Michael Myers With An Insane Killer S/O

Michael Myers with an Insane Killer S/O

Some parts may include NSFW

NO TRIGGER WARNINGS CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK

The way you two first met was pretty funny actually. It was halloween, and you took this to your advantage. Everyone thought they were safe since Michael was supposedly still in the institution. News hasn’t spread yet that he escaped, and was roaming the streets of Haddonfield.

You were dressed up as Michael Myers. No one was scared of you though… Short ass. Everyone knew Michael’s tall looming shape. You were not it.

You both had gone for the same kill, meeting each other in the victim’s hallway. He stared down at you, his head tilting to the side. You set a hand on your hip with a sigh, “now ain’t this coincidence.”

Michael did not like being impersonated. He was the only Michael Myers. The Michael Myers. He wasn’t having your little costume.

You found yourself slammed against the wall, mask ripped from your face to reveal your gorgeous features, his hand wrapped around your neck. You couldn’t help but smile. Oh that smile. Insane. “Harder…” You whispered to him. Michael’s never gotten this reaction before… He was beyond confused. He gave you his classic head tilt once again, dropping you.

“I told you harder, not stop.”

Yeah, he’s keeping you around. Just don’t put the mask back on or we’ll have some problems.

Michael ended up stealing your kill, which didn’t make you very happy. “I got here first! That was so mine dude!” You whine. He stood back up after yanking his knife out from the chest of his victim, staring at you. His way of saying, “please shut the fuck up.”

Michael was fascinated by you. You just grabbed his hand holding his knife, and licked it while looking up at him?!

He ended up following you around that entire night, watching you kill person after person. If there was another in the house, he would take the kill. In a way you guys became murder buddies.

He loved watching how you smiled when you killed. It showed how much you enjoy it. You were just like him.

He followed you home, and would not leave.

After many efforts to, you gave up, and left him be. Here’s to your new roommate.

He watched you almost every second of the day. When it came night, he would leave to wonder, and you would finally get some alone time.

This definitely got out of hand as he started to watch you shower. You didn’t take to this well.

“Dude! You creep! Get the fuck out!” You had wrapped yourself in the shower curtain, throwing soap bottles at him. He quickly turned around and left, seeming a bit embarrassed. He totally didn’t get a good view of your tits.

You grew more and more annoyed with Michael. He was invading your privacy. You lost count of how many times you caught him watching you change. What a pervert.

He also kept stealing all of your weapons to use himself. This didn’t settle well. You ended up losing it on him, and threw one of your knives across the room, landing directly in his shoulder. He just stared down at the weapon, and back at you. You were furious. “If… If you’re going to live here. You’re going to respect MY rules Michael!” You scolded, “I’m sick and tired of your bullshit!” Aw, you hurt his feelings.

He didn’t come back for a few days. Did you feel bad? Not one bit. The little asshole deserved it. He doesn’t understand boundaries.

He came bearing gifts when he came back. A gorgeous diamond necklace covered in blood, and a black kitten. He stood in your doorway, holding them out for you. You stood across the room, your arms crossed and an unamused look on your face.

You ended up taking them, not saying a word to thank him. You slammed the door in his face, holding the kitten to your face, kissing it all over. “Oh who’s a cute little baby… Oh, oh yes.” You smiled, receiving rough licks from the baby.

Michael continued to stand at your door, waiting for you to open it again.

When you did, he rushed at you, pinning you against the wall. Now he was tired of your shit. He comes to apologize, you take his gifts, don’t say anything to thank him and accept his apology? He’s pissed.

You giggle, “Aww, you’re going to kill me? Please. You’d be doing me a favor.”

You saw his eyes from underneath his mask. They were dark, consumed by rage. But you saw the beauty in them. They were a pretty blue… Well, one was. His other was a pure white, his iris nowhere to be seen.

“Kill me Michael.” You spat.

His hand around your neck tightened, and then dropped you, walking away.

“GOD! You’re so fucking boring!” You cry.

The next day you find him kneeled to the ground, petting the kitten as it ate her food. This warmed your heart. No… No it didn’t. You’re mad at him.

You had to release this pent up rage somehow. So you took your leave. You left town to make this kill, not wanting Michael to follow.

When you came back home at around three in the morning, you were covered in blood. Like you bathed in it. Michael could smell you from a mile away. Your chest heaved, your eyes lidded over as you locked eyes with Michael. You raised your knife, pointing it at him, “you have no IDEA what I just went through.”

