Cryptid Circus Writes

19 || MULTIFANDOM || anti censorship anti terf anti endo

[cryptidcircuswrites]

☆ DIRECTORY ☆

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☆ Introduction

☆ Request Rules

☆ Masterlist

☆ Headcanons

☆ Other blogs

GIVEN THE POSSIBILITY OF THIS BLOG BEING SHUT DOWN, I HAVE MADE AN E-MAIL ACCOUNT. If you would like to receive my works this way in the event of a shutdown, please contact [email protected]

[cryingintheclubdhmu]

Ever since I drew Toby last night I’ve been getting visions… usually in fics he is like baby faced and skrunkly but like…

The concept of Older-Bf! Toby……

He’s a little more jaded, more assured in his skill as time goes on, and he carry’s himself like it.

The boy’s been working for slender for at least ten years at this point. He’s older now, wiser and his metabolism has slowed. Toby takes after Tim, they work together a lot so it’s only natural.

He developed a taste for bitters- not exactly like Tim, but around there. He prefers beer over whiskey though, and he loses the scrawniness, too.

Years and years of training stack up along with his appetite. He gets broader, thicker and his thighs could probably break through skull. Scars litter all over his chest, his arms and abdomen. They add texture to when you rake your nails down his back.

Facial hair isn’t an active choice, it’s more that he doesn’t take the time to groom himself that often.

The scruff grows out and he shrugs it off. If he feels like it, he’ll shave. If not, it’ll stubble his jaw, prickling you when he kisses you in the morning. Toby’s voice also drops lower after he hit his thirties.

Raspier, a tad more edged and husky. There’s a slight accent in how he pronounces certain vowels and things like that. A gruffness that curves around his tone.

He picked it up from being around Tim and Brian for so long. He’ll shorten words, using slang that only people from the deep south would understand.

Possessing habits that he does mindlessly, like tipping the brim of his hat as a greeting. He’ll tilt his head down a bit, grunting deep in his throat. Definitely not quiet, but he’s not as chatty as he used to be. Still loves stupid gadgets and clutter, and he still hates people who are too serious.

Thinks they’re too up their own asses. It’ll piss him off if he can tell someone thinks they’re better than him. When he was younger, that insecurity manifested in fits and sporadic violence. While he’s definitely still that, his malice is more meticulous as he ages.

Slower, more practiced and efficient. He’ll play the long game. Tracking and hunting are a memorized trait. And when he’s at the goal, his strikes never miss.

Those hatchets are his blood and bone. A second soul, even. They’re a part of him, and if he loves you, he’ll make you kiss the handles before he heads out. Likes it when you put on gloss or lipstick so he can see the prints.

Toby’s always been nearly inhumanly strong, but his touch is bruising by now. His palms have grown thick with callous, rough as he squeezes your hip in passing. You can feel the tiny scar tissue on his knuckles. The healed lacerations on his digits when you tell him you miss him, and he splays you open.

I need that cookie I fear.

[inveryiswriting]

Warning +18! I'll be talking about men in some detail, specifically about their holes and butts.

“Creepypasta men bottoming”

Time to talk about the creepypasta men taking it up the butt, because I'm a guy who loves men’s asses and I gotta speak on that at some point.

— So yeah, y'all be ready, because I'll be talking about men fucking and fucking men.

Jeff

Sorry to everyone, but this man has no ass. Like he's got such a bony behind that you will hurt yourself if you try to slap it. I mean, at least you may be able to put some fitted underwear on him and hope it lifts a little bit of roundness, but aside from that, there's not much to work with here.

However, because I love to do some internally homophobic Jeff, he's tight and inexperienced. Be ready to show this man the joys and pleasures of anal sex, because he's going to love it if you do it right. WARNING! Like handling a feral cat, it's gonna take time and patience, you better be ready to protect yourself when he takes a knife out the first time that you propose to experiment with this type of stuff. He's not so much opposed to participate in gay sex, it's that very ancient times kind of thinking of “if I top it's not bad”.

And once he's comfortable bottoming, you better bet that he's going to dominate you still. He's lifting up your legs while bouncing on your cock, he's not going to let go of control if you allow him, unless you want to fight for dominance and make him submit (he secretly loves it).

Underwear: Either going commando (if he's not wearing jeans, he's not that much of a crazy man) or worn-out boxers, no in-between.

