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bucketsofmonsters · 2 years

Text

Ghost Stories

cw: oral sex, vaginal penetration, size difference, non-human genetalia, deceased partner mentioned

male specter x afab reader

Word count: 7k

When he heard the door of the house creak open he groaned and went to surveil his newest target. Usually it was teens snooping around, looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or dumb kids, trying to scare each other in the abandoned house in the middle of the woods. Not this time though. It wasn’t even people trying to evaluate the property, see what was worth salvaging, at least he understood why those people were there.

This one was different. You were alone, already an anomaly. People didn’t tend to come here alone, stomping through haunted houses appeared to be a group activity more often than not. You had more stuff than was typical too, with a small machine in your hand and a backpack that looked quite heavy strapped to your back.

Then he heard the noise coming through your little machine. At first he thought it must be a walkie talkie or a phone. So you weren’t here alone, not really, you were talking to someone else. The longer he observed from the shadows the more he realized that that wasn’t the case. Whatever the machine was was more akin to a radio, switching through radio stations nonstop, spitting out mostly static and the occasional word that he’d mistaken for another person.

He’d seen enough of your little shenanigans, he wanted you gone. So, he did what he always did, he prepared himself to scare you off. It was really all he knew, some instinctual urge he never really questioned.

He’d been watching you for a while, but from your perspective he appeared out of nowhere. You might have caught a glimpse of him before, out of the corner of your eye, he never fully disappeared, but now you could most certainly see him. He was vaguely humanoid, in the staticy, abstract shape of a human, though something about it was decidedly not right. Parts of his form would occasionally flicker in and out of view, he wasn’t perfect at staying tangible but his towering form seemed to do the job nonetheless. The easiest part to maintain and the clearest part of him was his mouth, which was good because it was the most frightening part of him. While the rest may be a little flickery his gaping maw and the sharp teeth inside were clear and distinct and decidedly threatening.

Your eyes widened the second you saw him, but not with the same face that most had. There was no fear there. If he didn’t know better he would’ve called it excitement.

You spent a few moments just taking him in, tracing his form with your gaze. He could feel the flickering in and out of reality get worse. He wasn’t used to being stared at like this, usually one glimpse and people went running but you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away.

He tried to stay menacing in the face of this unusual response.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said, clearly figuring out his intent. That taunting, excited smile was still plastered across your face as if wanting to rub salt in the wound. He had half a mind to show you that he wasn’t messing around, that his daunting appearance wasn’t just for show but that was a last resort. He didn’t really want to hurt you, at least not unless absolutely necessary.

He scowled down, unsure with how to proceed. He’d never spoken to one of them before, he wasn’t quite sure how to get you to leave when plan A failed. “You should be,” he hissed.

You squeaked, letting out a little yelp of excitement, your hands flapping a little by your sides as you stood.

Many of the signs here were the same as when people were afraid, the arms movement, the squeaks and yelps and wide eyes, but for entirely opposite reasons. Maybe humans just didn’t have that many reactions for things, cycling through the same few regardless of the emotion.

As your investigation of his form concluded and you seemed content with whatever you’d been looking for, you seemed unable to contain your excitement. “You’re a ghost! A real, live ghost! Well, maybe not live, but still!”

Is that what they called him? Ghost? He didn’t have a name for what they were so he supposed it would have to do.

“Why aren’t you scared?” He supposed if he couldn’t get rid of you, he might as well figure out why. Then maybe if someone else came along with a broken radio he could shoo them away faster.

“I was prepared, I guess, although I was totally wrong about what you’d look like. I came here looking for you.”

For him? Noone had ever come looking for him before. He didn’t really know how to respond. Had one of the people he’d scared off told you about him? “How did you even know I was here?”

“Everyone says this place is haunted, you have quite the reputation.”

Although you not being scared off by him had certainly hurt his pride, that boosted his ego a little. “Do I?”

You gave him a little nod, your eyes still raking over him. “Can I ask you some questions?” you asked, and he couldn’t think of any other way forwards.

“Will that make you leave?”

The little human nodded eagerly and he supposed that sealed his fate for the afternoon. He’d prefer answering a few questions to having to deal with a dead body anyways.

You settled in pretty quickly, pulling out a notebook and clicking a pen as you sat cross legged on the floor.

He faded out of his physical form as you sat. It was more comfortable to set himself adrift anyways, and he could still talk that way. At least then you wouldn’t be able to stare at him endlessly anymore. You could still see glimmers of him, moments of movement out of the corner of your eye, but nothing substantial.

“When did you die?”

He reeled back. “When did I what?” Maybe you were mad, running around, accusing people of being dead. Perhaps that was why you weren’t scared by him.

“When did you die? Do you not remember that, is that insensitive to ask?”

You sounded absolutely genuine and he couldn't make any sense of what you were getting at. “Do you think I’m dead?”

“That’s what ghosts are, right? Dead people.”

Is that what humans thought of them? Of course he wasn’t dead, did he seem dead? He hoped not, although he wasn’t entirely sure why he cared what you thought.

“No, dead people are dead people, how could one be here?”

“Oh.” Now you looked upset. Why couldn’t he have gotten this reaction before, when he was trying to scare you?

“You seem very personally invested in me being dead,” he prompted, hoping to get more information out of you.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… someone close to me died and… and I’ve been convinced he was still out there somewhere, I’ve been looking for proof all year.” He could see your eyes welling up and some quiet sniffles coming from you. “It’s not your fault, I’m sorry.”

Oh. Well now he felt like an ass. “Hey, I don’t really know what happens to dead people. Maybe he’s still around.”

This did not appear to stop your sniffling. If you started crying he didn’t know what he was going to do, this was so far from what he was good at. He could scare people off, could protect his home and could keep the insufferable creatures away from him, he could not comfort people.

You tried to wipe your eyes before any tears got the chance to fall, although he wasn’t sure why. He could clearly see the state you were in, you weren’t going to hide anything that way.

Still, you tried to push past it, putting on a strained smile for him before pushing on. “So what are you then?”

What was he? Not dead, that much he was certain of, but beyond that he wasn’t sure he had answers for you. “I don’t know, for a long time I wasn’t and then one day I just… was. And I was here and I knew I had to scare people off.”

“What happens when you can’t scare them off?”

“Then they ask me a bunch of silly questions.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke but it spurred some giggling from you anyways. You couldn’t see it but his head cocked to the side, the noise curious to him. That was the noise the kids made when they went running through the halls of his house trying to spook one another or the teens made as they talked about sneaking about and doing things they weren’t supposed to.

Noone had ever made it for him before, he wasn’t certain if he should be pleased or upset.

“My questions aren’t silly!” You defended yourself with a smile, a genuine one this time.

Of course they were silly. “You asked if I was dead,” he reminded you, hoping that would spur your memory on the subject. Humans seemed to have some difficulty grasping rather simple ideas, he noted quietly, although he didn’t say it aloud for fear of upsetting you again.

“How was I supposed to know? Basically everyone thinks that the specters that haunt old houses are dead people.”

He didn’t want to keep pushing the issue, to tell you how silly the idea really was, even if it was held by all of your kind. You were clearly clinging to the idea that dead people were just lost and all you had to do was find them again and he didn’t know how to broach the issue without upsetting you so instead he just let out what he hoped was an ambiguous noise.

You filled the silence he left pretty quickly with more of your endless questions. “So you just stay here, all on your own? Who do you talk to?”

“You.”

“No, I mean who else?” you asked, clearly thinking he didn’t understand the question when it was you who wasn’t getting it.

“There is no one else.”

He watched a look of realization cross your face, your eyes widening and your hand whipping up over your mouth in surprise. “Am I the first person you’ve ever spoken to?”

Of course not, that was ridiculous. “Sometimes I speak when I scare people off and make them leave,” he clarified, something he thought you would have assumed.

“That doesn’t count.”

Well, if you were going to impose a bunch of silly, nonsensical little rules on him then of course he couldn’t meet your standards. “Then yes, you are.”

Your eyebrows were furrowed in concern and he could see your eyes shift, trying to locate his currently transparent form, latching onto the little shifts in the air whenever you could find them. “Don’t you get lonely?” you asked, doing your best to look up at him but ending up staring at his chest. Close enough.

Lonely? He understood a lot of things, they seemed almost implanted in him. Not that one though. He logically understood it, it meant a longing for companionship, but he didn’t really understand it. Alone was how things should be, how could one fear it.

“No,” he said, the spite clear in his tone, “I don’t get lonely.”

You didn’t look like you believed him. He wasn’t sure what more he could do to convince you. He supposed it didn’t really matter, you’d leave soon anyways and then he wouldn’t have to worry about what you did or didn’t believe about him.

Speaking of, he was eager to get rid of you. He’d heard enough of your questioning and he clearly did not have the answers you were looking for anyways. “Are we done here?” The spite in his voice seemed to carry over because the question came out sharper than he’d intended it to.

You nodded, looking even more upset at his frustration. “Yeah, I can go. Sorry to bother you.”

You stood up, clearly a little shaky on your feet and for a moment he worried he’d somehow caused it. You turned to look at him but just like before, there was nothing to see. Likewise, you couldn’t see him trail behind you, following you all the way to the door, watching you through the doorway as you entered the woods just outside.

You looked back at the house, clearly uncertain of if he was watching you leave or not, unaware of his transparent form hovering in the doorway. You gave a hesitant little wave and for reasons he didn’t really understand, despite the fact that you absolutely could not see him, he waved back.

After you left, he assumed you’d just be gone. You’d seemed dejected by your conversation, of course you had, he’d destroyed your hope and made you cry despite your initial chipper attitude. But a few days later, you returned, just as bright eyed as the first time.

He made himself tangible immediately, still half convinced you’d go running at his monstrous form, despite all the evidence he’d received on the contrary. “Why are you here?” he hissed out as you jerked back at his sudden appearance.

The jolt back gave him hope that maybe the prior incident had been a fluke but you quickly settled from the start he’d given you. “What do you mean why am I here?

“You’re back. Why?” He wasn’t sure he could make his question any clearer, hoping you’d understood it this time.

“I met a supernatural creature, that’s crazy, you think I’m just going to go home?”

“You were looking for dead people. I’m not dead people.” You really did need things spelled out for you it seemed.

You just shrugged. “Maybe you weren’t what I was looking for but you’re still incredible.”

Was he? He did think he was incredible but he supposed he didn’t have much of a frame of reference.

As he pondered the issue you settled back onto the floor, clearly here to stay for a while once more. Your backpack seemed lighter this time and you reached in and pulled out a bag of orange crackers as you made yourself comfortable.

“So you really don’t know what you are?” You spoke through a mouthful of your little crackers, studying him as you snacked from your spot on the floor.

Once more he found himself humoring you, providing answers to all of your endless questions, unsure what other options he had. “Not really. The universe doesn’t like emptiness, that’s my theory. We fill in the cracks, the places where no one else is. We’re built to be solitary creatures, that’s why we’re, you know, used to scaring people off. And why we’re not usually tangible, just the wind in abandoned spaces.”

“Does it hurt? Being tangible like this? You seem to flicker in and out a lot, if it’s uncomfortable you don’t have to do it.”

He shook his head, solidifying even more firmly for a moment so you could see him. “It just takes focus. I’m getting better at it after last time, normally I don’t do it for more than a second or two so I’m not really used to conversations.”

He was trying to stay tangible so you could see him this time. Whenever he stopped your eyes would drift, searching for signs of him to latch onto, and he wanted to make things a little easier on you.

Your face immediately broke out into a smile at his words. “Glad I could help you learn then!” Your pride at being helpful to him was obvious, sitting up a little straighter as a gleam entered your eyes. “So me and my questions aren’t a complete nuisance, good to know.”

He wasn’t sure he’d say that, you were a little bit of a nuisance, even if you did seem to be inexplicably growing on him. Not that he’d ever tell you that.

He didn’t need to worry about his little secret though because you’d already moved on to yet another question.

“So the ghost hunting gear I brought, it doesn’t do jack shit, does it?”

Considering he’d sensed literally nothing that first time he’d seen you, that was probably a no. “Absolutely not. Was that what that radio was?”

You nodded. “Yup. It’s supposed to help ghosts communicate, but I guess you don’t really seem to have a problem with the whole talking thing.”

“I can talk just fine on my own.” The insinuation was insulting, why wouldn’t he be able to talk? Humans really did just assume the worst of them.

“Well I know that now. Wait, do you have a name? Shit, I should have asked earlier, sorry, I got caught up in the whole talking to a ghost thing. I really should start writing down my questions, prioritizing.”

“No. Like I said, we’re solitary creatures, had no one to give me a name and I’ve got no one to call me one so really it would be useless.”

You didn’t seem to like that answer. “I should call you something.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like I should. Do you have any names that you like?”

He thought on it for a moment, trying to appease you, but nothing came to mind. “Not really.”

“I can help you come up with one then!” You fished your phone out of your pocket, something he recognized from the many visitors he’d promptly scared off. “God, the service out here is abysmal,” you said as you poked at the scream.

“Apparently it’s better if you hold it up.” Not that he knew from personal experience but that’s what he’d heard as he’d watched from the shadows as people held their phones to the sky and complained about the service.

You stuck your arms straight up from where you were sitting on the ground, your head craning to still see the screen. A small victory cry escaped you and he assumed he’d helped fix the problem. That shouldn’t make him as pleased as it did.

“I could just go through a list of names, how’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

The human names you kept proposing to him were absurd. None of them could capture him at all, not in any way. ‘Ghost’ was already pushing it but Charlie? Peter? Absolutely not, the thought was absurd.