No shit.

Michael didn’t seem to be listening, however. He was too distracted by the fact that you’re covered in blood head to toe. He felt all tingly inside. He didn’t know how to act.

“The fuck is wrong with you creep…” You shut the door behind you, giving him a weird look. He slowly walked towards you, kneeling down to your height, taking in a deep whiff of you.

He just moaned. HE JUST MOANED?!

Your eyes widen, backing away from him. “You make noises?! Did you just… moan?!”

Yes, he did.

Michael grabbed you with a force you’ve never felt before, his hand wrapped around your neck. He pushed you against the wall, his body pressed against you. He ripped off his mask, burying his face into your neck, licking up the blood.

You weren’t even surprised. The Michael Myers has a blood kink.

This was also the first time he’s taken off his mask around you. You were shocked to see he had a full head of very thick, curly dirty blonde locks… Your type.

This lead to the most hardcore sex you have ever experienced. You had lit a fire inside of him that had to be put out.

Michael thought you would’ve been scared of him, but every time he inflicted pain on you your moans just got louder. In fact it made you beg for more.

Your body was littered in red hand marks, hickies, bites, bruises, and cuts. You wouldn’t notice them until morning when you showered though.

You and Michael passed out after your VERY long session together. You both slept through the entire night, curled up in each other’s arms.

When you woke up in the morning you felt exhausted. You could barely walk. Not to mention your body was crackling from all the dried blood on you.

Your bed was coated in blood. So much for the new bed spread. Michael seemed to be content with it though.

After you showered you were shocked by how beat up you looked. Michael really did you out.

You walked over to Michael, grabbing one of your knives, and jabbing it into his stomach. He opened his eyes, looking down at you. His look definitely said, “seriously?”

“Asshole.”

This happened a lot.

You both enjoy hurting each other.

You both also get into a lot of fights.

Every time you get angry you throw things at Michael. He’s learned to dodge them.

Sometimes you hit. He’s also learned to dodge those… Which makes you even more pissed off.

His favorite thing when you’re mad is when you laugh manically with that gorgeous insane look on your face.

“HAHAHA OHHHH YOU’RE SO DEAD MICHAEL.” No he wasn’t. You were gonna try you’re hardest and still fail.

You try to kill him a lot. He just allows it to happen.

Whatever makes you happy.

He only hurts you during sex. Otherwise he keeps to himself. He knows you aren’t “immortal” like he is.

“I love you, Michael. Thank you for staying with me throughout everything…”

Yeah… I think he’s the only one who would… Goddamn.

You both started to kill together again, which solved the toxicity that happened in the house. For the most part.

Michael would’ve killed you by now. After all you’ve put him through. But he could never find himself doing it. Every time he went to do it you would just get incredibly horny, and it would turn into another long night full of your screams.

You ended up replacing all the furniture in the house with black furniture. Since everything just got stained with blood constantly.

Michael tolerated you because he loved you.

this was pretty shitty ngl but i needed to write something

Riddle: Why are we here in the Mirror Chamber?

Vil: I received a call from Rollo and he wanted us to watch MC's cosplay performance.

Idia: He allowed them to cosplay?

Azul: I'm guessing he had no choice.

Malleus: What is a cosplay?

Idia: A cosplay is when you dress up as someone. It's mostly common to anime or cartoon fans.

Kalim: Will it be someone from Hazbin Hotel? I think it's someone called 'Carmilla Carmine', isn't it?

Idia and Azul: ...

Idia: You watch Hazbin Hotel?

Kalim: Yeah! It's a great show! And I like the songs very much! *beams*

Azul: ...What song is your favorite-

Leona: When will the cosplay performance start?

Vil: In a few minutes.

Malleus: Shroud, would you mind teaching me how to record a video?

Idia: Uh yeah, sure.

Riddle: Oh. It's starting.

The Dark Mirror: *shows MC cosplaying as Carmilla Carmine*

Kalim: Yay! I'm right!

Vil, Malleus, and Idia: *in amazement* Oh.

MC: I see you're driven by your detestation.

MC: Your every step is stoked with animus.

Kalim: *squeals*

Riddle: I-

Vil: They're dancing on pointe! Why didn't they tell me that they could do that?!

Leona: Because you would probably tell them to practice every day.