Jack

Now this man is competing with Tim to see who has the fattest ass. However, Jack's butt is more firm, he could crack bones between those round cheeks. So yeah, you better be ready to enjoy this hole.

Now do not be fooled by this man, he may be big and scary, and with razor sharp teeth, but he loves to be dominated when it comes to being fucked. Once you manage to get on top, he's melting and letting you put him in whatever position you want. As long as you can lift him, you can fold him in a mating press and fill his guts.

And no matter how you put him, his pecs will be BOUNCING as you go to town in that ass. And you just know he loves to have his nipples sucked while you're thrusting into that ass, so go for it too!

And in this house we love to give back, so you better believe that Jack likes to have his ass eaten. Just rim that demon guy until he's loose enough and wet enough to have you inside of him. And even do so when you're done with him, he loves that.

Underwear: He likes to wear jockstraps, just firm around his sizeable cock and easy to put on if I want to give him a tail on top of everything else.

Toby

Just like how many people love Toby with a sleeper build, he usually wears clothes loose enough that you wouldn't be able to tell that he has a delicious bubble butt. It's very round and soft, and he was embarrassed of it at some point, because he didn't feel like it was very “masculine”. Now he doesn't care, because the girlies like it and the dudes like it, so it's a win-win. Now, his only problem with it, and I've said this before, is that he's a hairy dude and that applies to his whole back and ass.

And my Toby gets very submissive when you show interest in his butt, he's just gonna let you take charge and throw him around however you want. Just please be mindful of his safety, because you can fold him like a pretzel and he's gonna be into it as long as it is hot and the mood is right, but that can't be good for his back. Like yeah, sure, blow his back out, but don't wreck his hole.

Still, do not be deceived, he can take plenty of dick as long as you prepare him for it. And if there's something that Toby loves, that's foreplay, especially when it is intimate and passionate. Just hold him close while fingering him and he's probably going to be cumming before you even put the tip in. You can get this man squirming by just making out with him in the right way.

Underwear: Anything comfy and not too tight, because he once wore underwear too tight without realizing and it could've hurt him.

Tim

This man has ASS, this man is a bear and his butt is voluptuous. Tim struggles to get his jeans on in the morning only because of that giant dump truck he's carrying around, it jiggles and bounces while he pulls those pants on. And it is hairy, that's some good old rainforest right there, he's never ever going to think about getting a razor near his cock, even less where he can't easily see.

Now on top of being a big guy all around, he's not exactly a size queen, but he can take plenty of dick. This man wants to feel that stretch and someone actually overpowering him. Being a guy that has survived due to the fact that he's strong and resilient, he wants more variety in bed, he loves a partner that can make him feel small, but at the same time safe.

However, he loves to be dominant. Everything that happens in bed is on his terms, period. If you're fucking him into the mattress, it's because he asked you to. Because whenever he wants to, he's going to flip your positions around and ride you until your hips shatter.

And he wouldn't admit it, but he likes to be left gaping and creampie’d, just that emptiness after being fucked stupid by someone else.

Underwear: A classic tighty whities kinda guy, just something that covers everything, but hugs deliciously around his butt.

Brian

Here's the final boss of trying to convince him of bottoming, this is due to the fact that I love my Brian like a red flag: manipulative, paranoid and deeply controlling. Now it is not impossible, but it is impossible to make him submit, so the only way to get him to bottom is if he's sure that you will not take control over him. So hey, to all the service tops out there, this man will take your service with glee and leave you dry.

And when it comes to his actual behind, this one is a little bit in-between Jeff and the other guys. Like not too much fat, he's a fit guy, so it's very firm, very well-defined. Not gonna jiggle too much when you slap him tho, but it looks good in some form-fitted clothing.

And when it comes to what he likes to do with all that, it's definitely grinding against your crotch to get you all hard for him. He's going to torture you, just edging until he finally finds you pathetic enough to be worth his time.

Underwear: Tight boxers, just something classic that can emphasize his size, both front and back.

[creepypastaideas]

"Please, please! Dont do this!" Toby begs as he thrashes under Hoodie's weight. He desperatly gouges claw marks in the forest floor.

"This is forest the best, Toby," Brian says, trying to sooth the destruct man.

Toby sobs out denials. He tries to escape Brian's hold by kicking and hitting him, even dislocating his own joints. He reaches for his terrified lover, held down by Masky.