At the hundredth rejection you scrunched up your nose, falling silent for a moment before vocalizing your decision. “Fuck this, it clearly isn’t working, I’m googling ghost names.”

He sneered at the idea. Humans had no idea about his kind, if they thought he was dead he could only imagine how awful their names might be.

His suspicion was proven correct as he heard a giggle escape you. “I could call you Casper.”

He could tell from your tone that it was a bad choice, even if he had no idea why. “Am I being mocked?”

“I’ll take that as a no. There’s things that are less names and more…categories, I guess, maybe that’s more your speed? Like, there’s wraiths…”

“No.”

“What about Salem?” you asked.

“No.”

“Why not? Can I get some direction here?” You were basically pleading with him and he refused to throw you a bone.

“It’s stupid,” he explained, as he’d done several times before.

“They can’t all be stupid.”

He would beg to differ. “Clearly they can.”

You spent a while going through countless lists, proposing idea after idea as he shot each one down until finally you threw your hands in the air. “I give up, nameless it is, you’ve beaten me. For now at least, I’ll keep thinking about it, I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little smug about outlasting you. “Eventually? How long do you plan on staying?”

“Well, probably a bit longer but I’ll be back.”

“Again?”

“Yeah! You’re not getting rid of me that easily buddy, we’re friends now.”

That couldn’t be. He didn’t have friends, he was meant to be alone, not to have some little human kicking around his home. “That’s not how things work,” he said, it coming out a little poutier than he’d intended.

“Too bad, we’re friends now, nameless ghost buddy.”

He couldn’t find it within himself to be mad as you gave him a self-satisfied grin from the floor. If you wanted the two of you to be friends, who was he to stop you. However, that was the only reason he didn’t protest, placating you, he was sure of it.

You hadn’t lied that day, you did keep coming back. A few days rarely passed without you poking your head in every now and again. The questions never ended but they did slow, the two of you entering into an odd sort of rhythm.

When you entered the abandoned house once more, settled on the floor, and pulled a snack out of your bag, he was already used to the routine.

As you began to eat, you studied him, as you often did. He tried to stay corporeal for you as often as possible, you liked when you could see him. He could tell your eyes were tracing over his sharp teeth when your eyes suddenly widened and he looked at you, worried something was wrong.

Before he could ask if you were already, you had already begun speaking. “Shit, I should have offered you some food. Wait, can you eat?”

Oh, was that all? He wondered if you knew how badly your reaction had spooked him. He shrugged at your question, trying to move on quickly. “Not really, don’t need to.”

“Okay, you don’t need to, but can you?”

“I guess so.” What odd questions you asked him, how did you even come up with these?

You fished a handful of the crackers out of your bag and looked down at his hand expectantly, waiting until he held it out for you. Your hand was much smaller and softer than his, his hand long and spindly in comparison. You dropped the crackers into his palm and then stared.

He wasn’t used to eating. It was messier than it should have been. His mouth was made for self defense, for attacking nosy little humans if he needed to, not for little crackers shaped like fish. And yet, as soon as the taste hit his tongue he understood why his little human was seemingly so obsessed with these things.

They were incredible. Who knew humans could make something like this.

You gleaned his enjoyment as he took the little bag out of your hand. His reaction pulled little giggles from you as he inspected the food, eating all that you’d let him eat.

The next time you returned, your backpack was stuffed full once more. He watched you curiously as you settled down on the floor and began pulling things from inside and setting them in front of you.

“I brought more food for you to try!” you said, grinning up at him.

He learned a lot of things.

There were more types of food than he could have ever imagined. He had no idea how people came up with all these things. A few were natural, fruits grown on trees, but most were invented by your crafty little species.

Spicy foods overwhelmed him. He flickered in and out of existence for far too long after eating them, the burn almost inescapable. You couldn’t stop laughing at the sight and at the drama he brought to the situation. When you finally managed to cull the fits of laughter you’d given yourself hiccups.

He watched the small sounds escape you, seemingly against your will, as he paused his taste test. “What’s wrong with you?”

You snorted, at what he wasn’t sure. “They’re just hiccups, nothings wrong with me. There’s a bunch of wives tales about how to make them stop. I usually try drinking water upside down but there’s no couches in here to hang off of. You know,” you said between hiccups, “It’s kind of ironic, the most common cure for hiccups is being scared. Anyone else and you could probably fix them.”

In the past, the reminder that he’d been unable to scare you would have soured his mood but those days had long since passed. Not being able to scare you off had led to too many good memories for him to continue to be bitter about it.

He tries to fade out and then suddenly pop out at you, at least hoping to startle the hiccups out of you but that just induced another bout of giggles. He didn’t mind it, from you that was the reaction he’d come to prefer.

Chocolate was his favorite thing he’d tasted by far, he couldn’t get enough of the stuff, eating up all the candy bars you’d brough with you faster than you seemed to think was possible. You promised you’d bring him more next time you came.

As the taste test concluded and all the food had long since been eaten, you just laid on the floor next to him, putting off leaving. This was what your visits had become lately, tests of how long you could stay and putting off heading home until you had no other option than to head out to wherever it was you went when you weren’t with him.

“When you leave, where do you go?” he asked. He knew so little about your life outside of this room, you always managed to shift the subject away or mention shockingly little. For someone so fond of questions, you didn’t seem particularly keen on answering them.

However, lately you were a little more open with him, sharing a bit more each time. “Just the hotel I’m staying at. I was only supposed to be here a few days, just wanted to check this place out, see if I could find any ghosts. I got more than I bargained for, I guess.”

“You don’t have a home?” That seemed sad, even he had a home and he didn’t have much.

“I do, I just don’t go back there often. I can’t bring myself to sell it, keep telling myself some part of him must still be there.”

The sadness in your voice told him all he needed to know. “This person you lost, who were they?”

“My fiance. We’d been together five years and we were going to get married this last spring. And then… and then we weren’t anymore. Funny, how fast a wedding can get called off after you spend so long planning it.”

“I’m sorry.” He had no clue what to say. It was in moments like these that he wished that he had a little more experience with conversations, something he could pull from to actually help you.

“It’s alright, I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it. Haven’t been doing a great job of it, actually, both of our families think I’m nuts with the whole ghost thing but hey,” you gestured at him vaguely. “Seems like I wasn’t that far off base after all.”

“Yeah, you had the right idea.” He didn’t really think you did, you had thought he was dead after all, but it seemed to make you feel better and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Every time you showed up from that day forward you brought him chocolate. It was the first thing you did, you both ate as much of it as you could, although admittedly he could eat significantly more than you. You kept telling him that the gesture wasn’t entirely altruistic, that you loved the way he lit up when he ate it and that’s why you kept bringing it for him. He couldn’t help but fawn over you when you came, time and time again, with a bag full of chocolate to just sit there with him in the abandoned house.

Even the faux complaining, the kind he had done just for show, had faded out. You both knew it was pointless, that he wanted you here just as much as you wanted to keep coming.

Chocolates weren’t the only things you’d started bringing. At first it was just a blanket. Something to sit on, you’d said. However, the number of items you’d brought kept growing and soon there was evidence of your visits covering the house, top to bottom.

In your absence, he found himself nestling into some of the blankets you’d left behind,

This time you brought more pillows, some to sit on in the little nest of blankets he’d built up in your absence.

As soon as you got yourself situated you beckoned him over. “Come on, we both should be comfortable, there’s room in here for you too. I know you sleep in here when I’m not around, you don’t need to leave it just because I’m here.”

He didn’t know how to tell you the truth, that his little obsession with all the stuff you’d brought wasn’t for comfort, it was because it reminded him of you.

He settled down next to you, careful to maintain your personal space. As he sat cautiously next to you, you added, “Oh, by the way, I sold my house.”

You said it so casually but he felt like everything had stopped. “What?”

“I just, ghosts aren’t real, at least not my kind, and it was about time for me to move on and stop believing in ghost stories, you know? It’s scary, I have to find a new home now.”

He knew what he wanted to say, he wanted to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wanted you here.

Instead, he learned forwards and kissed you. He wasn’t sure what came over him, just some overwhelming urge and by then he couldn’t stop himself, forcing himself to solidify fully and leaning forwards before he could think.

You tasted like the chocolate you’d both been eating. He didn’t think it was possible to like the taste even more but here you were, just as sweet as he knew you’d be. His kind little human who kept coming back, who was too sweet to leave, of course he had to kiss you, how could he not?

It was messy. He was bigger than you and inexperienced and his form wasn’t exactly built for gentleness, or for kissing, with his big teeth and long tongue getting in the way and making it messier than it probably should have been. He wished he was built like you were, made to be sweet and gentle but he wasn’t, he was made to be frightening. That didn’t stop you from kissing him back, your soft little hands coming up to rest on the sides of his face.

Maybe he was dead because surely this was heaven.

And then, as quickly as you’d embraced him, you pulled back, drawing in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I should leave.”

No. Anything but that. That last thing he wanted was to scare you off now. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassured him as you picked your bag up off the floor already rushing out. “I just… I just need to leave.”

And then he was alone again. He didn’t know how he’d managed this before, how he’d reveled in the quietness in this god forsaken house. With every hour that passed, he was more and more sure that you were never coming back, that he’d scared you off for good.

You’d asked him if he was lonely. Maybe he had been and he just hadn’t realized it. Maybe that’s what this absence you’d left was, he’d just never felt anything else before.

A full day later, when he’d already begun mourning you, his little human that he was sure he’d never hear from again, the door creaked. He was up in a second, praying it was you. If it was anyone else they were about to get the fright of their life, that was for sure.

But it wasn’t anybody else he came barrelling up to, it was his favorite little human. You came back and he was next to you instantly, apologizing in barely coherent strings of words while you struggled to calm him down. “Hey, you’re okay, I’m sorry I left, it isn’t your fault, I just kind of… panicked.”

Panicked? Had he made you panic? The idea filled him with dread, that was the last thing he ever wanted. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he managed.

You let out a little coo and he gathered that you thought what he’d said was sweet. “You didn’t scare me, I just needed time to think.”

You both seem uncertain how to proceed, a silence falling over the two of you. In the silence, he let his thoughts escape them. “I want you to stay here.”

“What?”

His instinct was to take it back, not to push and risk scaring you off again but couldn’t contain it anymore. “I want you to stay. You could live here with me and I could fix it up for you and that way you’re already here and you don’t have to travel all the way here all the time and you said you needed to find somewhere new to stay…”

“Hey, slow down,” you said with a laugh. “I’ve been looking at places near here so I could still visit so either way you’re not getting rid of me but are you sure you’d be okay with me staying here? If I stay, there’s going to be other people, it can’t just be me and you forever, I do want to have other friends.”

His heart dropped. “Oh. I might scare them off.”

“Please don’t.”

“Not on purpose,” he clarified.

“Oh. Well, if they’re scared of you just for existing then fuck them, as long as you play nice it’s fine.” Had he heard you right? You’d choose him over other humans, side with him in all this? You were still going on, already making plans. “We have to sort this place out, make it livable. And there will probably be people here to sort that all out..”

He nodded eagerly. Anything to keep you here with him. “But you’ll stay?”

You giggled and he felt like he was about to melt. “Yeah, I’ll stay. If I can, who even owns this place?”

“Some people come by sometimes talking about owning it and renovating it.”

“They do? Who?”

“I don’t know, we don’t normally chat.”

“Shit, okay, I just have to find them and buy it then! This place is a mess in the middle of nowhere, shouldn’t be too pricey, then we can fix it up together! God, getting electricity to this place is going to be a nightmare. And there’s no service, Jesus, how are we gonna figure that out…”

“Are you really going to stay?” The reality of the situation was washing over him, you were making plans to stay here, with him, permanently. He hadn’t scared you off, he was going to get to keep you.

His voice was soft and it pulled you right out of your little plans. “Yeah, of course I am.”

“I thought I ruined it, that you’d never come back.”

You got on the tips of your toes, reaching up towards his face and he leaned down to match you. The second he was in arms reach your hands rose to cup his face. “Listen to me, you did nothing wrong. I just needed some time to think, to sort through my emotions. The problem wasn’t that it was wrong, it was that it felt right and I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

It felt right? Did that mean… “So you liked it.”

You nodded and leaned forwards to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeah, I did.”

It took a beat to process it all, for him to make sure he’d absolutely understood what you’d said. The second he was sure, he lurched forwards and crashed your mouth into his once more, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, pulling him tighter towards you.

His kisses drifted away from your mouth, the sloppy desperate kisses moving down to your neck. He kept pulling back, to check if you were okay with this but you repeatedly pulled him back in, not wanting to lose this newfound closeness. His teeth ghosted over your skin and he pulled back once more, terrified of harming you, wanting to prove you weren’t in any danger, not with him. You didn’t seem to need the reassurance, your back arching up towards him.

As he dipped back down towards you he let his teeth brush against you again and a soft moan escaped your lips. That was interesting.

As he observed you, he could see you squeezing your thighs together, searching for any kind of stimulus and he just stared for a moment. He never thought someone’s thighs could be so hypnotizing but he could have stared at them all day, could have stared at any part of you all day. His inaction caused a whine to escape you, pleading for more of him.

He didn’t take much convincing, immediately pulling your pants down. You did your best to help kick them off, doing so as quickly as you could.

He could tell just from looking at your cunt that you were soaking wet for him. You seemed hesitant to be looked at there but all he could feel was awe, he couldn’t understand your apprehension, this was the best sight he’d ever seen.