Malleus: *lowkey fanboys*

Idia: Uh, Malleus? Don't forget to click 'record'.

Rollo: *looking at their feet*

Rollo: Are they not broken yet?

MC: A little. But I need to give Carmilla justice so it's okay. *satisfied expression*

Rollo: You are really a weirdo. Anyway, I showed your performance to your friends.

MC: ...........

MC: You what?

Rollo: Why? *smirks* Are you shy?

MC: ...

MC: *embarrassed noises*

Rollo: *chuckles*

Malleus: I will show this to everyone in Diasomnia.

Leona: Herbivore scares me.

Kalim: I hope MC comes back soon so we can cosplay together!

Vil: Yes. I can't wait to see them again.

Riddle: *nervous for MC*

Azul: That was a fantastic performance. I will ask Jade to visit them.

Idia: Uh, why?

Azul: To ask the Prefect to perform in Mostro Lounge, of course.

The vice president: Great job, MC!

The secretary: You're famous now!

The vice president: Though the students are asking if your feet are okay after that performance.

Rollo: They're crooked now.

MC: ...

MC: At least it's not that crooked like your personality.

Rollo: What now?

The vice president and the secretary: *chuckles*

𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓎, 𝒥𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓊𝓈𝓎

Featuring: Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Art the Clown 

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: creepy men, murder, cat-calling, murder boyfriends coming to the rescue (sort of), kind of more protective than jealousy but still, suggestive content, i will probably make more of these if wanted 

Jason

You never have the opportunity to interact with others, usually, most often staying behind in your shared cabin as Jason lurks around the camp. 

Still, there are times where it happens, though rare.

Specifically, there was a time you were near the water’s edge, a swimsuit on as you dipped your feet into the cool water.

Jason was out somewhere, leaving you alone as you watched the sun begin to set.

You moved to wade into the water, but a voice behind you caught you off guard.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a male called, and you turned to spot a man in hiking clothes with a map in his hands.

You raised a brow. How did someone manage to get all the way back here?

Afficher davantage

deranged!reader & her task force (katz's version)

me & ur mother @moongreenlight are genuinely insane. this is basically us if it even care 😞

a/n: fem!reader all military names fake, processes fake; mostly it'd be classified, not just not done...well we wouldn't know for sure. medical shit also real. i’m in both of those fields irl. no i am not a swifty

clinically insane reader doesn’t rampage kill. art has many mediums; regular people choose acrylics, watercolor, culinary, pottery…reader chooses murder. it’s a meticulous process that depends on the person, it’s slow, drawn out. which makes her a great torturer. thing is, she was part of SEAL team tango-8 but focused more on SARC stuff (search and rescue). she knows her way around a suture kit—and, fortunately, surgical instruments.

laswell knew reader for two reasons: odd separation orders and her confirmed kill count. there was barely anything documented about her medical discharge which was weird because 98% of the military is just paperwork (a fucking pain btw). only thing noted was “medically discharged” and “0% disability”. her confirmed kill count? 43. happy to be back in uniform, she skips around the hallways to price, giving him a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering threats in his ear. “if you ever discharge me, i’ll dip you in concrete to be my custom statue.” a sickeningly sweet smile follows. as he furrows his brows in confusion and bit of horror.

soap tries really hard to like her and he really does. she's so sweet and always tries to include him in things and bakes him cakes and always somehow includes almonds, joking how it's actually just cyanide. soap laughs until he sees her have actual cyanide in the kitchen, carefully dropping it into the batter with an eyedropper. then a tsp of almond extract. it wasn't enough to hurt or kill anyone, but it scared him

he told ghost and ghost goes and investigates. then he sees reader one night, cleaning her instruments, different mallets, scissors, blades and knife handles etc. and they are pristine...not surgically pristine but definitely floor grade. he continues to watch her at 2100, without fail, and cleans her surgical instruments. until he sees her missing from her barracks from her open curtains. he goes and finds her carefully dressing a man like a buck. she sees him and smiles at him beckoning him closer. after he puts an end to that, with cuts and bruises, he goes and tattles to price. reader crying in the prison about how much she'll "miss her uniform" price and laswell speak about it and they finally know what the fuck us going on. they send her out on the field.