"Please," he hiccups. "Plea-plea-please. I'll be good. I wont complain on missions or go, go, go rouge. I'll follow orders..."

"This isnt about that," Tim says sharply.

"Toby..."

Toby thrashes at the sound of his love's whimper. He almost escapes Hoodie's hold, only to be slammed back against the forest floor.

"Hurry up!" Hoodie barks.

Masky grabs a rock, not big enough to make this quick, but if he stricks the temple... He shoved Toby's lover's head down and too the side so he'd get a clear shot. "Don't move."

Toby howls, "No!" He strains to reach for his sunlight, his love, his wonder. "Don't!"

His love reaches for him. Their fingertips touch.

Wild, despondent, gazes meet.

"I love y-"

Masky brought down the rock. Again. And again.

Blood splatters. Bone shatters. He mashes the brain into paste, only dropping the rock once he was certain of death.

He tosses the rock aside.

Brian releases Toby.

Toby stares at the body. There's nothing for him to feel, cause how can he when his heart was murdered.

Tim leans down and cards his fingers through Toby's hair.

Brian lays his hand on Toby's back.

"Listen," Tim whispers, "I'm sorry. I had to. do it. You know what the Operator is like."

"He said I could keep, keep-"

"Think about it," Brian says, rubbing Toby's back. "Do you want this life for them? They would have been twisted, changed, until you didnt recognize-"

"We'd have each other," Toby whispers. He weeps without noticing.

"I, I, hate yo-yo-you."

[bigfatbimbo]

Be your Idle ˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆ ♱ ⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖

♰ a/n yo FUCK this guy…. no really…. can we fuck this guy?

♰ warnings pegging, dom!fem!reader, sub!light, dubious consent kind of? but not really, manipulation, Light is very evil, NOT PROOFREAD

summary ♰ “If I let y/n peg me, will they be able to deduce I am Kira?”

Things have escalated quickly for Light.

He was bent over on the bed, bracing for impact as you roughly pulled down his pants. Light grimaced, glancing at the lube on the table. At some point, he had made a crucial error. He thought back momentarily, deciding whether or not this was in fact necessary.

It started when with the task force evaluating the psychology behind Kira. Patterns in his behavior, indications of a god complex, an overall need for control. Really, things any moron could have picked out.

You were on the task force too. In fact, Light had been seeing you for a brief period of time, as he believed it would be of use to him to keep you on a short leash, less you find out anything too incriminating. At the very least, you two were more than familiar.

Naturally, his ears perked up when he heard your theory about Kira falling into some kind of category of toxic masculinity. He shook his head but you insisted.

“No, listen. There’s obviously clear need for power, and a desire to win, as L stated. But it’s done in such a way it’s almost expected. He gets insulted when L figures something out, threatened,” that made Light frown. “There’s insecurity there. I think whoever we’re looking for is some kind of golden boy who’s used to getting what he wants out of privilege. He’s probably protective of his masculinity because of it.”

That wasn’t good. And when you posted your theory of the second Kira being a woman Light began to sweat.

Your flamboyant ideas didn’t stop there. Upon seeing each other thay night, you had suggested something Light wanted to gag at.

“…I don’t know about that. We’ve only had sex a couple times, I’m not entirely sure if i’m there yet,” His voice was level, and almost preachily polite although his insides curdled with disgust.

“Oh, come on,” You push. You were always so damn pushy. “It’s totally normal. I mean— mens g-spot is their prostate, anyways. I really think the only reason it’s not more normalized is because of the world’s weird obsession with gender roles and,” you glanced up at him, “maintaining masculinity.”

A jolt through Lights spine. Clearly a hint. Was it a test? If he said no, because of some insecurity Light definitely didn’t have, would you assume he was Kira? No, that’s crazy. You can’t back that up just because he doesn’t want to get pegged, that’d hardly be a case. However, he already fits the other criteria you listed earlier, and you’re on Misa’s trail too. If he possibly relinquished control for one night… and intimacy like that always builds trust…

You were watching him.

His eyes narrow, before continuing with appearances. “You know what, sure. I really like you, and i’m prepared to try new things for someone I care about.”

Bullshit, Bullshit, Bullshit. Everything you were doing to Light right now was making him squirm with hate. He felt absolutely cheated. How dare you make him surrender like this, how dare you—

“You okay down there, Light?” You were above him, hands roaming on top of his naked body. You looked like a predator.

