Any news on the next update or imagine need something to keep me sane while my partner ignores me for the world cup 😩
I'm currently working on that role reversal one shot because it takes less energy than As Dusk Settles. It's really fun to imagine what the creatures would be like as humans! Relatively messed up humans in this case, but human all the same. Getting in the headspace of creature! reader is super fun as well!
I hope to begin properly writing for my actual fic soon tho! Weekends and most free time is now reserved for renovating our new home and I'm exhausted 🥲
Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️
Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.
P.s. I live in the U.K. and have tried to use language that fits being an American in Gotham city, but there will definitely be some words I haven't caught that may be UK specific. 😅
🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏
I stared despairingly at the huge stack of paperwork my line manager had just slapped down on my desk. I sighed and bit the inside of my cheek. None of my male co-workers had to deal with her extra work. This was such bullshit.
"Ah, you are a life saver, (y/n). What would I do without you?"
Her own work, probably, I thought to myself, sighing in exasperation as she left me to my souless cubicle.
By the time i'd finished up, it was getting cold out. After taking a detour to try and stave off the inevitable return to my shitty apartment, I found myself in front of a particularly expensive store. My feet were aching from the heels my backwards regional manager insisted on the female admin staff wearing and my head hurt from the tight bun my hair was scraped into. His smirk was etched into my brain, as were his vile words on his latest visit.
"You're a very attractive young lady, even with your face like that. Your body makes up for it."
I felt pure rage rising up again at the memory. It was the way he'd said it as though he truly believed it was a compliment. The laughter of my coworkers rang in my ears. To them it was all a big joke and I was just too uptight to appreciate it.
What I wouldn't give to see them all humbled one day... but that was pure fantasy - and I knew it. I wondered what he'd buy with his overinflated christmas bonus this time, while we were all given a meeting to explain why they couldn't justify a minor pay rise to ease the cost of living crisis in Gotham.
The twinkling lights of the high end window displays were a beautiful contrast to the bleary grey outside, and after another hellish day in the purgatory which was the cubicle farm, my heart warmed a little. Everything in the store was definitely well out of my meagre price range, but the inner child in me was drawn in to look at all the pretty evening dresses and jewellery. I shrugged to myself, figuring there's never any harm in window-shopping and a little indulgent fantasy. Even if I could afford any of the opulent dresses, half of them were really ball gowns, and what events was I ever invited to where you'd need a dress like that? No, those sort of parties were for Gotham's social elite - charity fundraisers, galas and that sort of thing, no doubt.
I was half expecting a staff member to immediately spot me in my regular civilian garb and herd me back out of the door like a stray dog but they seemed to be dealing with a particularly difficult customer at the register. She was waving her arms around and pulling a "do you know who my husband is?".
I stifled a laugh at the image of her, in her ridiculous fur coat shouting frantically and looking like she was about to give herself a anyeurism, if the prominent vein on her forehead was anything to go by. I turned away from her soap operatics and back to the rails of clothes in front of me. I gently touched the fabrics, marvelling at the softness of the richest velvet. Gazing at cool silk like rippling water; nothing like the cheap imitation the rest of us were accustomed to. I got drawn into my own little world imagining who might wear each dress and for what occasion.
"Can I help you with something?"
The voice pulled out the rug on my little escape instantly. I felt anxiety rising in my chest but resolved not to panic completely.
"Oh, I was just browsing..." I said, faking the best dismissive tone I could.
"You're sure, I'd be more than happy to help. Do you want to try anything?" She pressed, a friendly tone rather than the suspicion I had anticipated.
Perhaps my work suit was giving a higher-end impression than I had realised... or maybe she was new here.
"This one is particularly lovely, don't you think?" She gestured to the garment I unknowingly had a hand on, pausing as she'd approached.
She wasn't wrong, it was a rich purple, ridiculous really, with layers and layers of tule skirting, but somehow the fine cut and quality of the fabric, and the detailing made it look classy rather than like something a teenager might pick out as their prom dress.