His tongue lapped experimentally through your folds and your thrusted your hips up into his face. Chocolate was nothing compared to this, you were heaven. He wanted to taste you every day for the rest of his life, he felt like he could get drunk off of this.

His tongue snaked deeper, wanting more. Your pleasure was almost an unintended side effect at first, he just wanted more of you. But as your little whines escaped you, he grew more and more intent on inspiring more of them.

His tongue dove repeatedly into your cunt, desperate to taste more of you, pushing it as deep as it could get. He wanted to taste every inch of you. His gaping maw covered a significant portion of you, his teeth occasionally pushing into your lower stomach as he devoured you, pushing further and further, wanting to be as far inside of you as was possible.

He could feel you clench around him and he humped into the ground, desperate for the friction but refusing to leave you, his mouth glued to your cunt.

Eventually, you were the one to pull him away, although he couldn’t understand why. It had seemed like you were getting close.

“Want more,” you said, pulling him up towards you.

He obliged you almost reluctantly, not wanting to leave the taste of your cunt behind just yet. But there would be more time for that later, right now you needed him.

The size difference worried him a little, his fear of hurting you crossing his mind once more. You did not seem as concerned, pulling him towards you and gawking at his cock which you could finally see, now that he was no longer humping the ground.

“Holy shit.” You seemed taken aback by the size of him.

“Listen, if you don’t want to or think you can’t manage it, that's totally fine, we can…”

You looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “There is nothing I want more, I promise I can handle it just… please, I need you.”

He pushed inside you as gently as he could but still, the second his cock entered you, you let out a hiss. He stilled, letting you adjust, wanting to make sure he wasn’t pushing you too far. Eventually you settled and he pushed in further, managing little by little until he was fully seated inside you. You were clinging to him desperately like he was your lifeline.

The second he was inside you he felt like he might come. You were perfect, hugging tight around him. You pressed kisses into his chest as he did, and occasionally, when things got overwhelming, you bit him. You couldn’t hurt him, your small mouth filled with blunt teeth was no threat to the monster, but he loved how possessive it felt. He hoped it would leave a mark on him, that it would be proof he was yours.

He tried a small experimental thrust inside, a cry immediately leaving you as he did. It felt like you were strangling him and he knew you were already close, his hand snaking down to play with your clit as he thrusted inside, harder this time.

It didn’t take long for you to come, already brought to the edge by his tongue, but your orgasm didn’t stop his steadily increasing pace, chasing his own orgasm. You were clenching desperately around him, trying to milk him for all he was worth but he kept pushing.

“Too much,” you whined, grabbing at him.

He pulled you into his chest, one arm coming up to stroke your hair as he rutted into you. “You can take it, I know you can. You feel so good.”

You bit his shoulder hard as his thrusts increased in power, nearing his orgasm. That bite was what pushed him over the edge, pumping into you.

You winced as he pulled out. He imagined the sudden emptiness caused it the same way the lack of you around him made him let out a quiet hiss.

He watched his cum drip out of you and poked at it, pushing some back into you, earning an oversensitive whine from you that probably would have been more effective if it weren’t so cute.

He licked a long stripe up your cunt, tasting both of you together and he was ready to eat you out once more before you pulled him up.

Now it was his turn to whine but you quickly shushed him with a smile. “You gotta give me a little time first, okay? I’m exhausted.”

He understood immediately, pulling you into his side protectively as you relaxed. You curled up next to him in the makeshift nest he’d made in your absence and added, “The first thing we are getting for this place is a bed, okay?”

He nodded along. He would’ve agreed to anything you’d said right about now. Besides, he’d never slept in a bed before, it sounded exciting.

A sharp, toothy grin that he couldn’t suppress covered his face, imagingng it all. It was so different from everything he’d ever experienced but he didn’t mind it.

He’d had his fill of being alone.

#terato #teratophillia #terato writing #monster boyfriend #monster bf #monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #monster pov #me: makes a bunch of lore for this monster species #also me: makes it so the monster has no clue what he is so the story can't contain any of it lol

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jlwritesstories · 2 days

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Dieter's Perspective (Part 2 - The eyes are the windows to the soul bonus chapters)

Masterlist

First < > Next

Covering the events before and during The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul from the doppelganger Dieter's perspective.

This story is really getting long 😅 I'm currently on holiday, so part 3 may take a week or two.

Tag list for The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul:

@waywardstardustcollector @liv-007

His name is Cameron, the ungrateful BASTARD!

He doesn't appreciate the gift he's been blessed with.

It’s been a year and seven months. Exactly one year, seven months, 2 days, and 13 hours of TORTURE.

At first, I could tolerate it.

They were happy.

The only pain was mine, but their smile was my solace. Our midmorning walks in the park my paradise. Their stories were filled with tales of bliss and just when I thought I could bear it no longer and turn to leave they would look for me, their honeyed gold whispers would draw me back.

They wanted me. They still cared. Willing to keep seeing me, despite the extra cleansing routine they would have to go through when they returned to their precious Cameron.

How could I not love such resilience … such independence.

Their strength, their joy, it inspired me to stay.

I wanted so badly to reveal myself. At one point I almost allowed them to catch me in a cage, the veterinarian would be able to confirm that my scales fur would not trigger Cameron’s allergy and then they could take me home with them. I snapped to my senses just in time and ran. I can not afford to take unnecessary risks.

Every day I would hunt and feed and wait for them. Indulging in their presence and basking in their warmth.

Our routine continued.

Until one day, after a year of existing in limbo, the routine changed.

Slowly. Their stories took a strange turn, becoming dull and lifeless. Day by day, week by week, their visits to the park became less frequent. They would apologise for being late and, more worryingly, they found it harder to smile. Until eventually … they just … stopped coming to visit me.

Why? WHY? Wasn’t I good enough? You can't abandon me now!

I tried to find another way into their life. A hairless cat, a stray dog, a friendly fox, all proved too difficult a cover; their boyfriend doesn’t like any animals it seems.

Since I wasn’t welcome in their home, I could only linger in the vicinity. But I could only learn so much from glances through closed windows and snatches of conversation overheard while walking between the car and the front door.

Cameron’s voice grated on my ears, full of pressure and venom. Their voice was soft and leaked melancholic apologies.

It seemed that their romantic bliss had soured.

That should have made me happy. The prospect of his imminent departure from my love’s life should have filled me with the thrill of triumph and relief.

It didn’t.

Instead, I felt … hot … and angry. Like there was a burning coal in my chest, searing my flesh and incinerating all I ate to ash, so that the hunger didn’t abate no matter how I tried to satisfy it. No matter how many times I shifted or looked within, I couldn’t find the source of the pain.

And no matter how long I waited, Cameron did not leave. They did not send him away.

But I couldn’t leave now. I had to know why. Why won’t he go? Why won’t they look at me?

A more in-depth investigation was required. So, I went back to older, previously tested methods of approach.

A child in need.

A stranger on the bus.

A new cashier at their local store.

My efforts paid off.

Following them provided some answers.

Following Cameron … provided a few more.

I learned what was wrong.

I learned why they changed.

Cameron.

He’s responsible.

He has spoiled them. Their spark has diminished. Their light has been strangled by venomous words and barbed lies. The strength has been leeched from their voice. Skin marred by the blue and yellowing remnants of bruises peeking out from beneath a collar or hidden by poorly applied concealer. He hurt them. How dare he hurt them!

And yet, they still smile at him. They still want him. They are too perfect, too trusting, too wonderful. So kind. So forgiving. He does not deserve them.

They should be mine. MINE! My love. My ________!

Wait. Natürlich! (Of course) How could I not have thought of it before!

They’re so divine, so distracting. I was so caught up in the euphoria of watching them, of talking to them, that I’d forgotten … I CAN have them.

I can be anyone I want.

…

But they don’t want just anyone. They want Cameron. That DRECKSAU! (shithead)

He doesn’t deserve them.

If they were mine, I would never hurt them like he has. How dare he ensnare them with lies when he doesn’t want them.

But it’s alright. I want them.

I can take his place. I will build them back up. I can give them everything he refuses to.

I deserve their smile.

I deserve their love.

I want them.

I WANT them.

The pain in my chest hasn’t gone yet, but I know what it is now. A hunger for more than sustenance. For more than just blood and marrow. I hunger for his pain … for his life. I will feed it. For my love, I will feed.

It’s disgusting how easy it is to turn his head - to lure him astray like he doesn’t have a divine gift waiting for him at home.

I twist and reshape my form until I wear the face of a serial killer I devoured years ago. Pretty but not to the point of scorn. Fit and shapely but not to the point of being threatening. An overall handsome beauty with a soothing voice.

His routine is so banal … so easy to intercept.

An “accidental” run in here, a “coincidental” meeting there, and soon we’re drinking at a bar and exchanging numbers.

This masquerade is only skin deep, but he doesn’t seem to care. Cameron is easily lured in by my witty banter and act of vulnerability. He must be blind, to think this form more pleasing than theirs, and to not see beyond the act to my barely disguised disgust at his touch. Never mind. His ignorance and stupidity only make this easier for me.

A little flirting leads to an invitation back to “my place” and he walks willingly into my trap.

The air conditioning doesn’t work in the second-hand car I’d rented for the night, with cash. The smell of the plastic seat covers conflicts with the scents of vodka, cranberries, and the sushi tasters served at the bar. I fold a layer of skin over my nostrils, blocking them from the inside.

Cameron seems unaware of the smell, too focused on enacting whatever tale he’s telling and trying to get a grip on my thigh. I want to rip his hand off.

I refrain from doing so, for now; keeping my eyes on the road and hands on the wheel.

There’s a warehouse in a nearby industrial estate that’s been abandoned for five years. A series of murders tanked the value of the property and it’s sat unsold and forgotten at the back of the last cul de sac of the estate. The grimy ‘To Let’ sign outside it has rusted and fallen behind a hedge. Not to mention the rusting infrastructure and “strange occurrences” have been enough to keep curious kids and urban explorers out away.

It's the perfect place to keep Cameron until I’m done with him.

I pull up just shy of the pavement. Killing the engine with a deliberately sharp turn of the key.

The alcohol in Cameron’s system slows his thoughts and slurs his speech. “Where are we?”

Curse him. Too inebriated to feel fear. Never mind, he’ll sober up soon enough.

“What are you doing?”

I turn to face him, a threatening smile stretching my skin, fangs on display. I’m going to make sure those are the lasts words he’ll ever speak.

The alcohol in his system leaves the chloroform with little to do. His blunt nails and useless bucking do nothing to dissuade me from covering his mouth and nose with the rag and obstructing his airways. His cries are muffled beneath my claws, growing weaker by the second. Until, with a final shuddering jerk, he slumps in his seat, motionless.

The cab feels too small … or maybe I’m too big. I must have subconsciously uncompressed.

I take a moment to breathe deeply.

Shift. Curl in. Pull sinews in tights and layer bones together.

Once my form settles, I open the door. The night breeze is refreshing, the cold licks helping to sharpen my mind and keep me focused on the task ahead.

Cameron isn’t heavy to me. If it were up to me, I would drag him face-down along the ground, but I need him more-or-less intact … for now.

A new steel chair, handcuffs, a pack of zip ties, and rope sit waiting in the centre of a small closet-like room near the back of the warehouse.

I tie him to the chair, following a familiar routine. Handcuffs on wrists and ankles, followed by zip ties at three points on all the limbs, then the rope around the chest. Make it tight, but not too tight. I don't care if he loses his limbs, but it would make things more difficult for me if he develops gangrene or dies from sepsis. Last but not least, a plastic thermal wrap is tied around him.

It's more comfort than he deserves.

His breathing is steady. Pulse a little erratic but that's to be expected.

I shift. Shedding this form and stretching out. A tingling ripples out along my limbs, it starts to itch before finally calming. It happens every time I take my real form again, as the unconstricted veins fill with new blood flow. I shake and stamp my feet and flex my hands.

I could do without any distractions while I feed.

The room feels small and I have to nudge the chair forward into order to get behind Cameron comfortably.

I tilt his head forward, resting his forehead in one hand and bracing myself against the ground with the other.

His head is small in my palm. It would be so easy to just clench my fist and feel the warmth seep between my claws. Not yet.

I lean down and close my mouth around the back of his neck; fangs brushing just below the juncture of the skull. Right above a crucial bundle of nerves situated in the spine.

He stinks, if I wasn't able to close my olfactory senses I would have washed him first.

I hope he tastes better than he smells.

I extend my inner fangs. The thinnest needle-like teeth stretch out from the roof of my mouth.

I bite.

His memories flood my senses.

I feed.

This is it. I can’t believe this is finally happening. I take a moment to drink it in, head bowed beneath the porch like a man paying homage at an altar. Mentally preparing for my first true look inside their nest home.

I try to put the key in the lock upside down at first. The memories I took today still need time to settle, to digest. I manage it eventually, ears twitching at the click of the lock.

Finally.

The door swings open and I freeze.

They're here. Waiting. Stood at the bottom of a flight of stairs, leaning against the railing in an enticing open position.

They are looking at me. And they are smiling. It is a small smile but they're smiling at me nonetheless.

They're looking at me. They're looking at me. They're looking at me.

I want to get closer to them.

So i do.

They're so small. So perfect. So soft beneath my claws hands. I can feel the pulse of their heart. Smell them, their gentle scent clouds my senses. Intoxicating.

I finally have them in my hands.

They don't feel the same.

They seem worried. Did I do something wrong? Do I look wrong? I turn my mind inwards. Checking over every detail of this form. I'm sure I copied him perfectly, what is wrong. What is wrong. What is wrong! WHAT IS WRONG!

"I've missed you."