“I’m just,” he could barely keep his teeth from grinding, “I guess, I’m just a little bit nervous.”

You nipped at his neck, hands ghosting over his hole. He sucked in a breath. You growled, low, “Is that right?”

What was that supposed to mean? Light didn’t have time to think about that as you slipped your first lubricated finger into him. He gripped onto you on instinct, gasping softly.

“W-were you even going to warn me?” It came out a bark. Yikes, aggravated isn’t a good look. He couldn’t help it, it was surprising.

You shushed him slowly, adding another finger, and scissoring them inside him. Light shuddered, the feeling was new.

“Let’s not get an attitude, baby.” And scarily, chillingly, as if you read his mind, you cooed, “Thats not a good look.”

Light choked, “Whats that’s supposed to— Ah!”

You had hit a spot that sent a shock wave of pleasure throughout him. He whimpered, looking up at you with a gasp caught in his throat. To his dismay, you hit it again. And it felt even better.

“Oh god—“ His breathing got heavy, “That was…”

“New?” You don’t give him time to respond before working your fingers in him faster. It goes on like that for a few minutes, which isn’t nearly long enough, before you remove your fingers.

Light instinctively looked angry as the loss of attention, and he gazed up at you with confusion. “Why the hell did you stop?”

His hand came up to his mouth to stop himself, he’s loosing control… that isn’t good. This was a bad idea. He isn’t enjoying it, he can’t be… And yet he’s so hard he’s dizzy just sitting up.

Either way, he doesn’t have much more time to think before he’s suddenly flipped over, ass connected to your strap like a puzzle piece.

He cries out, gripping the sheets with an idiotic feeling of relief. ‘Thank god, she’s fucking me again’ a part of him thinks. His fists grab the sheets around him as he sneers at the thought.

Your thrusts are hard, and it becomes apparent to you Light is desperately trying to bite his moans back. You laugh.

This upsets him. “Whats— hah— whats funny?” He demands, with impressive bite between moans.

You wait a beat. Too long. Anticipation, Light numbly thinks. You are such a bitch.

Pushing his head further into the pillow, you continue to snicker, “You are such a fucking slut.”

He whines, and you continue to drill into him brutally. “I know you’ve never been fucked like this before. Surely you’ve had sex, such a charming boy,” You were teasing, Light tried to be mad. “But none of your bimbos had you like this; ass up fucking yourself into a woman’s strap, trying to pretend you don’t like it. But your grasp just wont stop slipping, right?”

You knew something, you knew too much. A small strike of panic swelled in Lights chest before dissolving into adrenaline. That’s the only reason he was enjoying this, right? The adrenaline? God, he couldn’t focus his mind.

He whined desperately, “Shut up! Ah-hah—“ What was he doing? He couldn’t think of a response, what was correct? He couldn’t tell. Damn you. “I—I can’t—“

“Aw, poor baby,” you slam against his prostate, and grip his hair back. “You can’t what? Hide how pathetic you really are?”

Light could have came right there. His back was so arched he felt he could break in half, and tears dabbed at the ends of his eyes. Humiliated at his enjoyment, he cried out with a girlish moan, “Guh—Go to hell!”

You stopped moving, “Oh?”

To Lights absolute horror, you pull out. “No!” He cried, turning himself over, scattering like terrified animal.

You shoved him back down, “That is not how we talk to someone being nice to you.”

He could kick you. He could claw your eyes out. He could write your name down. He could —

You were smiling, and Light realized how absolutely ruined he looked. He was breathing heavily, propped himself up in bed as sweaty hair cling to his forehead. And… oh god.

His mouth curled back into a deep frown, and he sniffed violently, spit connecting his top and bottom lips as he opened his mouth to choke out a sob.

“Oh, my god.” You say, awed, “Are you really crying because you’re not getting what you want?”

His dick was so hard it ached deeply, pink and leaking. He felt empty, he needed you back inside him, he wouldn’t be able to breathe until you filled him up again. “I— Ungh— Please—“

“That’s a start. What else?”

He sobbed, hiccuping as he pawed at his untouched dick, “I’m sorry— I’m sorry— I need to feel you— I need—“

You shoved your plastic dick inside him again, cradling his face gently, “Oh my baby, thats my good boy. Are you going to behave yourself now?”