its just gaz, a few recruits, and reader in a safehouse. they've captured one prisoner, a soldier of the pmc against them. he's tied to a chair and after gaz runs over his psychological warfare in him. gaz fails and tiredly beckons for reader to come in. he finds her staring dead straight ahead, looking like she was falling asleep with her eyes wide open. he slowly calls out her name, no response. he calls again, same outcome. he taps her on her shoulder and her eyes fall into a "normal" state and smiles brightly at him, "my turns?!" gaz films it, the blood, the slow agony-per laswell and price's request reader starts to skin the soldier. starting with just a silly little joke about cuticles and then it goes higher and higher, the piece of skin never tearing. it's superficial, it barely draws blood. "does that hurt? don't worry, i'll help!" she blows cold air onto the exposed skin, drying out his flesh slowly while the blood keeps it from fully drying. gaz gulps, the camcorder on a tripod next to him. "it's okay, you're not going to die. and if you do...i'll make use of you, no waste! promise! gaz, can you pass me the kerrison rongeur, please?" gaz scrambles around in her kit, metal and metal clinking together in the heavy duty box. "the fucking hole puncher, gaz." she screams at him, causing him to jump. he finds the long, gun-like instrument, its blade pokes and punches together. he hands it to her, the work end first. she yanks it from him, nails scratching his hand in frustration, but that same smile on her face. she takes small chunks of flesh from the man, blood gushing and pools. she digs dipper until she hits an artery, blood splattering over them all. "the mosquito! give the fucking mosquito." she screams as the man in front of them bleeds out. she launches for it in her box and clamps down. the man half awake. gaz's chest heaves up and down, his face in shock and fearful freeze. reader storms out, face falls flat, no more smile, no brows furrowed, just a dead stare in front of her. "pieces of shit, human bodies are."

laswell pulls out any psych eval documents she can find. she finds exactly one set of documents: your medical discharge. price shows ghost and they stare at the replaying video on his monitor. the image of a wide, blank-eyed reader, hair and face dripping with crimson blood, a small clamp clicked to close an artery. they keep her. soap is the one who finds your bloody kit left in your barracks. chunks of flesh, blood, bone... and other bioburden seemingly never there at all. the shiny chromium finish looking as if they were never used at all. reader who failed out of medical school because of the lack of moral and ethics her professors and physcians saw in her. they banned her from residency.

"can i...have him..? please?" "why would you want an execution order? aren't you an interrogator?" "i want to see the peristalsis!" "the fucking what?" "how his intestines move in his body and squirm around like snakes!!!" she dissects the man in a way only a careful surgeon could. doyen clamps closed off certain sections as she sits and animates the movement on her ipad. the man inhales and exhales evenly, a bandage over his throat, eyes wide and dry from the lack of tears.

soap, as empathetic as he is, sees reader in chow, sitting by herself as she stares dead ahead, mind clouded in thoughts. her arms moves a bit, twiddling her thumbs under the table. he sits down across from her, her gaze staring pass him, face unreadable and almost bored looking. "you alright bonnie?" reader's face smiles, her eyes still dead and still as they lag behind the smile she puts on. her eyes squint. "yeah! why?" "twiddling your thumbs there, anxious about your second mission?" she puts her cupped together hands onto the tabletop. her hands unclasp. she twirls the severed thumbs around. "just a lot on my mind, yeah..."

"can i have it?" reader asks when she sees gaz's shiny teeth.

reader takes interrogations very seriously, taking souvenirs for herself. a finger carefully dried out, teeth, an ear, hair, vital organs in formaldehyde, eyes into earrings, tendons as rings and bracelets.

she gave price a birthday present which included a human heart, dried and shrunk in a glass displayed case. "made it myself", she says. "...on your own time, my love?" "yes, never company time!" his birthday is not public imformation.

ghost was missing a pow. he asks reader. "where is he?" "who?" "the prisoner..." "i let him go." "why the fuck would you do that?" "i'm going hunting, do you want to join? we can dress him in the field!"