When was I ever going to get the chance to try on a literal ball gown? I decided to play into it, after all, I could always say I needed to go away and review my options. They couldn't make me buy it.
"It is lovely," I murmured.
"Do you want to try it on?"
"If it isn't too much trouble..."
Before I knew it, I was being whisked into a dressing room. The store clerk came whirling in with the dress and began unfastening it for me.
"Shoe size?" She asked briskly.
I hurriedly blurted out my answer and she dashed back onto the floor.
I kicked off my uncomfortable work heels and removed my blazer, skirt and scarf. Somehow I felt even more like an imposter standing there in just my undergarments and a pair of tights. I hurriedly pulled the dress up and held it in place. Before I knew it, she'd returned and began fastening me up at the back.
I gasped, both from the air being pushed out of my lungs as she cinched the hidden corsetry, and in awe at what I saw in the mirror. I had never had particularly wonderful self-image, but since the accident, I'd really shrunk into the background. I had always been shy, but i'd become a total wallflower these days. I hated the public-facing parts of my job - if it was telephone or email correspondence, people couldn't react in their myriad shitty ways to my facial scarring, but sometimes I was on front desk duty. Those were the worst days for me.
She made a minor adjustment to my hair, pulling a few strands loose around my face. To my surprise, she hesitated as she saw my scars up close, but didn't recoil, or pull more hair out to try and hide them. Her delicate fingers lingered for a moment, hovering above where my eyebrow was split into three by the forks of red lightning which were still deeply scored into my skin. I had mostly made my peace with it, but it was other peoples' reactions to my face that caused me the most pain. The grimaces, the staring, looking startled, regarding me with pity, strangers asking me what happened, it could all just be too damn much some days. It was a rare and beautiful thing to have someone not react negatively in some way.
I knew I was lucky to still be in the land of the living, and that I was in remarkable shape considering what happened that day, but it had left an inescapable mark. I anxiously ran my fingers over my temple, over the metal plate holding my skull together somewhere beneath the skin. She pulled her own hand back away slowly.
"You look beautiful, miss," she smiled with a genuine warmth that made me begin to believe it. It seemed as though she could sense my sudden swell of insecurity.
The girl was young, couldn't be more than sevetneen or eighteen, and I prayed that she somehow retained her gentleness in a city as ugly as Gotham.
"Thank you," I said, tearing up a little.
The dress itself was surprisingly lightweight and not like some kind of Victorian horror complete with a hoop skirt. Instead, it looked quite modern, and had a lot of volume in the skirt due to the layers of tulle fabric, which meant that you could still dance with ease. I did a little twirl for good measure, watching how it flowed and moved around my form. The store clerk smiled at my childlike delight.
Unfortunately, my elation was shattered in an instant. A chorus of screams and panicked shouts, followed by a spray of gunfire hit us like a slap to the face. The shop girl's eyes widened in confusion and panic, and I grasped onto her arm to steady myself. We strained our ears, trying to make out what exactly was happening. My brain was struggling to make the jump from the moment I had just been experiencing to the very real danger we were now thrust into.
After a couple of agonising seconds, there was another round of shots, and I heard a gruff male voice shout;
"Everybody get down!"
"Try to stay calm," I whispered, my own voice shaking.
I herded us into the corner of the booth, pulling the curtain closed and desperately gestured for her to undo the corset, not wanting to have to run for my life in the stupid dress. I could hear crashing and footsteps, as though the place was being ransacked and bit the inside of my cheek as the girl shakily tried to loosen the cord for me.
"Check in the back, we don't want anyone calling the cops!" came a voice which sounded unsettlingly close by.
Suddenly, someone burst through the door into the dressing room. We froze, praying whoever it was, wouldn't round the corner, but sadly it was too late. The scraping metallic sound of the curtains of each booth being flung aside echoed around the room. I counted each one, feeling as though my heart had stopped beating altogether, sick with anticipation. They were going left to right, and would reach us soon enough.