They spoke. Oh, they sound so pretty, so gentle, so cute, and pretty, and mine now.

I take a second to turn their words over in my mind.

They missed me? They missed me! No, they missed Cameron. But I am Cameron now. So that means they missed him me. They missed me!

I need them. I want...

I settle for a kiss on the forehead. Almost falling into the softness of them.

"To hear you say that, makes me so," I place a kiss to their cheek, "so," a kiss to the other cheek, "happy," finally, a kiss to the tip of their nose.

The warmth of them. The soft little sound that escapes them. I love it all. I want more. MORE! Patience!

The hallway is cool; the temperature is less than the optimum for humans. I can't let them catch a chill.

I turn and place a hand on the small of their back. "Shall we."

They flinch, a subtle jolt of their muscles too small for a normal human to notice, then move with me. They follow my prompt without complaint or even the subtle shift of restraint in their body. So lovely and obedient.

Too obedient.

Too eager to please. The subtle pulse of fear flows under their skin.

This is not right.

I've seen their shine.

Heard their voice when it was strong, not restrained by fear.

Felt the bite of their anger, been touched by their strength of conviction, and heard the wonderful soothing melody of their heart.

What are they scared off? This form is perfect, so what is it?

I move. They flinch.

They fear ... these hands ... this face?

I remember now. How could I become so distracted that I would forget?

The memories needed time to settle. But now I see them. Raised voices. Whispered venomous lies. A hand raised to strike my love ... my hand! How could I? How ... NO! It's his hand, not mine. I didn't do that ... it wasn't me!

It was Cameron.

The second I have everything, I'll kill him.

HOW DARE HE MAKE THIS HARDER FOR ME AND HE’S NOT EVEN HERE! I should tear that bastard apart...but not yet.

I need to take this slow.

They're finally mine. I have all the time in the world now.

They're so soft. They smell so good. They're so delicate. I can feel the curve of their spine, their pulse, how soft their skin is, the subtle shifting at my touch... It's so hard to hold myself in. I want to devour each new sensation, a banquet of senses that never ends.

I want to hold them. Want to curl around them and never let them go. Want to build them up. Want to see their shine. Want to devour it...STOP! Slow down! Be patient.

I have to take this slow. Fix the trust that he broke before I can indulge in their love.

Do not scare them. Do not raise your hands too quickly. Do not move too fast. Do not ruin this like you've ruined so many before. Be a human. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal. BE NORMAL. BE NORMAL.

I snap back into focus as a cold wet feeling seeps into my thigh.

Oh, look at them. So clumsy. How cute.

Oh no. They look tense. Please don't look at me like that.

I’ll clean it.

"My clumsy cutie." I make my voice as light as possible. Keep my movements steady. Throw the can in the bin, absorb the worst of the stain with a cloth, and bring my love a fresh glass of water.

That's better. They don't look as scared now.

A little stain is nothing to me. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters except making this work.

I have to make this work.

The radio crackles a little as the station changes. Oh? Perfect. This is their favourite song. I love how warm they are. They fit so perfectly in my arms.

I must make this work.

Oh, do you want something? Their touch is so light on my arm, so fleeting.

I smile at them. Keep it soft, don't show too much of my teeth. There we go, perfect. Smiles are reassuring for humans. Smiles are safe.

"Uh, Cameron. Is everything okay?"

They're playing with the edge of their top as they speak. I wish they weren't so nervous but it's alright, everything will be alright.

"Of course, luv." Their hair is getting in their eyes. Let me fix that. I soften my smile as I slowly raise my hand, pulling more motion into squinting my eyes than bearing my teeth. So warm. So soft.

Something twists their features but then they relax. Good, they seem satisfied with that answer.

What was that expression? It can't be ... it must be the fear. He broke their trust ... but I won't.

I will make this work.

They look so nice when they're asleep. All the wariness is gone and their face is relaxed. They feel so warm. I don't push but, from what I can feel, their mind is tranquil. Good. They deserve to relax after what he did to them.

They are mine now.

I place a chaste kiss on their head.

They feel so fragile, and yet, I can't help but tighten my grip on their form.

You are mine now.

Mine to love.

Mine to protect.

Mine to keep.

I have to make this work.

I have to ...

I can't ... I can't bear another failure. I don't think I can bear any more pain. Please.

Their scent surrounds me.

Please, love me.

The comforting weight of them in my arms.

Love me.

The thrum of their pulse beneath my claws.

Love Me.

I want them.

LOVE ME!

I want everything.

PLEASE.

First < > Next

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blackwood4stucky · 5 months

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i scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream | aspen blackwood

steve rogers x james "bucky" barnes | mcu

masterpost | mini playlist

🆃 | word count: 1,110 | complete

tags: quiet horror, omegaverse, bucky-centric

The members of the Rogers family were unpacking their boxes, two rented U-Hauls sitting in front of their new house, when Bucky first heard it, the ice cream song playing from the truck down the street. It was a familiar little jingle, one he had heard for many years where he used to live. Such a tune usually brought joy, everyone loves ice cream.

It was late October by the time the Rogers relocated to a new community in East End, New Hampshire. Their neighbors were getting into the spirit of Halloween what with all the decorations strewn about the block. Fake webs and spiders covered many front lawns while homemade ghosts and ghouls blew in the cool autumn winds. It seemed that everyone in the community was participating from the sheer amount of laughter that could be heard all around them. Bucky decided then that they all would have to participate as well, how could they not? It was his favorite time of the year, family tradition dictated that they celebrate and he would not forsake that ritual. If only they could get everything done in a timely fashion. Looking at his little family though, he could see that his alpha and their daughter were worn out. Even their cat, Alpine, was lying about in the grass. Perhaps it was a good time to pause and take a break now that the ice cream truck was there. He had just begun digging his hands around in his pocket for change when little Sarah tugged on his pant leg.

“Mommy, why is everyone leaving?” His daughter’s voice sounded so small even though he knew Sarah’s curiosity was so big, the little girl could get into so much mischief if left to her own devices.

Glancing up, Bucky saw that Sarah was right though. Their new neighbors had all but dropped their various decorations to scramble for the doors. Even the pets knew the drill. With his heightened hearing, he could hear the telltale sound of locking mechanisms and whispers coming from inside of the houses on the block. Perturbed, but not one to stick around for danger, Bucky followed suit and beckoned for his husband, Steve, and little Sarah to do the same. Taking whatever they held in their hands, the Rogers family hastily went inside and closed their doors, making sure the deadbolt was securely in place. The song from the ice cream truck grew louder and louder, the pitch taking on a strange note at the end, one that caused a chill to run down Bucky’s spine. It wasn’t until a pained yelp rang out a moment later that they all realized Alpine was still outside.

Ever since that day, life went on as normal for rest of the members of the East End community. Bucky, on the other hand, developed trust issues. Not a single one of their new neighbors batted an eye when he and Steve asked what was up with the ice cream truck, when they questioned their new neighbors on the whereabouts of their beloved pet. All anyone ever had to say on the matter was when the ice cream song plays, you best get inside, don’t come out until it’s over, even then don’t come out until the day is over. If you’re caught outside when the song plays, you best pray for it to be over soon. For if you see the heads, if you see the eyes, it’s over. It’s over, it’s over for you.

Bucky had begun to question their decision to move to East End then. All the research he put into finding this community didn’t seem to be yielding the results it should have. All the reviews he read boasted of its exclusivity and safety for all sorts of people. All the interviews he and Steve had gone through were a testament to how serious East End appeared to take its application process. It all was supposed to result in a sanctuary. He knew his little family was different. Heightened senses, enhanced agility, and a less than stellar diet certainly didn’t make it easy for them to settle down. This was supposed to be their big break. He didn’t know how wrong he was.

A few weeks later, Bucky, Steve, and Sarah were enjoying the cool play day in breeze on their front lawn, when they heard it, the ice cream song playing from the truck down the street. Bucky and Steve were wary but gathered what was immediately around them to head inside.

“Excuse me.” A little voice called out from behind Bucky. “I missed you last time. May I have some ice cream, please?”

Turning around, Bucky saw their daughter standing in front of the ice cream truck with her little hand outstretched. His eyes widened when he got a good look at the truck. It was all white with a strange black symbol painted on the side facing their home, a sea creature with multiple bulbous heads and tentacles. To his utter horror, a familiar pale red light had begun to shine through the window on the driver’s side. It was one that bought horrific memories from his past, flashes of torture and pain.

“Sarah, get away from that truck!” Bucky’s body moved like a flash before he could even issue it a command, fear gripping his heart as he snatched the child up from the edge of the sidewalk. It was only when something cold and tight gripped at his leg as it latched onto his skin, that he realized his grave mistake. “Take her and get inside, lock the doors!”

“No! Not without you!” Steve had materialized at his side to take Sarah into his arms but he refused to leave. “I won’t leave you, not again.”

“You have to!” He groaned in pain and looked down at his leg, it was wrapped in some sort of chain with barbs that dug into his flesh holding him in place. There was no way he would let them get ahold of his entire family, there was no way in hell he would give Hydra a real win. Bucky’s fear was to be ripped from his daughter, from Steve, his husband and mate. It was his greatest fear to be returned back into the clutches of those that created monsters like him and Steve. All the while, that ice cream truck played its haunting song. It tormented him as he prayed for a swift end that he knew would never come. The first time the Rogers family heard the ice cream song, they lost their pet. The second time they heard it, the Rogers family lost Bucky.

#marvel fanfiction #flash fiction #quiet horror #stucky #alpha steve rogers #omega bucky barnes #bucky centric #monster pov #and i must scream #stranger danger #aspen's fics #kid fic #loosely written #vignette #may or may not make this a full fic

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mushabumi · 1 year

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"The Crash"

It had been two days since she crashed onto my planet, and I knew that my life would never be the same.

I found her under the wing of her ship hiding from the rain. She seemed dry, but water leaked from her eyes. She held a tattered paper to her chest with two other humans etched into the surface. They were older, flashing their teeth and looking into each other’s eyes.

She was shaking but held my gaze with a primal rage readying for battle. Despite their size, this ferocity coded into their biology matched his own and in that moment I knew we were the same. Separated by an endless void kissed by stars, we knew how it felt to be untethered. Drifting with no one to pulls us from the unyielding abyss but our own strength. In that moment suspended in time I saw her. Knew her. A single blazing gaze from her set me aflame and I knew I loved her. I knew, I knew.

I do.

#my writing #writeblr #monster boyfriend #monster fluff #alien #alien pov #monster pov #terato #monster romance #monster x human #exophilia

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monstersandmaw · 1 year

Note

Pardon me, but do you have any stories where the reader is the monster? If not I may have to keep an eye open for next time your comms are open

One or two, yes, but not many. Off the top of my head, there's:

Female gnoll x female knight (POV gnoll) (nsfw)

Swamp king short story (sfw)

Male demon x male character drabble (nsfw)

Can't think of anything else but check my various masterlists????

#monster pov #anon ask

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thezerada · 2 years

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Oh to be a näkki living in my home lake and see a pretty human to fall in love with and obsess over. 🥺

Näkki:

(Finnish mythology) evil female water spirit; nixie

#Stuff I say #Terato #Exophilia #Monsterfucker #Näkki #Water spirit #Monster POV #monster x human

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witchtaunter · 3 months

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POV: a snake girl senses your body heat

#witchtaunter #snake #snake girl #girl lamia #naga #cute #pov #close-up #monster girl #snek #kaya #kaya the snake #scalie #furry

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monsterloverwriting · 1 year

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Drink them in, the scent of their fear, their adrenalin, their confused arousal as you stalk behind them, hunting your prey. The game one of the more satisfying ones you've played in quite sometime this little human was smart, tried to hide, definitely played along.

For now you'll let them think they're winning. But you know, you're behind them always simply in the shadows hidden from view as you drink in every little aspect about them.

#monster fucker #monster lover #writing #mdni #concept idea #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster pov #stalker character

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dilatorywriting · 3 days

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 1.5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: There is a little, annoying human trapped in this bay with him. And he's going to eat them. (Vil's POV)

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

There was a little, raggedy human staring up at him from the sand, and Vil had never felt so miserably persecuted in all his years.

The thing had been bound to him in a mess of ropes and frantic, bipedal flailing, and he’d honestly thought that it had drowned. Hoped that it had drowned. But no, apparently he couldn’t be quite so lucky. None of his pod’s raids had ever gone so terribly, and normally he was better able to keep his head about him. But it had been Epel’s first attempt at sneaking on board one of the grand, creaking, human vessels, and maybe he’d been a touch concerned about it. Like a fretting parent sending their guppy off to the deep for their first solo-swim. And perhaps he’d struck a bit too quick and sharp when he saw things headed South. Not taking the normal care he would to assess for traps, or weapons, or stupid humans and their equally stupid, fraying ropes.

But none of that mattered. It was hardly a crime to want to protect your family. It had happened, that was the end of it. There was no changing things. And now he was here. In this cove. With that thing.

You pedaled backward in the sand like those two legs of yours hardly worked at all, and even though it looked like you were retreating (rightfully so, at least you were smart enough to realize this was a lost battle), Vil still bared his teeth in a challenge. Because he was angry, and sore, and at the moment you were the cause of every, single one of his problems in the world. He tossed his tail in the surf, splattering stinging bits of ice water into your face.

“Stop! Stop!” you squawked, wheeling away like he was dousing you in acid rain rather than a bit of pissy water warfare. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

“Of course you weren’t,” he spat. “From the looks of you, you don’t plan much of anything at all.”