"i got you flowers, ghost, for your mother's grave." "how the fuck do you know about that?" "you told me!" "i fucking didn't! now tell me who the fuck told you that shit?!" "you did, don't be silly. you told me over a glass of scotch...or many glasses actually!" she giggles as he slams her against the wall.

price wakes up one night, the spine-chilling feeling of a pair of eyes stalking him. he picks up the gun from his nightstand, clicking off the safety. he blinks a bit, vision clearing and seeing a figure in the shadowy corner. "go back to sle-" her body is slammed against the wall, gun to her head. "go to bed, price." "what...are you doing here?" price breathes out, trying to steady his racing heart, popping the gun back to safety. "wanted a piece of your hair."

gaz finds reader in his room after work one day, reader sweeping his house. he changed the locks within a week, locking all external doors and windows. reader leaves him breakfast every morning still. he trashes it after the cyanide incident. he wakes up to reader with a plate of eggs and toast over his bed. "please eat it and don't waste food :("

the task force lives their day to day lives with the feeling of impending doom, paranoia, and a feeling of dread washing over them all at once whenever they catch a glimpse of you. they beg price to remove you, but price would rather not be covered in cement while still alive.

makarov hunting an/a (enemy? long assassin?) reader who doesn’t really want to work with him- reader knows their stuff, erasing tracks, setting up traps, etc- its a game

призрак Cw: canon-typical death, murder, assassination, mercenary, blood, tell me if I missed any.

You were a ghost —призрак in his mother-tongue. Appearing whenever you wanted and disappearing before anyone could find you, a phantom in the business of assassination, a killer without too high of a price. He’s watched the aftermath of your handiwork, the shows you played and the kills you made, they were a masterpiece he wanted to witness, to utilise for his goals. Even from the darkness of his solitary cell, locked away in the Gulag - the Zorgaya prison complex - he kept hearing about your endeavours.

You interest him, your brought out a certain excitement, made adrenaline pump in his blood, when you were first brought up. You were the a ghost - a wraith - that haunted the world, killing off men and women for the right number. You were a killer for hire, one of the best in the industry that even he - Vladimir Makarov - had attempted to recruit, to tie you down to his name and fame, to have you work for his purpose. Permanently.

But you were a slippery one, escaping whatever trap he carefully laid out for you, falling through his fingers, finding the smallest crack - mistake - in his plan that he once thought was full-proof. You were smart, feisty and skillful, able to see through his carefully crafted words for a hire, pushing past the firewall of his mind and planting a virus, corrupting his original purpose, rooting yourself into his sick mind. This feeling, the way his heart rammed against his rib when you sent a warning shot, or when you escaped from his grasp, this wasn’t love —no, he was a being detached from such frivolous affairs. He didn’t love. He couldn’t with his cold, dead heart. This was an obsession, Makarov obsessed over things, he knit picked, he stole and took apart.

Makarov was a being whose conscious transcended the likes of capitalist westerners who’ve corrupted his motherland, small-minded and parasitic politician who made the Soviet Union crumble to dust; whose forgone the primal needs that made humanity weak —vulnerable; Vladimir Makarov was better than any man.

That’s where stemmed his obsession with you, the need to hunt you down. You portrayed yourself as a being higher than him. A better strategist and killer than him. It went from word of mouth to ear, Makarov heard from the other guards and new inmate speak of you, you achievements, the spike in your demands and the people who were ready to give you an arm and leg to pay for your service. Powerful men and women routing you an undisclosed amount of money to kill of someone, to have them assassinated in their own bedroom, to be drowned in their own bathtub or to be poisoned by their own wine.

He had Konni keep a track on your work while he waited for the right time to be freed, jumping back to work once he landed in Russia. He took it on himself to follow your steps, he had a hand in every sector of the underworld, dabbing in everything to keep his hold over the world. He couldn’t find anything about you, neither your past nor your character, you were nameless and faceless, the hooded mask obscuring your face from the world. Makarov’s best couldn’t even track you through cameras and find your deposit account, it seemed as though you had a team of your own, working in the dark to keep your and their livelihood going.

You evaded his traps, able to figure out which deals were made by him as a ploy to catch you, to find the ghost that haunted his mind. You were a disease, a parasite that unknowingly clung to him. You knew him, the messages he received through the grapevines, taunting remarks and threats that made him see red. You were too skillful, erasing your steps, making it seem as if you were never there in the first place, uninvolved with it, but the world knew who committed the crime. This was a game - or so he liked to think - of cat and mouse, he preferred being the cat, the dangerous and cunning feline who stalked the small mouse, he had to swallow his pride and confess that he played the mouse as often as he played the cat, being hunted and narrowly escaping because you let him.

But this, this meeting was a surprise, to see his призрак stand before him, tempted by the proposition he had to offer you —without any underlying meaning or hidden thoughts.

“мы наконец встретились, Призрак.” (We finally meet, ghost.)