Our curtain was torn to the side, and an enormous man stood in the light. The shop girl let out a yelp of terror as she huddled behind me with her head in her hands. I stared like a deer in the headlights at his ugly plastic mask - the twisted expression made my skin crawl.
"Found two hideaways!" He yelled out, lurching forward to grab at us.
In a blind panic, my body blocking him from the terrified girl behind me, I kicked and struck out like a feral street cat stuck in a trap. A few strikes connected with him but I was ultimately no match for the man towering over us.
"Quit struggling you stupid bitch," he spat, striking me across the face.
Dazed, and with my eye stinging already, I felt another pair of hands grasp me and haul me out into the open. The barrel of a gun was quickly jammed into the small of my back.
"Stop causing trouble if you want to live," he hissed.
A third figure appeared and roughly forced the girl to her feet as well.
"This one looks scared enough to piss herself," he chuckled.
"Leave her the fuck alone," I muttered through gritted teeth.
"Got a mouth on you, huh, rich girl?" Said the one holding me at gunpoint.
"Mm the boss ain't gonna like that, maybe we should gag her," one of his companions snorted.
"Nah, leave it. I wanna see what he does if she gives him any back talk," crowed the third.
They marched us out onto the marble of the shop floor. Both shoes had come off the moment i'd started to struggle against our attackers and the tiling felt cold as ice beneath my unsteady feet. I saw then that there were three other men holding up the cashiers and the handful of customers as they huddled together in one corner.
"Look what we found in the back," announced the biggest of the three men, shoving us forward.
It was only then that I noticed everyone's attention seemed to be drawn to one man, a man who I couldn't yet see, on account of him facing away from us as he nonchalantly rifled through the nearest rack of clothing.
He was a fairly tall man, perhaps a little over six feet, wearing a long coat. It was well in need of a wash, covered in dust and ashy, yet still obviously purple in colour - though perhaps not the vibrant purple it once was. His hair could best be described as messy; a straggly mop of green waves, with his natural mousy brown hair showing through at the roots and in patches throughout. His body language was odd, the way he held himself, with his shoulders hunched, unsettled me.
As he turned around, to see what his henchmen had brought in, I felt a pang of total despair. I recognised his streaky painted face from a recent news broadcast, and I knew instantly that we were in deep trouble. This was the man they called 'the joker'. I could hear the poor shop girl sobbing behind me somewhere, barely hiding her sheer terror.
"Ah more guests for our little party," he exclaimed, his voice and intonation as erratic as his physical movements.
"What you want us to do with them, boss?" Grunted the shorter thug to my left.
"Put them with the others," he gestured, stalking forward.
I turned to watch as he approached the shop girl, my heart in my throat.
"And who do we have here?" He asked, in a tone mimicking gentleness, which was even more unsettling than his usual, more sinister way of talking.
"S-sarah," she choked out between sobs.
"S-sarah? What's wrong Sarah? Are you s-scared?" He cooed, practically circling her like a big cat.
I felt sick watching him toy with her, and anger began to rise in my chest. Sarah nodded defeatedly.
"Please don't hurt me," she whimpered, unable to look him in the eyes.
"Oh now why would you think we are gonna do that?" He exclaimed.
She didn't seem to know how to answer.
"Just do everything we ask, and some of you will live," he grinned patting her on the head, "put her with the rest," he gestured dramatically to the others in the corner.
His men did as he asked and shifted her to where the others were cowering in the corner. I bit my tongue as his attention now shifted to me.
"My my, what a pretty dress, I love the colour," he purred, barely three strides away from me now.
I said nothing, hoping he would somehow just lose interest. There was still the largest of his henchmen restraining me, pistol jammed into my lower spine, so I didn't want to antagonise either of them.
He got close enough to reach out and touch me, pulling off one of his leather gloves with his teeth. The red painted smile, already smeared and smudged, left its mark on his finger tips with the clumsiness of his action. I was trying very hard to keep a steady breath, refusing to panic as I knew it would only worsen my situation.