He was on his back, legs resting over your shoulders, hands helplessly over his head as he stupidly submitted to you. He didn’t care anymore, he needed to feel it again. Feel you again.

He nodded, gasping and wrenching for air in between moans, “Uh-huh— nngh— Yes! I will, d-don’t stop—“

“Awe, it’s nice being a sweet boy, isn’t it?” He moaned welty, nodding as he arched up into you. “Wish you were more often?”

He could barely hear what you were saying, he could only see your foggy face above him as your hand came down to stroke his cock. He wailed, guttural and uncontrolled.

You leaned closer, and he thought for a moment you were going to bend him completely in half. He wanted you too, he needed it.

All of his senses were flooded with pleasure, and he couldn’t bite his tongue anymore, crying out with pleasure constantly. “Ungh— harder- please— ‘m so close—“

You stroked him harder, looking at him with an unusually cold face. He closed his eyes, receiving your abuse with uncharacteristic openness.

“Go on baby, show me how good you feel.”

Light cries out one last time before cumming harder than ever before. His vision went completely black, his legs shook with violence, and he fell back onto the bed with force.

You cradle him in your arms, shushing him as he comes down from his high. Brushing his hair back from his face as he whimpers softly against your chest, the man before you is completely stripped.

He is not performing, although he is not himself. There is no evil in the exhausted boy sucking on your tit, but there is no good either.

And much like before the sex, you are left wondering about Lights true identity.

[mouthsfullofsharpteeth]

jay had important jobs in the filming of marble hornets. he was assistant director. script supervisor. he needed to be super professional.

jay had his tongue down the lead actors mouth.

kissing brian was nice. really nice. it almost made him forget they were supposed to be running lines. almost made him forget that alex and sarah and seth and tim were all just down the hall in the other room.

"fuck, i-" brian panted, pulling away a second. "god, you make me so crazy."

"says you." jay sounded a lot more breathless than he planned to.

brian gripped jays hair tighter, pressed their bodies closer. "i want you so bad."

"i know, me too," he murmured. "later, okay? ill stay late to pack up, and we can do more then. not while everyones here, though."

it was for brians benefit, and yet he was the one who looked disappointed.

"we can't just-"

"not while everyones here, no." jay raised a brow. "come on, you know they'd catch on if we were gone that long. later, bri."

brian was the one still in the closet, after all. no one but jay knew he liked men. liked jay. it was their own little secret, and as fun as it was, brian made it awfully hard to hold onto when he was casting puppy dog eyes at jay.

"quit that," jay said with a laugh, nudging brian back. brian laughed too, and idly wiped some of the drool from his mouth. they got a bit more heated than jay had expected them too when he'd leaned over to peck brian's lips after he nailed his monologue.

"as long as you promise," brian said. "later. promise."

"i promise," jay assured him.

it was good they had stopped, then, because barely a second later, alex's footsteps came down the hall and the door to brian's room swung open.

"are you done yet?" he snapped. alex had been in a worse mood than usual lately. always angry. always yelling at people. jay had become something of his pr manager.

"yeah, we're done. he did great." jay stood up, hoping he didn't look so flushed.

"good." alex scowled. "tim and sarah both sound like crap. we need brian to carry the scene again. come on."

brian stood too, and flashed jay a smile, following alex down the hall.

'later', he mouthed. jay grinned back.

he didn't mind keeping things secret.

[eiirisworkshop]

The Fanfic Author’s Guide to Metatext

(As Used on Ao3) by Eiiri

Also available as a PDF here. This thing is 13,000 words.  The PDF is recommended.

Intro: What is Metatext?

Metatext is everything we fanfic authors post along with our story that is not the story itself: title, tags, summary, author’s notes, even the rating.

It is how we communicate to potential readers what they’re signing themselves up for if they choose to read our story, how we let them make informed decisions regarding which fics they want to read, how we get their interest and, frequently, how they find our story in the first place. A lot of metatext acts as a consent mechanism for readers, it’s the informed part of informed consent.

Since most of us who write fanfic also read it, we understand how important this is! But, for the most part, no one ever teaches us how to use metatext; we have to pick it up by osmosis. That makes it hard to learn how to use it well, we all suck at it when we first start out, and some of us may go years without learning particular conventions that seem obvious to others in our community. This creates frustration for everybody.

Enter this guide!