You didn’t respond to his scathing insult, only kept scooting yourself back against the sand on legs that still apparently refused to work. Or maybe you’d simply forgotten about them. You seemed like you could be the type.

He ground his talons into the damp sand at his hips and felt the ridges of the fins along his spine prickling tight and painful, trying to puff out in a predatory display that they simply couldn’t because he was still bound in the godforsaken rope.

“I don’t know what your little plan was,” he hissed, “but you’ve done both of us a disservice. And while I’m sure you’re used to disappointment, I am not going to tolerate this.”

More silence. You looked—not confused, per se. But definitely not particularly keen on following his very justified rant against your person. Your gaze kept darting from his vicious glare, to his claws digging up the shoreline, and then to his lips. He could see your own mouth moving a bit alongside his, like you were trying to echo the shape of the insults flying off his tongue.

“Listen here, you fleshy rat,” he snapped, jabbing a black talon in your direction. “You’re going to tell me the course that your ridiculous ship had set so that I can return to my pod at once. Do you understand? And if you’re lucky, I won’t crawl my way up there to bite off your fingers one by one. How’s that sound?”

You blinked back at him with no comprehension, like his marvelous depiction of having your bones gnawed on for snacks just wasn’t a vivid enough picture.

The rage in his chest bubbled bright and hot, and the age-old magics in his veins zipped through his blood like a stroke of lightening.

Insolent brat.

Fine. He’d make you listen then.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, and oh, you were a nuisance. He was going to rip your nerves out from the depths of your useless, human limbs. Feast on your bones until the marrow had been picked clean and leave the scraps for the gulls—

He parted his lips and sang loud and sharp—letting that familiar lull roll off his tongue like the sweetest poison. His Call had always been the strongest in his pod, after all. That’s why it was his job to keep them safe, to ensure that no one was lost in a hunt that was meant to be so simple just because they couldn’t keep their purple-headed curiosity under wraps long enough to not to be caught—

Vil turned his sneer back your way, fully prepared to see you kowtowed before him with your nose buried in the sand. And—

You were just sitting there. Butt in the muck and just as wide-eyed and brainless as before. Staring back at him with a startled sort of expression on your face and nothing else. Normally there was a sort of tether between him and his victims. A call, an answer. Simple principles. And while he could never see the tangible net of his influence tightening around their brains, he could always sense it. Or at least something like it. But this time, there was just… nothing.

Vil snarled, swallowing around the spiky pinch of something in his gut that he refused to call panic, and canted his head back to sing louder.

The shallow dregs of the cove rippled at his hips with the force of it, and he could feel the swell of his influence curling out further and further. Digging its claws into anything and everything it could reach. He could feel one tether spooling out and grabbing after the other, feel the familiar pull of subservience from the very sea itself. And—

“I can’t hear you!”

Oh, you mocking piece of—

He widened his mouth until his jaw was creaking and his tongue was going numb from the sharp bursts of arcana snapping from throat.

“It’s not a challenge!” you wailed, hands cupped over your mouth to try and shout over his howling song. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

His mouth fell closed all at once, the Call cutting off so abruptly that the returning wave of snapping magics almost made his head spin. The power of it hung along his nerves like the zipping prickle of electric eels, and the water at his hips churned and bubbled.

“There,” you huffed, like someone who’d just been horribly inconvenienced by a gust of wind ruining their hair, rather than a human bearing the full weight of a siren’s fury. Brushing off some of the most powerful magics in the ocean like it was nothing worse than a bit of sand in your trousers. It was… unnerving. And it had something uneasy curdling in Vil’s stomach.

He dug his claws into the sand, fins flaring along his sides in a defensive display before he could help himself. Your eyes tracked the way the muck gave way beneath his talons and he watched your throat bob. Good. You should be afraid of him. Because he refused to be afraid of a human like you. No matter how the hair at his nape prickled or the fins at his ears pinned against the sides of his head.

“Well…” you said after a long moment, awkward and stiff. “I should get going, I suppose.”

And then you were stumbling your way to your feet to venture deeper into the crags of the small island. Vil smacked his tail against the surf, loud and sharp. A plaintive ‘good, begone,’ if ever there was one. But you didn’t even flinch, let alone turn around to witness his grand ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure why he was expecting you to.

He watched you crawl your way up a mess of boulders and old shells, eyes narrowed and that same, unpleasant prickle running through his nerves. Once you were well and truly out of sight, he returned to his fins and started doing all he could to assess the damage. The sooner he could deal with this setback and set out into the depths of the ocean, the sooner he could return to his pod. And the sooner he’d be away from you, and all your strange, human ways.

You returned maybe an hour later, only a few minutes after he’d given up on trying to pick the horrid mess of twine from the wounds along his tail. His claws weren’t made for such delicate work, and the poisoned tips of them weren’t doing his shredded fins any favors.

He turned on you with a snarl that would have sent any other sentient creature scurrying for cover, fins pinned and canines on full display. But apparently you had less self-preservation than even the brainless, teeny, rock crabs burrowing hurriedly into the sand.

“Hello,” you said. Like that was any way appropriate.

“Get lost,” he snarled.

You nodded back, simple and sage, and then pointed to the mess of your ropes twined along his fins.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

Vil sneered and surged forward to scrape his claws through the muck again, hoping his demonstration of what he would do to your face if you stepped near him was clear enough to get through your head.

“Touch me and you’ll be lucky if all I do is eat you.”

You blinked back, and he watched the way your eyes jumped across his expression. Trailed to his mouth, his brow, his teeth. Reading whatever you could see there. And then you shrugged again, unbothered by his spitting threats as before.

“Alright. Your loss, I suppose.”

There was a keenness to your gaze though, a sharp, pointed consideration that had his hackles rising all over again.

“If you think that you can be rid of me that easily, you’re solely mistaken,” he spat, smacking his fins into the shallows until the water was churning wild and angry. “This is all your fault, and whatever ridiculous plot you’re considering, I’ll gladly return it tenfold.”

Your face pinched like you had any right to be annoyed by this at all, and then promptly turned away from him like you’d lost all interest in his theatrics. You meandered around the shore, scooping up the battered remains of some of the fish that had stranded themselves during his failed Call. Then you sat yourself well away from the water’s edge and pulled a knife from your boot, running it along the fish’s scales and clearing out the muck.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly, making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so. Like that little blade of yours was supposed to be any sort of a threat. Perhaps he could use it to pick the leftover bits of you out of his teeth.

Vil turned up his nose and returned to carefully grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

“You’re an obnoxious brat,” he growled, wincing as his claws caught over a frayed patch of scales and began to bleed all over again. “And I’m going to drown you.”

Naturally, you did not respond.

The rope burned, and he knew he wasn’t helping himself. The twine of it was frayed, poor quality. And combined with the tacky, salt-sticky damp of the waves, it made the worst sort of web. Vil threw himself around in the shallows like a pup stuck in their first net. And he knew—knew—this wasn’t going to make things better. But the more he worked to free himself and the less progress he made, the angrier he got (Not afraid, angry. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t).

A tight bit of fibers snagged along the delicate mesh of the fins at his hips and gave a shrieking riiip that had him collapsing into the sand bed with a bitten off noise that he refused to call a gasp. But Sevens, it did hurt. He pressed his face into the shallow pool of warm water beneath his chin and forced his breath to calm, to dig his claws into the grit beneath him rather than his own scales. Because this wasn’t working. And he—he needed to fix it. On his own. Because he was on his own. And he was going to manage, just like he always had.

There was a noise off on the shore—the tumbling of pebbles against stone as you shifted around in your little, makeshift hideaway. And he refused to look up to meet your gaze. Because surely you were staring. Humans were always so happy to watch his kind suffer, flailing about in their traps and bound in nets like a garish display. And he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he’d been seen like… like this.

So he forced himself to go still and silent, ignoring the pain biting into his sides like the teeth of a shark and the panicked, clawing thing in his gut that kept screaming that he was going to die here.

The next morning, you were wandering the shoreline, scrounging after the remains of various crabs from the day prior. Vil refused to look at you, and spent the time pointedly running his claws through the tangles in his hair and primping himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. Because if a stupid, lowly human fit for nothing but an after-dinner-snack could thrive in these circumstances, than surely he could do even better.

There was the soft, wet sounds of your footsteps behind him, and Vil turned on you with a roaring snarl—fins pinned and spines perked, defensive.

“What?” he snapped, beating his tail.

You awkwardly held up one your pickings—a round, red crab with fat claws.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…”

Vil fought the urge to gawk. Were you offering him one of—but why would you—

He bit through his surprise with another sneer. “Firstly, crabs are crustaceans, not fish. You’d think any self-respecting creature that spent their days on the ocean would know something as obvious as that. Secondly, why would you even think that I would share a meal with you? Even I didn’t think humans could be that stupid, but you’re certainly setting a new bar.”

Your mouth twitched at his very sharply enunciated ‘stupid’ and he fought a smirk.

“Oh. Know that one, do you?” he cooed, all mocking.

“Look, do you want it or not?” you snapped, irritated, and his fins flared up again—wide and defensive.

Vil crossed his arms on an exaggerated, pointed huff and turned in the other direction. A clear dismissal. “I’d rather starve.”

“Whatever,” you griped, voice canted sharp with your foul temper, and then there was a crack and a yelp.

Vil turned back to see you reeling away, hand over your mouth to catch a mix of blubbering, wincing curses and a shattered crab shell clenched between your fingers in the most obvious show of stupidity he’d perhaps ever seen. He burst out into laughter before he could help himself, and you stormed away with warm cheeks and pieces of jagged, red shell still clinging to the corners of your lips.

That night he fought the ropes even harder, ignoring the way they pulled, and tore, and dug into places that he knew they should not. And maybe it was self-destructive, stupid, but if he didn’t get himself free of this horrible mess his fins would never heal. He’d never be able to swim properly again. And he’d never be able to leave this cove, never return to his pod, his family. Never—

A shell walloped him in the back of the head and Vil turned with a shriek so vicious it nearly startled even him. Because there you were—the bane of his existence. Standing at the edge of the water with that ridiculous, deadpan look on your ridiculous face and already scrounging about in the sands like you were looking for something else to throw at him. He didn’t even know what he was screaming at that point, absolutely brought over the edge in rage, and pain, and fear, and it was all. your. faul—

Then something in your expression snapped and you were storming forward towards the surf—absolutely incensed.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you shrieked, stomping in the sand and nearly pinning the longer, trailing ends of his fins beneath your heels. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

“You trapped me!” he howled, outraged. “You were going to kill a member of my pod! Who’s barely out of his pup days! And he was my responsibility, and you were going to attack him!”

Magic zipped along his tongue, demanding that you kneel. Show your throat and be done with it. But when you just kept glaring back—absolutely stone-faced and seething with indignation—Vil forced himself to take a breath, and then another.

“Epel,” he spat, low and exaggerated. He saw your eyes flicker to his lips, trace the outline of the word. “Epel,” he said again, sharp and angry. And when your own mouth began to subconsciously follow the shape of it, he was off and running again. “He’s my responsibility. Epel. He—” Vil pointed at the pale, lavender creases at the base of his fins. “His hair is like this. You saw him. You spoke to him. And you were going to tie him up just like you did to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sharp.

“That kid,” you said after a moment, lips twisting in a frown. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

“Epel,” Vil spat again, smacking his fins into the surf to douse you in a mess of seawater. “Not some kid. A pup. Barely of age. And you were going to—”

“You—” you hissed, scrubbing the salt from your eyes with the back of your hand. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. It splattered along Vil’s hips, barely a sprinkling in comparison to his own tidal waves. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

Vil snarled, and the twist of it left a bitter, rotten taste on his tongue. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter what you wanted, because you were just some human. Humans were vile, and cruel, and good for nothing but filling their bellies. And this was his family. So what if you claimed you were just standing up for your own brood? It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

So he turned back to dive into the shallows with as much force as his aching, crippled fins could manage. Sinking to the bottom of the cove in a huff of bubbles and clawing his way through the muck until he was well and truly hidden in the murky, sandy depths. He smacked his tail against the mess of pebbles and rocks until every creature beneath was scurrying for safety—fleeing outwith the flailing, destructive force of a Siren’s tantrum.

Was that why he was here, then? Bound and gagged on some hellhole of an island because of his own mistakes? Because you’d just been aligning yourself with the moral high ground he’d been riding this whole time? Saving your kin at the cost of your own, fragile skin. Dragged overboard to fight the monsters trying to devour your family whole. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to let himself feel bad for the slighted prey in a hunt gone wrong. Sharks certainly didn’t regret the fish they chased, nor did the great black-and-white whales that pursued those sharks in turn. This was just the way of things, the circle of life. And he wasn’t going to feel guilty about the tight, protectivelook on your face as you shouted him down about defending your own pod at all.

You were curled up by the same rock the next morning, sleeping soundly against the rough hewn edge. It looked hideously uncomfortable, with your chin tucked up against your chest and your head pressed against half-a-dozen layered, jagged ridges. Vil had always heard that humans were used to luxury—soft, plush blankets made of foreign fabrics and great, stuffed squares of bedding that could put even the finest woven siren nests to shame. And there you were. Scrunched up with a shell clearly embedded in your cheek.

He frowned, fins rippling awkwardly at his sides where the majority were still knotted up in twine.

He needed to leave this cove. As soon as possible. And get away from… all of this.

