear—that has you sharply inhaling.

“I—“ You stammer, searching his face. “I was so angry at you,” You begin. “I was so shocked to find out I even had a soulmate, and then you treated it like it wasn’t a big deal—“ Your breath shudders. “I was so mad at you, Frank. To top it off, you up and disappear after telling me you were finally ‘making a name for yourself,’ and a dead body is discovered a few days later? What was I supposed to think, Frank?”

“You could have just let me go,” He mutters, hand lingering on your cheek. You drop your head in resignation, sighing.

“I know,” You grumble. Frank lifts your chin up between his forefinger and thumb as he raises his mask at the same time, finally revealing that same scruffy face you’d grown accustomed to. An oddly soft expression graces his scarred features, and you find yourself unable to speak over the lump in your throat.

“Do you still want to accept me as your soulmate, even with all of…this?” Frank gestures to the empty space where the survivor’s body once was, it having been swallowed up by the entity minutes ago. The chuckle that escapes you surprises even yourself.

“Frank,” You snicker. “I literally just killed people with you. That’s how I ended up here,” You tell him, matching his gaze evenly. He continues to search your eyes for a beat before stepping back.

“In that case…” Frank lowers his mask over his face again, retrieving his knife in one hand while holding the other out to you. “Would you care to finish what we started?”

Whatever anger you held towards Frank in that moment was now gone, seemingly melted away by those eight simple words. You accepted his hand with a small smile; one that said, okay, I’ll trust you. He begins to lead the two of you forward but stops, catching you immensely off guard when he whisks you into his arms, slides his mask up, and plants a massive, wet kiss on your cheek, surely leaving a mark that wouldn’t be so easy to hide without a covering. You let out incoherent noises as Frank slips his mask into place, laughing at your disposition while dodging your sloppy fists.

“Frank, you asshole!” Your words lack any actual bite to them, this serving to make Frank cackle even harder as he once again evades you by taking off with you hot on his heels.