This is meant to be a sort of handbook for fic writers, particularly those of us who post on Archive of Our Own, laying out and explaining the established metatext conventions already in use in our community so we (and our readers!) are all on the same page. It will also provide some best-practices tips.

The point is to give all of us the tools to communicate with our audience as clearly and effectively as possible, so the people who want to read a story like ours can find it and recognize it as what they’re looking for, those who don’t want to read a story like ours can easily tell it’s not their cup of tea and avoid it, nobody gets hurt, and everybody has fun—including us!

Now that we know what we’re talking about, let’s get on with the guide! The following content sections appear in the order one is expected to provide each kind of metatext when posting a fic on Ao3, but first….

Keep reading

[occultbooks]

AFTER ALMOST TWO MONTHS........ MY MAGNUM OPUS

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

HILSON T4T DACRYPHILIA BREEDING KINK !!!!!!!!

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Also, sorry that I lied about writing updates! I keep going back and forth on a few things and starting other new ones.

I’m not sure when I’ll have something to post, or if it’ll be good to you. I’m trying to push myself and learn new techniques, I’m also spending more time sleeping or lying down (disabled) and all of my writing is on computers which requires me to sit up.

[cryptidcircusco]

2 things

1. i find it way more interesting to examine characters sexual interests as a character study rather than for my own gratification

2. im really tired of writing porn i’m realizing. like ridiculously so. I don’t want any more hot spicy smut just for the sake of it, I’m tired now and I think I should listen to myself and stop writing it entirely so everyone who follows me over on CCW is in for a BAD surprise

[oldmanffucker]

prompt from @cryptidcircusco. problematic blanket gap relationship

(prompt post)

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Brian had died.

That was the one thing he was sure of, that he was dead. His body was cold and still. His blood did not flow to warm him. His heart did not beat in his chest. His lungs did not move, unless he bade them.

Yet, despite it all, Brian was still… *something.* Maybe not alive, maybe not Brian, maybe not even human anymore. He didn’t know the answers to these things. He didn’t know where to find the answers, didn’t know if they would help him, didn’t know if they even mattered, or how long he’d been dead, or gone, or if anyone else was still alive. If anyone remembered. His own memories were hazey and clipped, his ears ringing if he dwelled too long on the past.

[hilsonficrecs]

No, Will You? by rosegoldrosie (6k, M)

House refuses to let Wilson propose to him first, because why should Wilson get to do it four times? Except that House doesn't have the faintest idea where to start — so he pesters the two men whose marriages have crashed and burned, his psychiatrist, and a bisexual bombshell for advice, throws himself into his work, and avoids Wilson like he has the plague. (Or, House insists on an emotional Rube Goldberg trying to propose to Wilson.)

Tropes: Domestic Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Season 6, Fluff

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Alex Hirsch you will always be a legend to me

[lemondoddle]

[ID. two images of alex hirsch presenting in front of a large screen with illustrations of his on them. the first depicts a zeus-like figure with a mickey mouse head crossing his massive arms over a robe labeled "company" and laughing, a little storm cloud next to him. the second illustration takes away the robe to reveal mickey's tiny body standing on a stack of rocks labeled "your ideas, your work, your time, your sanity". end ID.]

[hilsonficrecs]

Badge of Honor by pleasuretoburn (16k, M)

“Why are you so opposed to seeing your parents?” “I have no intention of celebrating my dad for anything he’s accomplished.” “It’s just a consolation prize.” “Exactly, that makes it even more pathetic.” or, Wilson offers to drive House to his childhood home to celebrate his father's birthday and honorary rewarding for his achievements in the army, neither of which House cares particularly about. He discovers House has put him into a bit of a situation, until things get out of hand and he realizes the real reason why his friend didn't want to see his family.

Tropes: Fake Dating, Child Abuse, Sharing a Bed, Season 2, Bigotry (Homophobia, Ableism), Getting Together, Bi!House, Jealous!House, Protective!Wilson, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Sharing a Bed, Hurt/Comfort

[rainrot4me]

Zombie Toby x s/o:D what would their be dynamic? Idk ima let u have the pick of what to do w the idea!

~🪓🎀

P.s. make sure to drink water and munch on food if you ever skip meals!

“Ughhhh,” - Toby, probably.

── .✦

So, you have a zombie boyfriend:

Toby’s transformation wasn’t clean. It wasn’t a simple bite-and-turn situation. Whatever strain infected him corrupted his brain slowly, painfully. His body rots like any other, but his mind lingers somewhere between himself and something darker. And the worst part? He knows it. He’s aware of it all.