It generally wasn’t considered the best of ideas to Call openly across the sea. Lone sirens were prime targets for all sorts of nasty scavengers. Human hunters, rival pods, even other rogues looking for a fight. It was dangerous to mark one’s position so openly, let alone in a manner that made it obvious of the less than stellar situation they had no doubt found themselves in. It was also a nasty toll to try and Call so far for so long, on himself and the environment around him. A screeching, horrible thing that he’d only heard a few times in all his years. It was a terrible idea for everyone involved, himself and his fellow castaway most of all. But, well, desperate times, and all that.

Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear it anyways.

So began his endless song.

He’d sing, and sing, and sing—feeling the ripples of it carrying across the surface of the water and shivering through the air. And then, after he’d worn his throat ragged, he’d pause. Just long enough to swallow around the sting and tilt his head to listen. His fins would flare out against the side of his head, and he’d wait. And then, when there was no answer to his Calling, he’d circle back and do it again. A part of him hoped there would be none. He’d taught his pod better than to do something so foolish—to put themselves at the mercy of all the monsters of the sea. And… if they didn’t answer, perhaps that just meant they were searching for him. Using his own, ridiculous harping to trace him down. And if not that, then at least that they were off somewhere safe. Somewhere far, and hidden.

He swam and sang until he was too exhausted for either. Bound fins a heavy, leaden weight at his hips and head barely cresting above the water.

When the sun set over the horizon, Vil let himself roll in alongside the surf to rest in the sand, boneless and sore. His eyes slipped shut with the encroaching darkness, too heavy to hold open at all. He hadn’t seen much of you today. Occasionally you’d wander down to the shoreline, head popping up over a cluster of rocks to shoot him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but for the most part you’d stayed hidden away. Out of his hair, at least. Perhaps you’d finally learned what was good for you, and that keeping as far away from the beast lurking in the shallows was the only way you’d be getting out of this alive.

And then his eyes were snapping open to a field of stars overhead and the moon hanging fat and low in the sky like a fruit ripe for the plucking.

And there you were, hovering over him with that laughably small knife of yours.

Carefully and gently working the rope away from his tattered fins.

Your fingers were delicate, precise. Every time those woven fibers tugged in a way that could even begin to hurt, you were softening your touch and muttering reassurances under your breath. He wondered if you realized you were doing that at all—chattering quiet, rambling nonsense like a nervous tick. ‘Ack, don’t twitch so much, it’s just going to cut deeper,’ and ‘sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think that would move like that! Just—just stay still and it will all be done way faster and then you can swim off, and—’ You were exceptionally careful over the areas of rough, beaten scales along the dip of his tail, wincing in sympathy at the raw, raw skin there. The blade never strayed anywhere it wasn’t needed, and you never touched any part of him that wasn’t in an effort to work another tangle of knots free.

Vil kept himself perfectly still and his breaths even and deep. He watched you through the low, golden dip of his lashes, eyes tracking your fluttering hands and quiet mumblings.

The last of the rope fell away with a wet, heavy plap in the sand and when you sighed there was a smile in your voice.

“There,” you muttered, soft. “Now he can swim home again.”

He froze, startled, and something dropped low and tight in his gut.

Because humans were cruel. Humans were food. Humans were nothing more than vermin crawling over the surface of his ocean in their hunkering, wooden vessels and finless feet. They didn’t deserve sympathy, or anything of that ilk. And—

Your gaze met his and the spark of horrified realization didn’t even manage to settle properly in your wide, wide eyes before he had you pinned in the sand.

It was easy—far too easy. Compared to him you were so small, so fragile. No heavy, bulk of muscle and scales to help keep you alive and fighting. Just fragile limbs and lungs that were good for nothing. He dug his claws into your shoulders and felt the warm prick of blood curl up beneath his talons—could see you wince with the first pinch of acrid poison sharpening the wound. He was going to rip you apart, just like he’d said he would. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear him, he’d show you. Because humans were vile, and no matter what you’d claimed, you didn’t deserve anything better than an end beneath the points of his fangs. Fuel for the journey back to his pod and nothing more.

‘There. Now he can swim home again.’

He reeled back, nose scrunching and teeth grinding in his jaw.

You were still beneath him, blinking up in shock but not fighting. Like being flipped onto your back had been startling out of principle, but not unexpected. Like the idea of dying at his claws was just something you’d been expecting from the get-go.

And yet—

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ you’d been rattling. ‘Ah, if you squirm it’s just going to hurt, you stupid, overgrown fish—'

Vil reared back with a snarl that had goosebumps racing all along your arms, and then he was diving back into the shallows—swiping the tip of his fins against your nose as he went in a sharp crack that he hoped would have you yelping and stumbling away from the ocean’s edge.

He paced along the edges of the bay, newly freed fins slowly uncurling in the lull of the tide. And he felt free. Sore, certainly, and aching in ways he never had before, but free.

When he popped his head back out of the water, you were sprawled out in the sand like a dying starfish, absolutely out of your mind and babbling nonsense about ‘captains’ and ‘collars’ under your breath.

‘Good,’ he harumphed, diving back into the shallows to twirl along his unbound tail. ‘Maybe that would teach you to stay out of the water.’

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 1.5 #Vil's POV

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jlwritesstories · 9 days

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Dieter's Perspective Part 1 (The eyes are the windows to the soul bonus chapters)

This covers both the events before and during The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul from the doppelganger Dieter's perspective.

It's very long so there is a read more. [Edit: this ended up being so long I had to split it into multiple parts.]

Tag list for The Eyes are the Windows to the Soul:

@waywardstardustcollector @liv-007

It's cold. I pull my coat tighter around my form. The man who wore this face was a frail-looking homeless urchin, hiding their strength behind layers of grime and dirt and overlarge clothes.

"Excuse me."

A gentle voice. I turn. A human is looking at me, standing not two steps away.

"We're giving out meal packs." They half-turn, gesturing at the group of chattering people crowded around an open car behind them. "Do you want one?"

I nod. Food is always appreciated; free food is even more so.

They're smiling at me.

I squint into the halo around them, constricting my pupils until their features come into focus. Framed by the light of the sun, they look angelic.

A divine gift sent from the heavens.

A second chance.

My sixth third eighth fifty second chance.

I keep my movements slow, my hand almost shaking, the image of fragility.

Their smile remains patient and understanding. My fingers brush theirs as I take the bag.

I feel a jolt, like an injection of calm and soothing song directly into my blood.

Oh, how wonderful and open their mind must be.

They don't flinch. They don't pull away with a jerking motion like many have before when they see this face.

All too soon they turn away. The connection broken before it could form.

I take a deep breath. Grip the paper bag like it's the connection I want to snatch. Focus on the smell of paper and plastic. Don't snatch for their hand, pull back, be slow.

They turn and walk back to the other humans. Their coat flutters in the wind, a whiff of their scent hits me in the face. So sweet.

An old familiar hunger rears its head. The phantom pinprick of my fangs threatens to tear past the gums of this face. Rip. Tear. DEVOUR.

NO! I tear the bag apart, letting its contents spill onto my lap. The plastic cover of the sandwich is torn by the blunt teeth of my disguise. The layers of fluffy bread and cheese and leaves follow, slipping past my teeth and down my gullet. I swallow greedily, not bothering to chew. Once the sandwich is gone, it's followed by the banana and the sachet of yoghurt. I only remember to peel the banana at the last second. I just need to fill my stomach, stop the hunger, and stay in control.

Okay. I feel better. Calmer. Good. Let's be human. We can be normal. I can be normal.

They're moving on. The group of volunteers, splitting up. I lean forward slightly, ears pricking forward. Focus. Lengthen the nerves, shift the cells around. Listen.

"______"

What was that?

"See you later, _______"

Oh, they're smiling.

"______" That must be their name.

I roll their name in my mouth. Tasting the vowels and turning over the syllables.

"_____" How wonderful.

Oh, wait. They're leaving. Walking side by side with two of the volunteers, heading in the direction of the city centre, while the other three volunteers walk in the opposite direction deeper into the park.

They're smiling, a small, unsure smile. Arms laden with bags of meal packs. "Where do we go now?"

Their voice sounds so gentle. So pretty. I want to hear more, but they're getting too far away now.

I want to know them.

I have to learn more.

I follow them. Just for a little while.

It's so easy to slip into old faces. So easy to call on old memories of past connections to blend in with the crowd.

But too soon, it ends. Their task complete. They're packing up and leaving.

I've seen two of their smiles. One they use on strangers, calm and friendly, but reserved. One they use on friends, bright and beautiful, like moonlight.

Humans have so many smiles.

I want to know more.

I want to know their routine. What they like. What they don't like.

I want to see what smile they give to someone they love. Their tears. Their anger. Their doubt. Their joy.

I can keep following them. I've had a lot of practice.

Days.

Weeks.

Months.

I cycle through the many faces I've worn before.

It's harder to remain calm when they talk to me, only the years of practise in holding my form stop me from breaking character.

I know some of these faces aren't perfect. The mental connection with them never completed, and their memories never completely devoured. But I need them, they like faces like these. Faces like these are granted the gift of a smile, with a rush of blood beneath skin. I'm sure I can fix any inconsistencies using features from a complete form. I can be human.

They're smart, well educated. They have certificates with shimmering circles in the corner framed on their wall.

They speak and write so eloquently. I could listen to them talk for hours.

They understand all these devices and inventions of humans. They have a deeper understanding of their workings than any of the minds I've devoured have ever given me.

Sometimes, in the way they interact with people, it feels like they know the mind like I do. Able to connect with others so easily.

And they're kind. So wonderfully kind.

Willing to give up their seat on the bus to a stranger who just looks tired, the stranger doesn't even have to be elderly or pregnant.

Willing to sit and listen for hours to a small child, comforting them and promising to stay until their mother returns.

So beautiful.

So perfect.

So perfect for me.

They're also lonely. It oozes off of them like a bitter river.

They live far from their family. Phone calls and yearly visits cannot replace the constant presence of people living in the same home as you.

I don't like the smell of their loneliness. I want to hold them close and soothe it away.

They're angry.

Wary.

They push me away.

This form is imperfect.

Try again.

Imperfect.

Again...

Not right.

...and again...

Stop! Maybe I'm moving too fast.

I should go slowly.

Learn what they like. Earn their trust in a non-threatening, lovable form. Something they can't help but want to keep close. Then slowly work my way up to a human form. Yes. Yes! That will work.

I don't like using animal forms. My skin feels too tight, too constricting, and after too long it gets hard to breathe. Every fibre of my being fidgeting and pulling at the restraints of the form. But animal forms are useful. Small creatures with large eyes and soft furs, like cats, dogs, deer, and foxes; all these forms seem to bewitch the human mind, enticing them to coo and fawn and let down their defences. Birds in particular are great for gathering information, and I would take the form of one if I could figure out how to get the wings to work and the shape of the feathers to lie right.

Never mind that.

I settle for the form of a stray cat. Lingering near their favoured route for midday walks, until they come ambling along.

This is my moment. Look cute. Be aloof. Catch their attention.

They've seen me.

They're calling me over.

Hesitate.

Succumb to their gestures and shushing.

Meow pitifully and wind around their ankles.

They're touching me!

Soft digits riffling through my fur. They're warm. What a pretty smile. It's ecstasy. I want more!

Touch me. Touch me. TOUCH ME.

NO! Wait, please. Don't go yet.

Come back. Please.

Okay. This is fine. I'll wait until tomorrow.

It's so quiet. So peaceful.

I need to stretch. I'm hungry. This form is too small.

Shift. Release. Contract and uncurl muscle and sinew. Stretch out. Move bone. Shift.

I'm hungry.

The shift is euphoria. The sweet taste of life is more so.

A fox that wandered too far into the city. A crow that flew too low, followed by a nest full of growing life.

The light is returning.

Shift. Curl. Slide sinew over bone, layer fat under muscle. Move. Flare and stretch scales. Shift.

They're back!

_______! My _________!

They're smiling at me. Oh, please, touch me. Touch me. TOUCH ME.

For a few weeks now, we've settled into a comfortable routine. I keep them company during their midmorning walk and in return, they give me affection and tell me about their day.

They've started leaving a bowl of cat food out near the gate of the park where we meet. Such a wonderful gesture. They care about me!

They're always so happy to see me. It's so satisfying, to hear their voice, to know I'm the reason for their smile.

Last week, they asked if I had a chip and rambled on about adoptions. I had to keep my distance for a bit after that. I could not risk being taken to a veterinarian, even if it meant they want to take me home.

Wait!? They want to take me home!

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES.

I'll be good I promise. Take me home. Take me home with you.

Just as the sun brushes the tops of the trees, I take my place by the park gate, waiting for them.

It takes a little extra effort to stop my fur standing on end, I can feel liquid excitement thrumming in my blood.

My tail isn't too long is it? Are my ears in proportion? My fur is all the same length?

Good. Everything is perfect.

There they are!

Hello! Hello!HowhaveyoubeenImissedyousomuch!

Warmth. Light. Kind caresses running through my fur and rubbing my ears. I love...I love...please, keep talking. Tell me everything. Please.

Work has been stressful. Oh love, don't worry, take me home and I can help. Oh please. Oh please.

Yes! Finally, it's time. They're walking home. They haven't said goodbye or shooed me towards the bowl. That must mean they want me to come home with them. Finally, I'm one step closer to our life together. I want them...I WANT...!

They pause. I take a few more steps before turning to look up at them.

Why aren't you moving? Is something wrong?

They crouch down. They look sad. Why do they look sad?

"I'm sorry little guy. I can't take you home. My boyfriend's allergic."

Wait...

WHAT!

They've found someone. A male. One of their own kind.

I should have realised. I shouldn't have waited so long. I should tear him apart, devour him. How dare he touch what's mine. No! No. They're not mine yet.