"What's the matter? Are you shy?" He asked, that fake empathetic tone creeping in again.
"No, I just don't find that a hostage situation lends itself to free and easy conversation," I snapped back, unable to suppress my anger fully.
He tilted his head to the side, a glint in his dark brown eyes as they searched my face, scanning, analysing. In defiance, I tried to stare right back, but faltered slightly at the intensity of his gaze.
In my struggle with his henchmen, my face had become half obscured by the hair which had loosened from my bun, and my hands being behind my back, I had not been able to move it out of the way.
Suddenly breaking his stillness, he reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a knife. The switch blade swung open with a characteristic clack. I bit my tongue even harder to try and subdue my surge of panic.
He reached out his ungloved hand to rougly grasp my face. Everything within me was screaming to struggle free, to run for the hills, but I was stuck. I'd be shot down before I made it two steps, I knew that.
"You are beautiful," he mused, " tell me, does this," he moved the knife barely an inch from my face, "does this, scare you?"
I grimaced, unable to stop myself from recoiling at his skin touching my own.
"Do you ever wonder what life is like for the ugly?" He asked, flatly.
Undeterred by my shrinking away from his touch, he roughly used his fingers to comb my fallen hair back away from my face. Once the curtain of hair was lifted, my scars were revealed, and his face took on a curious, unreadable riot of emotion for a split-second.
"What's the matter, am I not as beautiful as you thought?" I muttered sarcastically, wanting to pre-empt his inevitable mockery.
He clearly liked to pick people apart, to try and tap into their biggest fears, so it seemed a sure thing that he would have plenty to say about my face. This only made me all the more dumbfounded when he put away the knife and his grasp on my face melted into something altogether tender.
His fingertips gently brushed over the deep valleys of my old wounds as though he was trying to read my story. I felt him follow the fork from my hairline at my temple all the way down, bridging my eye, down my cheek to the point mid way along the lefthand side of my jaw where it ended. As he did so, I saw for the first time up close his own grisly scars which formed a sort of permanent smile. The makeup he applied over the top made it harder to see from afar just how extensive they were. I knew from my own experience that those wounds had been more than skin deep, into deep muscle tissue - You could tell by how raised and pitted they were.
The man holding me at gunpoint seemed not to have picked up on this sudden change of pace, as he had plenty to say, even if the joker didn't.
"I shoulda warned you, boss, she's broken," he chuckled, "you should do the other side to match, I already made a start," he gestured to the split eyebrow and developing bruise he'd given me on my good side.
The joker's body language rapidly changed again. I felt him tense up, even in his fingers against my cheek. It was as though every fibre in his body was taught suddenly, like he was a rubber band about to snap. His eyes seemed to darken, his irises almost like black pools against the black paint encircling them. I was suddenly very afraid.
He looked down at my face with an air of detachement, his tongue flicking against the inner corner of his lip.
"Would you excuse me for a second, doll?" He grinned, before his smile dropped flat again the moment he straightened up to full height.
"Give me the gun," he comanded of his henchman.
"But boss..." the burly man protested, before removing it from my back and reluctantly handing it over.
There was a deafening crack and the smell of gunpowder filled my nostrils as my ears rang. Some of the hostages cried out in fear and for a moment I thought he must have shot me. I stumbled on the stupid dress, falling to the floor with a crash, dazed, my ears still ringing as I rolled onto my side, preparing for my seemingly imminent death.
Unexpectedly, my vision began to clear and the ringing dimmed down enough that I could try to collect my thoughts. Soon I became aware of another figure in front of me on the floor. Someone was roughly pulling me upwards, trying to get me back on my feet.
"Up you get!"
Suddenly, I managed to re-engage my muscles enough to stand, swaying on legs that felt like jelly.
"There you go, see? You're fine," came a low voice to my left, practically right into my ear. I blinked hard as I began to make sense of what had just happened.