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

HYBRID!AU PART 2

part one | part two | part three (coming soon!!!)

(: anyway here's what you've all been begging for. a part 2 but it was getting so long...almost 3k words. and so....there will be a part 3.......but for now i hope this satiates you!!!

cw: hurt/comfort, aftermath of hurt???, self-deprecating thoughts, insecurities, mentions of blood and scratching, mentions of past mistreatment, petnames and headpats tho <3

The next time a human approaches you, you’re unable to stop the growls that escape your throat when you hear the pspsp as he tries to approach you. When you hiss, the man scoffs and stomps away muttering a soft ‘stupid cat’ under his breath. 

No one approached you for a long while after that. The only way you knew how much time had passed was when the restaurants all threw their leftover food from their workdays. Eating out of the trash was always utterly humiliating, especially when you got caught. 

Most people ignored you when they saw you sitting on the sidewalk, getting some sun since it didn’t shine into the little alleyway you hunkered in. Some people would scoff and give you disgusted looks, as if you were a stain on their shoe. 

At this point, you were used to humans acting like you were scum of the Earth. After your experience with Simon, human’s behavior towards you no longer surprises you. Though it hurt, you didn’t understand why you were so unlovable. 

But then one evening, when the sun was just beginning to set and the temperature was steadily dropping, you were huddled up in what little bit of sun-warmth you could get until it became dark. Your arms were wrapped around your body as you shivered, trying to ignore the way your tummy growled from being empty – the store employees had chased you off before you could steal anything from the dumpster. 

A large shadow cast over you and when you looked up, you saw a slender, athletic man. His presence immediately set you on edge and you felt a growl bubbling up in your chest.

“Hey now,” he chided softly, pretty brown eyes crinkled as he squatted in front of you, “None of that, little kitty.”

You scowled up at him. Even crouched down the way he was, he was larger than you.

“Do you have a name?” he asks kindly. 

You pause at that. Soap had given you a name. But did it really count as one if your previous owner hadn’t even agreed to it? Still, it was the only thing you really had left of your former companion. 

You softly mutter the name you’d been given and the man nods before holding out his large hand, “Kyle. Would you like to come home with me?”

That sends off alarm bells in your head and before you know it, your claws are ripping into his hand and you’re scurrying into the alleyway to cower in the corner. 

You hear the man faintly sigh before he stands, knees cracking as he does. You don’t hear anything from him for a few minutes before his heavy boots walk past the alleyway and fade. 

You don’t even understand your own reaction. Of course you wanted a home to call your own. But you don’t think you would be able to handle it if he turned out to be the same as Simon. You wouldn’t be able to get attached to a human only to be abandoned on the streets like you were last night's trash. Perhaps it was just easier to reject all human companionship than risk being heartbroken all over again. You had only recently stopped crying yourself to sleep over the memory of your home. 

You think that will be the last time you see the man, surely he wouldn’t want anything to do with a cat-hybrid who was mean, but just a couple days later, he’s back. He stands beside you, one bandaged hand gripping a shopping bag. You feel a pang of guilt at the sight of his bandaged wound. He slowly places it beside you, staring at you expectantly. 

“This is for you,” he says awkwardly after a second of you staring blankly at him, “It’s some food and water.”

Your stomach growls at the mention of food and as much as you want to peek in the bag, you can’t bring yourself to admit defeat like that. He might think you’re accepting him as your owner if you accept his gift! 

But you’re not! You refuse to end up hurt and sad like you had been with Simon! You would rather just live on the street than go through that hurt all over again. You couldn’t stand to give your trust only to be betrayed and mistreated again.

You only wanted someone to love you but apparently that wasn’t in the deck for you and that was okay, you told yourself. No matter how much it hurts to admit.

The man, Kyle, sighs softly when you simply ignore him, the sound almost melancholy. It makes your heart ache in your chest. He casts you one last glance but you keep your gaze down before he walks away, disappearing out of sight at the end of the street. 

With his piercing gaze off of you, you turn to the bag and begin rooting inside it. 

A couple bottles of water and some hybrid-safe packaged food. Nothing that needed refrigeration but also much better quality and variety than what you had been given by Simon. 

You remember how it felt to watch Soap eat delicious meats and fruits and veggies while you got bland, colorless slop. Sure, it was healthy for hybrids but everyone knew it was disgusting. Clearly Simon didn’t care – he was just feeding you so you didn’t inconvenience him by starving to death in his house. 