Look at their smile. They've never smiled like that at me. I should be happy for them. I should be normal about this...I should...I should watch. Just for a little while. Yes, that's right. I will watch for now, just to make sure they're safe.

Maybe...If I'm lucky. They'll grow tired of this one.

I will get another chance.

Part 2

#the eyes are the windows to the soul #teatwtts #doppelganger x reader #doppelganger boyfriend #doppelganger #doppelganger x you #monster boyfriend #monster x you #monster x reader #shapeshifter x you #shapeshifter x reader #shapeshifter #mimic #mimic x you #mimic x reader #yandere #non-human perspective #monster pov

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prinz-vassago · 2 months

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Colored sketch commission for Effigy . Shapeshifters are just the bessttt

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notmymainhehehe · 3 months

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CW: This is an NSFT concept/story with tentacles and non-consent themes. If you aren't into that, keep scrolling. If you are into that, sit back and enjoy

Imagine, you're hiking on your favorite trail. You've been in this part of the woods countless times and you know these trails like the back of your hand. You have your headphones on as you admire the familiar beauty of your surroundings. The sun is high in the clear blue sky, a gentle breeze is swaying the tree-tops around you, and a squirrel darts across the trail twenty feet ahead of you. You pause for a moment to take a picture of the squirrel when you notice the mouth to a side trail you've never seen before. You double check the time - just before 2pm - and, seeing that you have plenty of time before dark, you decide to check it out. It's beautiful, leading up an easy rocky path with a clear view of the lake nearby. You carry on, not noticing when you take a turn off the main path nor how the forest around you quickly gets thicker the further you go.

After a couple miles, the trail leads alongside a tall cliff face. The mountain is so tall that it blocks the sun, making the thick forest seem even darker. Dense bushes fill the area and occasional movement in them makes you take off your headphones to listen. You can't shake the feeling that you're somewhere you're not supposed to be and someone - or something - knows. You continue down the path, hoping it would loop back to the original trail, and try to shake the feeling that you're being watched. After a while of walking and finding no sign of trail markers, you check your phone again for the time and see that somehow, despite only having felt like only an hour has passed, your phone reads half past 5pm. You try to pull up your trail map but there's no service. In a slight panic, you decide to turn around and go back the way you came. Passing the cliff face again, you pause. Had that opening been there the first time?

Before you can take another step, a bush begins to rustle, moving in the same way you'd noticed earlier. This time, though, it doesn't stop. The rustling gets more aggressive and the bushes nearby start to shake violently as well. Just as you start to run, your trip over a root in the path and fall on your back. But when you look down, it's not a root at all but a thick, black, moving tentacle. Before you can react or stand back up, it slides over your ankle and twists around it. You try to kick it off and scoot away, but its hold is tight. It begins to pull you towards the opening in the cliff face, your screams for help almost seeming to be absorbed by the dense forest. Helplessly, you can only squirm as you're dragged into a small cave.

You can't see how far back it goes in the dark but you're able to hear strange, wet-sounding movement from further back in the cave. A second tentacle, identical to the first, emerges from the darkness and wraps around your left wrist, pulling it up into the air. A third joins, restraining your right wrist, and they use their grasp to pull you from your sitting position and into the air. You kick your legs and scream only for yet another tentacle to come from the dark and grab your free ankle, holding your limbs in place. You let out a whimper and stop fighting, deciding it best to try to remain calm and assess the situation. Blinking the tears of fear out of your eyes, you look around you.

Inside, it's nearly pitch black. Outside the cave, you can just barely see the sun setting between the trees. You couldn't have been gone for more than two hours, it was impossible for the sun to already be setting, yet you seem to be in the den of the impossible. Another tentacle, smaller and thinner than the first four, begins to slither up your legs and you turn your attention back inside the cave.

For the first time, you notice that the final shreds of sunlight are reflecting off the walls just enough to illuminate at least a dozen shapes floating in the darkness. Countless tentacles waved in the air around you, as if waiting for their turn. Your whole body tenses in fear and the tentacle on your leg pauses on your thigh. It coils itself around your thigh, joined by an identical one on the other thigh, and suddenly they pull your legs apart. At the same time, the tentacles holding your wrists pull them together, merging together to form one larger, stronger tendril. You begin to scream again, assessing the situation be damned, just for another shape to come from the darkness and force itself into your mouth and down your throat. Tears prick in your eyes as you feel the tentacle's shape morph and change, filling deep into your throat and allowing just enough space to take shallow breaths. Efforts to move your head away are only met with yet another tendril wrapping around your throat, not tight enough to choke you but firm enough to hold you completely still. All you can do is silently cry as tentacles of all sizes begin to move in from the darkness and seem to explore your body. Some glide along your inner thighs, some rub up and down your waist, one is sliding around your face and chin, and some are even exploring your tits over your tank top. After a few minutes of this, the fabric of your shirt seems to be frustrating the tentacles. It begins to pull at your shirt until it rips and exposes your black bra. The tentacles waste no time in using the same technique to rip that off as well, leaving your clothes hanging on just by the sleeves. You sob as the tentacles return to exploring your body even more intently now. For the first time, you can feel them on your bare skin. The tentacles are cold and slippery, the larger ones pulsing slightly, and they leave a thin layer of clear slime behind on whatever they touch.

The tentacles wrap around your tits, squeezing them curiously, before moving up to your nipples. You're disgusted by the rush of pleasure as they glide over your nipples almost teasingly, the cold wetness making them hard. The tentacles flick at your nipples a few times before their tips reform into what looks like suction cups. They wrap around your nipples and begin to suck on them in a pulsing rhythm. You can't help the gasping moan that escapes around the tentacle in your throat.

Despite the terror you're feeling from the situation, subconsciously your body is reacting to the oddly pleasurable touches of the tentacles. The touches are rushing to your pussy and, as much as you hate to admit it, the fear only adds to the thrill.

You can feel your pussy starting to soak through your leggings as the tendrils continue to suck and tease your nipples and, unfortunately, the tentacle caressing your thigh seems to notice as well. It moves up your thigh and carefully prods at your slit through your clothes. Suddenly, all movement in the cave stops. Your nipples ache from the sudden lack of touch and you're afraid to move in the still silence. After a moment, the tentacle glides across your slit again, not touching your clit, and the suckers on your tits suddenly pulse again, sending a shock of pleasure through you. The tentacle between your legs immediately begins to grab at the fabric of your leggings and pull, successfully tearing them off and down to your ankles and doing the same to your panties.

Another tentacle joins the one between your legs, forming its own sucker on the end, and it begins to hungrily suck up the juices now dripping down your thigh. Now completely exposed and helpless to move, the reality of your situation finally starts to set in. You were the plaything for some terrifying tentacle beast and nobody was going to find you. The first tentacle that was between your legs starts to slide up your slit and, when it gently glides over your clit, you can't help but moan and buck your hips. Mentally, you're terrified and cursing your body for reacting like this. You seem to be giving this thing exactly the reactions it wants and there's nothing you can do to stop this subconscious response to its touch. You try to distract yourself by looking at the sunset only to see the moon high in the sky.

The tentacles definitely notice your reaction to the touch to your clit and it curiously tries the motion again, and again, and again. Your hips are grinding against the tentacle as its cold, smooth surface slowly moves back and forth on your clit. The tip of the tentacle flicks back and forth on your clit a few times as a third tentacle comes between your legs and continues exploration of your slit and begins to tease your hole. Your eyes grow wide as the realization sets in. Getting aroused by the touches of this monster are one thing, but getting fucked by it was where you drew the mental line. Despite your opposition and your attempts to squirm, scream, close your legs, anything, you're still at the tentacle's mercy.

You can feel it as it slides into you effortlessly. It pushes into you effortlessly and begins to explore inside you. As this is happening, the tentacle on your clit changes shape into a sucker and gives a curious suck at your clit, sending another involuntary moan out of your mouth. The tentacle in your mouth moves slightly, causing you to gag a bit. It curiously tries this motion again, moving out slightly before thrusting back in, and repeating this movement, making you gag and drool around the tentacle.

The tentacle inside you continues to explore inside of you and as it arches up, it hits your G-spot and sends a wave of pleasure through your body. The tentacle curls up again and begins to rhythmically stroke that bundle of nerves. You can feel the tentacle behind to change its shape inside you, thickening to fill you up. The tentacle begins to thrust in and out of your pussy, always curling up as it does. Between this, the sensations on your nipples, the tentacle fucking your throat, and the sucker on your clit, you can feel your first orgasm building. You're cursing yourself mentally, trying to hold it back, refusing to cum for a monster, but the pleasure is too much to take. You squeeze your eyes shut in shame as you feel yourself orgasm.

Your juices are rushing down your legs and the tentacle sucking up your juices laps it up hungrily. As you come down from orgasm, you slowly start to realize that this thing was doing all of this very intentionally as it seems to be feeding off your juices. You don't have much time to ponder on this thought, though, as the pace of all the tentacles picks up, quickly bringing you close to a second orgasm.

You're moaning uncontrollably around the tentacle fucking your throat by the time your fourth orgasm hits you. Your brain is hardly forming cohesive thoughts at this point as pleasure overwhelms your body over and over again. You don't even notice when a new tentacle begins to prod at your asshole. You only notice when it starts to push in and, in your first moment of clarity for a while, you try to squirm in protest. You've never even experimented with anal on your own and you've certainly never been fucked in the ass before. The tentacle doesn't seem to care, though, as it pushes into your hole. It feels weird and painful as it continues to push into you and you're mostly distracted from your pleasure as it begins to thrust slowly in and out of you. After a few minutes, just as you're getting used to the feeling, the tentacle curls up in just the right way to send pleasure shooting through you in a way that you'd never felt before. It begins thrusting in and out faster now, curling up to bring you pleasure with each thrust and joining the rhythm of the rest of the tentacles. Your fifth orgasm hits like you've never felt before. You let your brain go empty as you enjoy the pleasure of cumming over and over again from having all your holes filled.

You slowly blink your eyes open in the dappling sunlight. The first thing you notice is how your whole body aches. Your wrists feel raw and your mouth is dry. As your eyes adjust to the sunlight, you look around you to find yourself laying on the ground. You recognize the woods around you as being close to your favorite trail. You look down at yourself and find your clothes torn and your wrists red as if they'd been tied. The memories of the day before come flooding back to you - the hike, the side trail you took, the tentacles, the orgasms, all of it. You pick yourself up, managing to wrap your clothes around you enough to cover up, and make your way towards the trail. When you reach it, you recognize the spot to be where you'd gone on the side trail but when you looked for it, there was only the main trail. Where the mouth to the trail you'd taken yesterday had been, there was just a cluster of thick bushes.

#nsft #nsft tentacles #tentacle concept #its a little long oops #nsft horror #nsft concept #tentacles #mmm tentacles #tentacle kink #tentacle monster #tetrophilia #nsft story #nsft pov #nsft imagine #jupiternsft

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mydairpercabeth · 4 months

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Things I need in season 2 of Percy Jackson

Percabeth siren scene

My baby boy Tyson

Focusing on the picture of Annabeth Percy keeps with him

Grover in a wedding dress

Percabeth cheek kiss

The introduction of skaterboy Percy

Blackjack

Percy becoming more protective of Tyson

Percy finding out Thalia is alive

Clarisse storyline

More of Annabeths backstory

Seeing the Princess Andromeda cruise

12 episodes instead of 8

What do you want in season 2?

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luxaofhesperides · 3 months

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Post-Apocalypse + Soulmate AU ; requested by @burr-burr!

When Danny was a kid, he used to imagine how the world would end. It was never a zombie apocalypse or the fallout of a nuclear war, but the death of the sun, the expansion of their star in death that would swallow their planet whole, leaving no survivors.

It would have been nicer than the post-apocalyptic world he stands in now, knowing that it’s his fault the world has ended.

He’s still struggling to wrap his head around it. To understand that all of this is his fault because he cheated on one test, desperate to pass after being unable to study for it with how exhausting and time consuming fighting ghosts is. Everywhere he looks, there’s more destruction. His own home is rubble, with only the partially untouched Ops Center remaining to let him know that this is where he once lived.

The rest of Amity Park is in worse shape. Buildings are hollowed out, the skeletons of their foundations visible, if they still remain standing. Most homes have been burned to the ground, leaving blackened corners of walls and nothing else. The roads are cracked and difficult to walk through, as if an earthquake tore through the city. Cars are scattered along the road, overturned or left abandoned, doors still open.

Danny has yet to find any bodies. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or not.

He’s only caught a few glimpses of his future self, the cause of all this, and can’t bring himself to chase after that monster. He feels sick to his stomach knowing what he’ll become.

That monster has to be stopped. The world has already ended, but that doesn’t mean his future self can be allowed to go on like this. If there are any survivors, they need protection. They need to know they’ll be safe to try to start rebuilding, and that can only happen if his future self is dead.

Danny knows what he has to do; he has a responsibility to protect what little remains of Amity Park, and to do that, he needs to kill himself.

But his head it spinning from the horror of the situation and his throat is tightening up the way it only does when he’s about to have a panic attack.

He needs to stop his future self, but he also can’t stay another second in the ruins of Amity Park without destroying himself.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest as he goes ghost and takes to the sky, flying blindly towards the setting sun. Danny doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t really care. He just needs to get away for a bit, until he can calm down and put together a plan of attack so he can take out his future self in one go.

He just…

He never thought he’d be a monster. But here they are.