The joker shifted so that he was stood in front of me again, and gripped a hand under my jaw so that he could look me in the face. He turned my somewhat vacant face this way and that, as though he was checking I was still in there.
"Whoops! Probably should've told you to stick your fingers in your ears," he wheezed with laughter, releasing my face and waving the gun around all too casually.
My lingering confusion was cleared up when I realised the other figure on the floor was his own man. The other henchmen looked on, some unfazed, some clearly very uncomfortable at this sudden decision to remove him from the equation entirely. He had shot him point blank, I couldn't bring myself to believe that it was in reaction to his insults. Surely this was just some kind of mind game going far beyond my comprehension... I had to look away from the horrific mess, away from the man lying face down on the tiles, in an already large pool of blood.
"Right, now that minor... detour is over, I want you all to stay calm, while we execute our little plan," he comanded, gesturing to the hostages.
Two of his men forced grenades into peoples shaking hands, pulling the pins so that they were forced to hold on to them, or risk them detonating. They produced a roll of duct tape and wound it around each pair of hands, so there was no chance of them tossing the grenades away from the group either. The others continued to stuff duffle bags full with the cash from the registers, and the jewellery from the display cases. I cursed the slow response time of the GCPD, although there was never a gurantee that their arrival wouldn't cause more of a bloodbath, since so many of them liked to shoot first and ask questions later. They had far too lenient of a threshold for 'collateral damage'.
I was expecting to be forcibly handed my own grenade, but instead the joker gestured to me. The way in which he waved me over was completely antithetical to the situation unfolding around us; it was so casual, as though we were long-time friends. Not seeing another choice, I gingerly approached him, and he, losing patience, roughly grabbed me by the arm and yanked me closer to him.
"These lovely people can stay here, but, uh, you..." he lingered on the word looking me up and down, as he taped my hands together in front of my body, "you, are coming along for the ride".
"Why?!" Was all I managed to get out as he shoved me roughly toward the front of the store.
He laughed, sending a fresh chill down my spine.
"Well, we have an opening, consider yourself the newest member of our operation," he said in a congratulatory tone.
Before I could respond at all, my head reeling in total panic, I was being tugged out of the door with my arms feeling like they were going to pop out of the sockets.
Ledger!joker x fem!reader
Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her borin
I come back from the void to drop this, only to vanish again—
On a serious note, this'll have a nsfw part in the future. First I have to write that bratty! Smiley content.
Cowboy creature x female! reader
Word count: 2.330
Warnings: Kidnapping (technically)
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The slab of a door groaned as you pushed it open, hinges creaking with the careful motion. Shadows draped over everything beyond. Not that there was much for it to cover aside from support beams, dirt and scattered tools here and there.
Thick foliage covering the small hill rustled as you moved past them to enter, twisting the oil lamp open as the sun was swallowed underground.
A burrow built in the forest. An unfinished sleeping spot that hopefully allowed deeper exploration of this damned place. Mysteries awaited to be exploited in the search for a way out. This burrow would help find that mysterious tree Sara told you about. With spiderwebs and ungodly amounts of spiders.
You settled the lamp down, the glow snagging on its surroundings, painting every grain of dirt and each beam in warm orange. The small diy bench of smoothened wood and boxy legs sat empty to the side.
As you looked around… a sensation stirred. Without thought, you closed the door behind you. Despite the hairs raising along your neck. Nothing was out of place inside the cavern, but your gut churned all the same. It whispered to turn around. Leave. Something was wrong.
You pushed it down, steeling your jaw. The only thing off was the hole in the ground at the end of the burrow. Dirt had collapsed under relentless digging, leaving a gaping crack of pure black to stare up. Cool stone sat beyond, like that of a tunnel.
For whatever reason, everyone got the creeps when witnessing it. Less and less people joined in on the quest, nerves getting the best of them the longer they sat near that hole. The remaining ones busied themselves building a wall between the collapsed floor and the remainder of the burrow, rows of planks reaching to the roof at the far right.