And though Soap would sometimes share his food with you, it wasn’t the same.

This food was yours. Kyle had gotten it for you.

You pull out one of the packages, a neatly wrapped sandwich with all the organic ingredients listed in bright colors. It makes your heart ache just a little bit as you take your first bite, all alone on the sidewalk, quietly wishing Soap was there for you to share it with as payment for all the food he had shared with you. 

Kyle makes it a habit to visit you day after day, sometimes bringing food, sometimes just bringing himself. Most of the time, you ignore him but he doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest, only quietly promising to visit you again soon when he bids you goodbye. 

It starts to become lonely when he leaves.

You don’t know when it begins, but you find yourself waiting for him. You sit out in the open, mindlessly combing your tail, where he can see you if he approaches. You find yourself thinking about him and if he’ll bring something for you to snack on – he found these delicious fish flavored chips that you were practically addicted to. Though, you didn’t say anything about your liking of them, he kept bringing them so you think he knows. 

Some days, Kyle’s visits were quick and fleeting and other times he sat there for a while. He had given up trying to talk to you much since you made it a point to ignore him but you were happy that he hadn’t given up yet. 

You know you would have given up by now. But the fact he persists leaves you with a warm, soft feeling in your chest. You’ve never had someone try so hard for you before, Simon certainly never cared to try.

Kyle wasn’t so bad after all, you found yourself deciding. He was quiet but not standoffish. He didn’t try to touch you after you had swiped at him one time when he went to pat your head. He was kind, always complimenting you with ‘pretty kitty’ and ‘sweet kitty’. And best of all, he didn’t ignore your existence like you had grown used to when living with Simon. 

Waiting for Kyle to show up became the most grueling part of your day. Minutes felt like hours and any tall man who passed by had you perking up to see if it was Kyle. The urge to get closer to him grew day by day, you wanted him to pet you, you wanted to talk to him. 

Maybe living with him wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just the thought of a happy life made you purr to yourself. 

You vowed that you would talk to him today, maybe see if you could take him up on that offer he had made that first day you met. 

But he never came. As the sun dips behind the horizon, you find your hopes getting squashed. He always came before dark. 

With a heavy heart, you curled up in the little cardboard box you had been calling your shelter. It was easy to tell yourself that the ache in your heart was because you wanted to see him and not because you were scared he had given up on you.

The next day, the same thing. You waited all day only for him to not show up. Then the next day. And the next. 

A week passed with no sign of him and you tried your best to pretend like it didn’t hurt like hell. 

Maybe he really had gotten sick of waiting for you and decided to find a hybrid who would actually talk to him. You couldn’t blame him, you suppose. But it still made that heavy pain settle in your heart like when you had been thrown out by Simon. 

One morning, you were awoken by a loud voice shouting down the alleyway, “Alright, come on out, cat.”

The sound of the voice had you sitting up, eyes wide as you looked around. At the entrance, a man stood with his hands on his hips, a hefty utility belt around his waist. 

He sighed when he saw you staring blankly at him before he came over, hoisting you up by the arm.

Your growled and hissed, ears pinned back as you fought against his grip. He dragged you out, taking you towards a big black van that had the words ‘hybrid-control’ printed on the side. 

You swiped at the man with your free hand, sharp nails slicing into his skin. He cried out in pain but didn’t relent in his hold.

“Stupid fucking cat,” he snapped, “Fuckin’ hate havin’ to pick shits like you up.”

“Excuse me,” a sudden, frantic voice called out, “What are you doing?”

The man holding you turned to look at Kyle, an annoyed look on his face, “Got a complaint about a stray hybrid livin’ around here. Came to pick it up.”

“Oh that’s not necessary,” Kyle said, reaching out to pull you from the man’s grasp, handling you much softer than the stranger, “This hybrid is mine.”

The man looked like he wanted to argue but glanced down at his bleeding arm and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, man. Your funeral. Just get it off the street.”

When the van drove off, Kyle turned to look at you apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t want to claim ownership over you like that but–”

“Where were you this week?” you find yourself pouting, crossing your arms over your chest petulantly.

Kyle looks shocked before he smiles kindly, “I was away for work. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.”

Your pout only deepens, “It’s not like I missed you or anything…”

“Of course not,” he laughs but you both know he doesn’t believe you, “How about I show you my home, hm? It’s not too far from here.”