He’s still Toby deep down. Even when his skin turns an ugly gray color and his hair begins to thin and his bones crack with every movement. That’s still Toby Rogers, your boyfriend. It’s a slow transformation, a grueling decay. So for now, you still have him.

He doesn’t feel pain—thanks to his CIPA, that hasn’t changed. But now it’s even more dangerous. A rotting body can’t give you warning signs. He burns, festers, tears muscle, breaks bone… and never knows until you point it out. “Toby, your arm—”

“Ah. D-Damn. Must’ve been when I sh-shoved that guy into the fence.” Always casual. Always dismissive. It’s easier than admitting he’s falling apart.

But the hunger is new. It creeps in quiet. At first, he thought he could handle it. Then he started salivating at the smell of iron. Blood. Then he started dreaming about the taste of your skin.

The conflict:

Toby’s terrified of hurting you. He doesn’t feel the same kind of fear as before—not in the human way—but some sliver of his soul screams when your hand brushes his jaw and he has to bite back the instinct to sink his teeth into your wrist. Sometimes he’ll just… walk away mid-conversation.

“Toby?”

Silence.

“You okay?”

“I’m gonna r-rip your throat out if I d-don’t leave.” And he does. He leaves. Slams a door. Rips a branch off a tree just to do something else with his hands.

When he returns, it’s always with a stitched-up wound or a re-fastened cloth. A new bandage wrapped around a rotting spot on his neck. He always looks like he’s been fighting the world. But really? He’s been fighting himself.

Affection:

Showing love doesn’t really change after his turning, but it does grow more tedious.

Physical Affection is hard. He worries about hurting you with his decaying body, or worse—getting too close during a hunger spike. So he leans into acts of service: bringing you scavenged supplies, using his strength to fix things, standing guard at night.

But on rare, controlled nights, he allows small touches. His head in your lap. Your fingers threading through what’s left of his hair. He doesn’t say much, but he hums softly—like a rasping, dying engine—just to let you know he’s still there.

Don’t worry—he’s still stupidly funny. “I haven’t e-eaten anyone in weeks. That’s go-gotta mean something, right?”

He uses CIPA like a weapon. He’s reckless. He’ll throw himself into danger, letting bones break and skin tear if it means getting to you or protecting you.

But he does decay. You often patch him up, sometimes literally sewing him together. It’s intimate in a strange, macabre way. Your hands covered in flesh and black sludge, your voice quiet as you ask, “Still with me?”

He always nods. Even if his eyes have glazed, he finds a way to respond—even if it is just slowly turning into grunts and groans.

You become his anchor. The reason he doesn’t give in and feed. The reason he hasn’t let himself rot entirely. He needs you like he needs to breathe—except he doesn’t breathe anymore, and you know it.

You learn to read his tells: When his jaw clenches too long. When he stops blinking. When he stares at your neck or wrists for too long.

If you came into this thinking you were going to have sex? No dice. Toby’s body is fraying with every passing day—he’s literally dying actively. If you even thought about touching his dick it would fall off. He misses getting to touch you, no doubt, but it’s not worth the chance that he might also turn you if fluids get mixed wrong.

Dealing with him decaying:

At first, it’s subtle. Toby’s voice—already rough from years of misuse and damage—starts to crack more than usual. What was once a rasped mutter now becomes a strained whisper, words catching in his throat like they’re too heavy to climb out. You catch him coughing more, and when he tries to speak, it sometimes comes out as a low growl or broken syllable.

He notices it too. His brow furrows, frustration bleeding through his expression. His mouth moves like he wants to say more, but all he gets is static—garbled syllables or grunts. The first time it really happens, he throws his hands up and storms out of the room, fingers twitching, unable to express even that he’s angry with himself.

You try to make it easier—offering him a notebook, then a whiteboard, even just holding your phone between you two for him to type. But with every passing week, the decline worsens. His ability to spell, to remember simple words, even to focus long enough to form coherent sentences—it all slips through his fingers.

The CIPA doesn’t help. He doesn’t register when he chews the inside of his cheek raw or grinds his molars down. He doesn’t notice the cracked skin in his throat, or the torn vocal cords scraping like wire. He’ll try to hum, to grunt out noises when you say something funny, but it’s off. Wrong. Almost feral.