With a final, cursory glance, your shoulders lowered, relaxed. No one and nothing was there.
Walking to one side, you bend over the toolbox left there, rummaging for nails and a hammer. Your hand wrapped around the handle when—
Those fine hairs raised again. Worse. Goosebumps followed in their wake.
That well-known sensation burned into you. You were being watched. But that was impossible. You were alone, you had checked every—
Your eyes widened.
No. One corner had been left untouched. The half built wall before the hole. Someone could have hid behind it.
Cold sweat turned your forehead clammy.
Maybe you were being paranoid. Paranoia was natural here. Kept you alive. But—
Creaking came from behind moments later. As if weight settled on the bench, the wood bending under a body—
You had to turn around. Now.
Muscles disobeyed the command, the only muscle understanding the call of hurry was your heart, pounding against your sternum as if attempting to escape.
Seconds ticked by, palm slick around the hammer. Your only weapon. Clenched tightly. In case it wasn’t an ill tempered prank.
Closing your eyes—for two seconds, no longer—you took a steadying breath, stood and spun—
Stumbled back, feet catching on the toolbox and jostling its insides not unlike your stomach. Freezing cold rose to your chest as you met a pair of eyes. Patiently waiting, amusement written in the tilt of his smile.
Your eyes tried to dart past him. Couldn’t. Refused to budge from the brushed back, dirty blonde strands, the wide, blue gaze containing emotions you didn’t want to decipher. He wasn’t wearing his hat. It was nowhere in sight. Not even nestled under his arm.
“Morning, sweetheart,” it, the nightly visitor whom you had said goodbye to not long ago, said. “With such strong instincts, you should’ve known to listen.” His tone rang blandly, no proper inflection to his voice. No emotion in his face under the mask. He glanced around, posture stiff and close to unnatural as he sat. “You’re making yourself a mighty cozy hole here.”
Like always, nothing was taken seriously. Humans could only do funny things according to them. It was there in the slow swipe up and down your shaking body. The pointed look at the hammer trembling in your tight fist.
But your brain couldn’t seem to place him. He didn’t belong here in a place that was built to keep them out. He was a danger that belonged to the night. A danger that had passed mere hours ago.
“You arrive the earliest of them all, don’t you?” A rhetorical question. He already knew you rose at the crack of dawn,done being cooped up like cattle.
You shouldn’t let him distract you. Needed to stop standing still. Within reach. Should run past him, to the door. But it was him. The creature that watched over you, woke you from nightmares with his lazy knocks and drawling voice. Who plucked daisies and mourned how he couldn't put them behind your ear.
Somewhere, impossibly, along the way, your soul deemed him safe. Safe… because a window sat between. An armor of glass, wood and flaking paint keeping the image of prince charming on a white horse alive.
None of that was here. Only damp, earthy air and scarcely two feet stood between him and your soft flesh.
And yet, that nagging feeling got the better of you. Your eyes darted to the gap in the floor, the darkened tunnels beneath triggering more than one person's instincts.
“H-how are you here?”
As if he waited for it, his lips stretched, showing teeth. Teeth that had rendered people to pieces, baring muscle and nerve and bone—
He nodded at the crevice.
To the cool stone, darkness contained in tunnels. Protected against the sun. Confirming your hunch.
Which meant…
“You sleep there,” you breathed, blood creeping from your face.
“Sure do.” His head tilted with an exaggeratedly scrutinizing look. “Been a bit harder lately. Some upstairs neighbours decided to renovate.” A slyer smile curled on his features. “You dug too deep.”
Your eyes darted to the door. For a split second. Stupidly. He saw. Of course he did, you just had to make it obvious, didn’t you?