You agree without complaint, letting Kyle lead the way down the busy streets until it grows quieter and quieter.

The neighborhood is startlingly familiar as he escorts you to his home. It doesn’t take long for you to realize it’s the same neighborhood Simon and Soap live in. 

You weren’t exactly sure how far their home was but you couldn’t stop yourself from frowning at the memories.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, “Don’t like it? I know it’s a little boring here but it’s near the base so what can you do?”

“It’s not that,” you quickly said, considering telling Kyle what was on your mind but you instead settled for, “I-It’s nothing.”

You were worried if you told him about your previous home, he might think there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want him to think you were undesirable and put you out on the streets all over again. You silently wondered when you became so insecure. 

He hummed and opened the front door for you, “There’s a room at the end of the hall that’s an office right now but it’s all yours once I get it set up with a bed and everything.”

“My own room?” you ask softly, fluffy ears perked up.

“Of course,” he smiles, “This is your home now.”

You feel tears prick your eyes but you quickly look away before Kyle can see them. It felt so nice that he actually considered it your home too and not just his. Simon always made you feel like you were barely welcome and only there because he put up with you until he couldn’t stand you anymore.

“Oh before I forget,” he said, grabbing a box off of the table, “I got you this.”

He showed you the contents, a cute, dainty collar with a metal tag in the shape of a fish with your name engraved on it. 

“Why do you have a collar?” you asked, tilting your chin up so he could fasten it around your neck.

“I had hopes that you would let me take you home one of these days,” he laughed, a boyish, kind sound that made a smile grow on your own face, “I wasn’t going to give up until you were safe and sound with me, love. I knew this was going to be your home one way or another.”

You spend the whole day wandering around the house and exploring, nudging against every surface to spread your scent on it. You hadn’t done that much in Simon’s house, too scared you’d get reprimanded for dirtying up the furniture or something.

But Kyle didn’t care in the slightest. He simply smiled when he saw you nuzzling the pillows. He even trimmed your nails so they weren’t nearly as sharp anymore. 

It was nice living with him.You quickly realized how different your life felt with Kyle than how it felt with Simon.

Kyle was kind and friendly, calling you by your name and petnames and not just ‘hey you’ or ‘cat’. The affection in his tone was palpable and just hearing how sweetly he spoke to you made you purr uncontrollably. 

And he didn’t once raise his voice at you or chase you off the couch when you were napping. He gave you the softest pats on the head and let you snooze on his lap without a single complaint. 

He never forgot to feed you and always gave you the most delicious things he could find. He ate at the table with you and told you all about his day, making an effort to talk to you and learn about the things you liked to do while he was at work. 

You were happy to finally have a home to call your own. But deep down, you missed Soap. You missed his energetic happiness and how affectionate he was with you in a way that only hybrids could be. He was the only true companion you had ever had and he had left his mark on you. You wondered about him every day, especially when you heard the front door open and you half expected him to come running in with a thrilled grin on his face, ready to regale you with tales of outside.

You passed their house one day while on a walk with Kyle, something he took to doing as an activity with you (he didn’t want you to get bored or stagnant just sitting inside all day), trying your best to act like seeing the home you used to call your own didn’t make your heart ache painfully in your chest. 

“There’s a hybrid that lives here, you might like him. His name’s Soap,” Kyle said when he saw you pausing in front of their home, “Owner is Simon Riley. I work with him, kind of a standoffish guy, you should probably steer clear if you run into him. He’s not the most friendly.”

“Yeah…” you found yourself mumbling, barely even registering anything Kyle had said, a frown etched on your lips before you looked at Kyle, “Can we go home?”

“Of course. Let’s get you some food, pretty kitty,” Kyle cooed affectionately, patting your head before leading you back home. 

You casted a glance at the home you used to call your own, you were startled to see Soap standing in the window, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and hurt written all over his face. The sight alone made your own eyes sting. He had never looked at you like that before. He looked so heartbroken.

Kyle cooed softly to get your attention again, leading you down the sidewalk and away from the house. Soap’s figure in the window faded from view and you felt your head spinning.

Soap and Simon’s scent faded the further you got away from it. But once you entered your home with Kyle, your scent and his mixed together in a way that it never did with Simon’s. You couldn’t help but purr, the pain and anxiety in your heart fading.

But still, your mind lingered on the distraught face of the best friend you left behind.

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