Flying away from Amity Park reveals the truly harrowing extent to which this world has suffered under his future self’s hands. There are no intact cities or towns. Roads are broken beyond repair, highways littered with empty cars, most bridges crumbling into the rivers below them, and everything is covered in overgrowth. All signs of humanity’s careful cultivation of the world has been erased. The earth takes back what humans took from it, covering everything in green.

There is no movement. No people. Barely any birds flying beneath him.

What remains of the world is silence.

Danny is terrified that there’s no one left. That his future self has so thoroughly destroyed the earth that no human survivors remain.

That gives his guidance, some idea of where to go: a big city. Any big city, really.

He flies lower, searching for some sort of landmark, or a sign that will tell him where he’s going. A rusted over green sign farther down the road tells him that he’s 50 miles from Gotham.

Oh, Danny thinks, Maybe Batman can help me.

If anyone could survive the end of the world, it would be the superheroes, right? If anyone stands a chance at defeating his future self, it would be a superhero. Superman might have been a better choice, but Metropolis is the opposite direction and multiple states away; Danny’s not sure he can make it before his future self catches wind of him and hunts him down.

Danny has no doubt about what would happen to him if he’s caught; there’s a reason he hasn’t seen any ghosts around, after all.

Gotham is a city of secrets and rumors. What little he’s heard of it is baffling and, frankly, insane. There’s no city in the country like it and Gothamites prefer it that way, stubbornly loving the home that will kill them. For all the manmade horrors they survive on the daily, they would be more prepared for the end of the world than anyone else.

Gotham may be another casualty of his future self’s destruction, but it also offers him hope.

Danny follows the broken road towards Gotham, pushing himself to fly faster than he ever has before. What should have been a half hour flight is completed in fifteen minutes.

As soon as the towering buildings of Gotham, dark and semi destroyed, come into view, Danny drops from the sky and returns to human form. The strain from pushing himself has exhausted him and he feels it like an ache in his chest, his heart twisting and trying to burst from how hard it’s beating.

He collapses to his hands and knees and gasps for breath on the outskirts of Gotham.

It takes a good few minutes to calm down and breathe normally, then another to gather his strength to stand up and begin walking.

The world is eerily quiet as he enters the city, feeling the chill fall upon him as he is consumed by the shadows of tall buildings. It’s much more intact that Amity Park, but there’s no denying the destruction that still surrounds him. Buildings are empty and worn down, decaying and slowly being consumed by new growth. Burnt out husks of overturned cars fill the street, leaving Danny to carefully pick his way around them, unable to walk in a straight line.

He feels like the only person in the world. He feels like he’s being watched by a hungry eyes.

Danny shivers and walks faster.

The deeper he goes into the city, the more he starts to hope that he’s not alone in this world. There’s small signs of life: the smell of smoke, recently burned, certain streets cleaned up, makeshift walls constructed from rubble to block access to certain areas of each block.

He swears he can see people move above his head, but anytime he looks up, the windows of every building are empty.

“Batman,” he whispers to himself, “I just need to find Batman.”

He turns a corner and continues walking. Apartment buildings give way to stores and businesses, all with their windows broken and nothing on the shelves. Then the buildings end abruptly and he’s left staring at an overgrown park that resembles a jungle more than it does a part of the city.

The scent of something sweet lingers in the air. Fruit, perhaps, or flowers.

If he was left in the aftermath of an apocalypse, he would go to where he could find growing food. If there’s anyone left in Gotham, he’s willing to bet they’re in here, surviving off of what food can be grown in the confines of the park.

Danny crosses the road and takes three steps onto the grass before someone appears beside him and points an electrified baton at him.

“Who are you?” they demand, eyes hidden behind a cracked helmet, but the bottom half of their face is visible, revealing scars crossing on dark skin.

Danny takes a step back, eyeing the electric baton warily, and lifts his hands to show he means no harm. “Danny. I came from out of town. I was hoping to find people here.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been traveling.”

His clothes are clean and intact and he has none of the world-weariness that weighs down this Gothamite. Danny winces, and says, “My situation is kinda complicated. But I did just get here. I’m looking for help, actually. Do you know where I could find Batman?”

There’s a long moment of tense silence, then he hears a quiet sigh and the helmet comes off. An exhausted looking man looks at him with one blind eye, turned a milky white, and his voice is low and stricken as he says, “Batman’s dead. But maybe I can help you.”

“Batman’s dead?!” Danny repeats, shocked.

“Yeah. Sacrificed himself in one of the last times Phantom attacked Gotham. Got me and Nightwing out of that encounter alive. We’re really the only heroes left in Gotham, not that there’s much need anymore with everyone trying to survive.”

Phantom killed Batman. His future self killed Batman.

Danny feels sick to his stomach.

“Oh,” he manages to say.

The man’s expression softens. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you as much as we can. Why don’t you come on in? Ivy can get you some food if you’re hungry.”

Danny nods numbly as he follows the man deeper into the park. He walks with ease, taking paths that only become visible when he walks them, leaving Danny to follow close behind. It takes some time before he realizes that the plants are moving out of their way just enough that they don’t trip, and when he looks back, the path is covered again, hidden from sight.

He’s taken to the heart of the forest, where the trees shift to the side to reveal a large encampment of survivors all living together. Beds are strung up as hammocks between trees and rope ladders dangle from branches to help people move up and down. The ground is full of small fire pits, a few in use to make make food, and sections in the back full of vegetable and herb patches, separated by berry bushes.

The people here all look tired and worn down, but they still smile and speak in light voices, adjusted to a new life after surviving so much horror and destruction. He even spots a few people using powers, or just looking different, including one large man who looks like a crocodile.

“Pick up another stray?” a raspy voice asks, humor lighting the tone. They both turn to see a woman with long red hair and a green tint to her skin be lowered to the ground by a vine. She’s also heavily scarred and her right arm is completely gone, replaced by a wooden limb covered in moss that moves as if it’s always been a part of her body.

“Hey Ivy,” the man greets, “I don’t think this one is staying. He came to Gotham looking for Batman.”

The words make Ivy’s gaze sharpen, and Danny feels a trickle of dread go down his spine. She’s dangerous and standing before her feels as if he’s in the mouth of a hungry beast.

“Is that so,” she says, voice flat. “How interesting. I’ll let you two talk somewhere more private.” Her gaze flicks to the side, and when Danny turns to look, he can see some of the people in the encampment observing them warily, bodies tense and poised to either flee or attack.

Ivy turns and the plants part for her. Danny waits for the man to begin walking before he follows, trying not to feel trapped as the plants close the path behind him. She takes them to a small pond full of water lilies, gives the man a careful look, then leaves, swallowed up by the plants.

“Is everything okay?” Danny asks hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Nah, you’re good,” the man replies, “It’s just that people don’t trust me much.”

“Why? You’ve been really nice.”

The man shrugs. “My soulmate is Phantom. He’s the one responsible for doing all this and killing almost everyone we love. I didn’t know until the first time I fought him, but they hate anything to do with Phantom, including me.”

Danny’s heart stutters in his chest. This is his soulmate.

Most people don’t subscribe to the belief that they’re meant to be with their soulmate. Meeting your soulmate is rare enough that most people don’t try, and plenty of people have spoken of how important it is to have a variety of relationships, to not close yourself off for the slightest chance of meeting your soulmate.

Danny never looked for his; he didn’t want to subject them to his parents, and then he became a halfa and gave up on all dreams of having a normal life or any relationship with someone who didn’t know he was Phantom.

And now he’s here, in a ruined future, standing before his soulmate who understandably hates him for destroying the world.

“You’re Phantom’s soulmate,” Danny breathes. His hands are shaking. He wants to cry.

The man sighs. “Yeah. I am. Not that it’s stopped him from trying to kill me. Don’t worry, kid, I’m not working with him. I swear.”

“He’s your soulmate and he hurt you.”

“He hurt everyone,” he says, then gestures at his blind eye. “This is barely a thing compared to what he did to other heroes.”

Danny can’t find the words to expression his horror at seeing the damage he did to his own soulmate. His future self is heartless and cruel and bloodthirsty. He has to be stopped.

He doesn’t want to kill his soulmate.

“I came here for Batman,” Danny says, “Because I thought he could help me stop Phantom.”

“That’s rough, kid. Batman couldn’t beat Phantom. I don’t think anyone can. We’ve tried, but most heroes are dead and we can’t just go out there and risk the lives of everyone here. We gotta focus on survival, not revenge.”

“I have to stop Phantom.”

“Sorry kid, but that’s a terrible idea. Don’t go out there trying to be a hero. You can stay here, alright? Ivy will get you set up and the others will help you settle in.”

Danny takes a step back and shakes his head. “No. I have to stop him. It has to be me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m Phantom,” Danny whispers.

The man immediately reaches for his electric batons again, taking a step back. “Not funny, kid,” he says with a tense voice.

“I’m not joking. I am Phantom, just from the past. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You’re Phantom?” the man repeats. “You. You’re just a kid, and you’re going to destroy the world one day?”

“I don’t want this to happen! That’s why I need to go back, so I can stop the event that will set me down this path. And to go back, I need to defeat the Phantom that exists here.”

“He’ll kill you, kid.”

“That still solves the problem, doesn’t it? If I die here, then he’ll never live long enough to destroy the world. He’ll die too.”

The man stares at him with cold eyes, then turns away, dropping his hands away from the batons. “Don’t turn this into a suicide mission, kid,” he says. “The Phantom who’s here isn’t you. You don’t have to pay for his crimes. Just… stay here and I’ll go fight Phantom.”

“He already hurt you,” Danny says.

“What’s a little more hurt? I can handle it.”

“No,” Danny says firmly. He shoves away the fear and hurt in his heart and finds his strength in determination. No more running away. No more hiding.

The timeline should not exist. He can’t hesitate at the thought of erasing this version of his soulmate from existence; he’s tired and injured and an outcast in the only community that still exists in Gotham. He deserves better. Everyone here does.

And to give them a better life, Danny needs to stop this one from ever happening.

“This is my future. It’s my responsibility. I’ll stop it and make sure this never happens. And… I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“It’s not your fault, Danny. You’re not this version of Phantom.”

That’s not at all true, since Danny’s actions lead to the end of the world, but he’s not going to argue when he’s preparing to fight a stronger, more ruthless version of himself. He takes a deep breath, then goes ghost and floats into the air.

“Before I go,” he begins, hesitantly, “What’s your name? Since you’re apparently my soulmate.”

The man smiles sadly and answers, “Duke. If we ever meet in your time, tell that version of me to look for my mom’s favorite book.”

It’s an odd request, but if it’s important enough to be asked for, then Danny will do it. “Your mom’s favorite book,” he repeats, “Got it.”

“Take care, Danny. Good luck out there.”

Danny nods and takes one last look at his soulmate, older and worn down, stubbornly getting through each long day, and swears to make things better.

Then he flies off, ready to fight his future self and make things right again.

. . .

He thinks of his soulmate for years after he’s back in the present. The timeline where his future self exists is gone and the world is safe, but he still remembers the pain he caused Duke.

When the time comes to apply to universities, Danny sets his sights on Gotham. His parents take him on a trip during spring break to tour the campus, and it’s after the tour, as he wanders around on his own, that he bumps into a student walking out of a building.

“Sorry,” they both say at the same time, reaching for each other to help each other keep their balance.

As soon as their hands meet, it’s as if lightning runs through him. From the look on the other guy’s face, he felt it to.

This is his soulmate.

“Duke,” Danny says, amazed and disbelieving all at once. And the request crosses his mind, something he wondered about almost every night since he returned to his time. “Look for your mom’s favorite book.”

“How—?”

“I met you in the future. You asked me to take back a message for the you that’s here. So: look for your mom’s favorite book. What does that mean, by the way? I never asked.”

Duke blinks, then slowly retracts his hands from Danny’s. “My mom’s favorite book was a hand bound journal from my dad. They were soulmates and he wrote about their first year in a relationship together. It’s full of pictures, and she loved it more than anything. That message is to remind me to have faith in soulmates, to believe that something good can happen to me.”

“Oh! That’s… wow, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into something so personal.”

Duke shrugs. “It’s fine. I needed the reminder. I would have already run away by now if you didn’t say that. You already know my name, but I think now’s a good time to introduce ourselves.”

“Right!” Danny says, flustered. He sticks his hand out, which Duke shakes with an amused smile. “I’m Danny. Fenton. I’m coming here next semester.”

“Duke Thomas. I’m a freshman here and I’d really love to get your number.”

He’s not hitting on Danny, not really, but it still makes him blush. The way Duke looks at him is full of light and laughter, so different from the exhausted and wary way he looked in the future now rewritten.

This is what the future version of himself tried to kill. He doesn’t understand how anyone could ever hurt Duke when he’s so full of life.

But he’s safe now. Everyone is; Danny changed the future and what lies ahead is wholly unknown to him.

The world is safe and full of promise.

No matter what comes, Danny is sure he and Duke are going to be just fine.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #the horror of knowing what kind of monster you are capable of becoming paired with the knowledge that your soulmate has suffered bc of you #and reasonably wants you dead/taken out of the picture not just for revenge but for the sake of everyone's safety #but also from duke's pov he's found a teenager wandering into gotham's last refuge. he looks strangely untouched by the end of the world.#hes looking for batman who duke watched die. and then it turns out that hes a younger version of the monster that ruined your life #(and everyone elses life) and realizes that this is who his soulmate once was #and then knowing that he either has to kill this innocent version of his soulmate or let his existence be unwritten #there is no happy ending for post-apoc duke's story #but he and danny get a second chance in a new timeline where things are better #doesnt mean the nightmares ever leave danny lol #thanks for the prompt!!

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