Predatory amusement flashed in his, momentarily breaking eye contact to watch the door. “The boy comes first, doesn’t she?” Blood froze over in your veins. “Ethan?” He turned back to you, a colder interest there that had your muscles tense. Preparing to—
“His daddy brings him here every—”
You snarled, raising the hammer, snapping it forward, hold loosening—
The creature was faster, too knowledgeable of human behavior. Of fear and panic. His hand shot up, catching the offending, rust touched hammer, before it could crack against his skull, without so much as a blink of his eyes. It hit his palm with a slapping sound that landed deafeningly like a lock. A click. The key breaking.
Slowly, without looking away, he lowered the tool to his lap. His hollow smile betrayed nothing. “That was rude. We were having such a nice conversation.” Again, your attention darted to the door, legs gearing—faltering when his eyes narrowed. “Now, we both know you wouldn’t get far there, sweetheart.”
Jim could arrive anytime now. To see Ethan off to this dumb burrow made with fragile human hope and desperation after those damn cicadas. Because the kid was curious and his parents somehow trusted you enough to watch over him.
“Being awfully quiet there, beautiful.” His tone conveyed… hunger. Your throat tightened, heart constricting with fear. “Where’s that sweet voice of yours?”
The creature was faster, stronger, quicker to react. He’d stop you. If Ethan stepped inside… Your soul quivered, unwilling to think of such a young voice screaming in agony, his small chest mauled and organs harvested—
Tears wanted to spring to your eyes. You squashed them down. There was still time.
Emotions flashed over his face. As if he recognised how your shaky confidence cracked further apart. Lips quirking. A knowing look developing under a raised brow.
There was no way out. Not for you.
Your mind latched onto the claustrophobic tunnels below. Their den. A possible escape route, but… He could awaken the monsters there. Alert them. Or he'd chase you into the pitch black, superior sight easily tracking you as you stumbled and flailed and—
Sweat clung to your clothes.
You were stuck. Ethan was coming. More were coming after him. Your hands balled at your side, your nails cutting pain into your palms.
The creature—a nightly plague, keen to push needles under your skin and worm his way to your heart—studied you as he was wont to do, watched plans form and shatter with carefully contained glee. Visible to you after hours upon hours of watching back.
It led to one conclusion.
You were fucked. He knew it. You knew it. God Himself knew it.
The shitty burrow that was meant to lead to progress, to new territory claimed, would be your eternal resting place instead.
But you'd be damned if it would become anyone else's.
You needed to warn them. Find a way to keep them out. But even the mere notion of using your voice was impossible. Your tongue sat frozen. Teeth grinded harshly until dull pain bloomed along your jaw.
“Here’s an idea, sweet thing. One you’ll like.” Smugness glinted in his lopsided grin. Like he already tasted the outcome, and craved to snap his teeth into it to own it. The hammer was flipped like a revolver, the handle reached towards you. “Nail the door shut.”
A fog took your thoughts. Mind blanking.
The hammer waited in his motionless hand, too still to effectively copy human swaying. The nails you held, punched between thumb and pointer finger, gained the weight of immeasurably terror.
His head craned. As if he scented the fear turning your skin clammy. Pupils slowly blowing wider than humanely possible. A feral touch to the gentleman persona. And—terribly, horrifyingly, impossible, impossible—stirring your loins to life.
Heat bloomed in your cheeks, shameful and bringing the sting of tears with it. The hammer blurred as the waterworks began, pouring out quiet grief and the sharp sting of heartbreak.
He wasn’t yours. Could never be anything but your devoted killer.
This morning, a time that was meant to be safe, he’d only take you. Not Ethan.
His solution worked in your favor in a way, and you couldn’t begin to guess as to why. Why settle for you alone?
You steeled yourself as you neared. Maybe he merely used it as a lure. Take the hammer, and you could block the kid out. Only to have your arm ripped off. Your life snuffed out while the monster waited patiently for his next victim. Your teeth gnashed together, the groan and grind ringing like the only ditch effort left.
The hammer was in reach. If you stretched, he was too. You’d be able to caress his face, feel it change and snarl and bite—
A slow breath, and your pulse settled with the closest equivalent to peace you could muster.