And then one night, he stops trying entirely.

Instead, he just looks at you with those pale, unfocused eyes. His posture is more animal now—head tilted, mouth slightly ajar, always drooling a little. He grips your wrist too tight, even when he’s trying to be gentle. His breathing is heavier, less controlled, and sometimes you catch him sniffing at you like he’s trying to recognize your scent, even if he can’t say your name anymore.

But he remembers you’re important.

His hands shake as he cups your cheek. A low rumble builds in his chest—not quite a purr, but not a growl either. His body remembers love even when his mind forgets language. You’ll say, “It’s okay. I’m here,” and he’ll nod, burying his face in your shoulder like a scared animal seeking warmth.

And in the quiet hours, when he can no longer speak, he still finds ways to communicate—tapping rhythms on your arm, nudging his head into your lap, tracing letters he can no longer write onto your skin with trembling fingers.

You never get a “goodnight” again. But you get the weight of him curled against you, limbs tangled with yours, undead heart still trying to beat in time with yours.

Even in his rot, he tries to love you. As much as he remembers how.

After all that:

Toby stops reacting to his name unless it’s said loud, sharp. He doesn’t look at you the way he used to; not with recognition, not even with confusion. His eyes go glassy, his jaw slack more often than not. You find him standing in corners, swaying ever so slightly, like the wind in him has nowhere to go.

He doesn’t pick up his hatchets anymore. Doesn’t grunt in response when you speak. The twitching worsens—violent, jerky spasms that roll through his limbs, like the last pieces of a dying machine still trying to run.

The only time he seems alert is when he smells blood.

You learn quickly: a paper cut, a nosebleed, even a bitten lip will draw him close, too close. He’ll sniff, hover, pupils blown wide. Sometimes his teeth chatter and his hands flex like he’s starving—and some part of him is. Something deeper than hunger. Something inhuman. His mouth opens like he wants to beg you for something—but he doesn’t know the words. He’s forgotten how.

One night, he tries to bite you. It’s not hard. Not brutal. He latches onto your forearm with just enough pressure that you feel the sting, the dull scrape of decaying teeth. But when you pull back—scared, bleeding—he doesn’t recoil in shame.

He moans.

You don’t sleep that night. You sit in the hallway with your back to the door, sobbing quietly, hearing him drag himself back and forth inside the room like a caged animal. You want to believe he’s still in there somewhere. That the boy who used to giggle under his breath and mouth “I love you” from across the room hasn’t been completely devoured by the thing he’s become.

But you’re not sure anymore.

The final straw is when you catch him crouched over a rabbit. Not just eating—tearing, ripping, blood soaked across his hoodie, coating his chin, pupils wild. When he sees you, he doesn’t speak. He only licks his lips and lets out a sound that rattles in his throat—somewhere between a growl and a whimper.

You run. He doesn’t chase. But later that night, he knocks on your door.

And you know. You just know—this is it. What’s left of his soul has gone quiet. He stands on the other side of the door, swaying, breathing heavy, maybe not even aware of what he’s doing. You open it, and his eyes meet yours—not in love, not in grief, but in hunger.

You have two options.

Let him turn you—feel those infected teeth tear into your shoulder, let the rot take your veins, the decay creep into your mind until all that’s left is the echo of what you used to be. Be with him. Be like him.

Or end it.

You raise the shotgun from under your bed. His head tilts, almost curious. There’s no fear in him anymore. No anger. Just need. And even now, as your hand shakes and tears stream down your cheeks, he reaches out—not to hurt you, not quite. He just wants to touch. To hold. The way he used to.

But you know what will happen the moment he gets close enough.

You whisper his name.

No response.

Just the soft, wet sound of breath, and the twitch of decaying fingers reaching for you again.

You decide.

꩜ .ᐟ

[cryptidcircuswrites]

listened to this while reading

[mousebitesmd]

notes from legal (G, 599 words)

Legal sits down with Cuddy to have a discussion about the medical malpractice lawsuit generator, Dr. Gregory House.

crackfic in which a beleaguered lawyer from legal has to deal with house's shit once again.

tags: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, POV Outsider, Humor, Meta, more mouse bites, Medical Malpractice, Canon-Typical Behavior, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Gregory House is a Little Shit, Lisa Cuddy is Tired, corporate hell AU, Ficlet