Under his unrelenting watch—body relaxed, but feet poised in a readiness to leap at the first sign of discord—your fingers wrapped around the handle. A shared burden, his still holding the head, yours lifting the end.
“Go on,” he said quietly, releasing the tool. “Finish your home.”
Your face twitched, eyes averting. You could fling the door open as you neared it. Was he hoping you’d try? Would that be when the facade fully falls away to rip some sense into your hormonal brain?
Twirling a nail, you spun it from one knuckle to the other, staring at the door, hanging on for dear life on its make-shift hinges. You reached for the handle without meaning to—froze at the warning creaks behind, the bench shifting as the creature did.
Your head lowered, vision blurring once more as you rose a nail instead, lining it up at a corner. The hammer followed, your soul shaking as you steadied your quivering hands and—
Hit the nail. Unbothered that it grew crooked. Hit it again to seal the first lock. Lined up the next in the opposite corner. And the next. Lowering along the door's length. Each nail digging icy claws up your heart. Your small hairs still sat raised, still warned about the eyes on your back, probably enjoying how you sealed your coffin.
As you finished the upper most part, you hesitated, staring down at your dirt scuffed shoes. You… had to crouch down. His gaze made you self-conscious, more reminiscent of leering men with too much audacity than what it should be. Swallowing, you discarded the notion, lowering to quickly slam the last nails in the corners.
Gathering more nails. Going overkill to make sure no one could easily come inside.
Rising to your feet the second it was done. You stared at your handiwork, happy to ignore the stifling tension crackling inside the burrow. The hammer shook again. Energy rushing through it, wanting to unleash on the door to flee—
You pushed the desire down with a trembling lip.
He said your name, voice wrapping around the syllables like sugar and jagged hunger. “Turn around.”
Impulse fluttered through your lungs, shaping sharp rejection. Fire spitting at the corner of your mouth at being commanded by him. Again.
“Get it over with,” you tried to snarl, but the quiver extinguished the fire too soon. Turning your voice thick and watery.
“Then turn around for me.”
Your eyes pressed shut, the hammer your life-line as you shuffled to face him. He hadn’t moved from his spot. His attention nailed firmer to your person than anything else. His appearance was in impeccable order as usual. Bolo strings nearly pulled symmetrically, cuffs tugged straight around his wrists, shoes and leather belt properly taken care of.
Those inhuman eyes never blinked, teeth shown in a sure sign of starvation, glinting and wet as if eager to clamp onto you.
And—he patted his thigh. Slow, teasing, slackening your muscles. “Come here, girl.”
Wrote this pretty quickly. I wanted to explore reader not returning interest at all, and instead pursuing another relationship and how that would play out. Except I chickened out a little, because I can't write full on non-con.
Where are Fatima and Ellis in this, you may ask? No clue, but they're safe with the creatures hunting your fine ass down :)
Unrequited creatures x gender-neutral! reader
But mostly Smiley and Handbag lady
Word Count: 1.909
Warnings: Unrequited attraction. Threatening behavior. Mentions of corpses and body parts. Mild nsfw. Threat of non-con. Possessive behavior.
-——————————————————————-
“Who were you with?”
The voice filtered from beyond the door, ringing quietly after the panicked slam traveled along the hall of Colony House, eerily still now that all life vacated after the anniversary. A voice you couldn’t, shouldn't answer. For too long this bullshit had gone on, and now you began to sample the consequences.
You flinched as three steady knocks resonated through the wood, an echo of those knuckles rapping against your spine. Hairs rose along your neck as you jumped forward, clutching the shirt tighter to your chest as you spun. As if it would help to keep the being hidden by the fragile wood and glass in sight. Sweat beaded down your temple. He was no closer than any other moment.
At the same time… he was.
“My dear,” he said, awfully gently, acting as their spokesperson, “who was it?” It had cold fingers grip your beating heart, making every thud push ice down your veins.
No matter how softly spoken, the anger beneath was nearly tangible in the air between you and them. The statues standing guard around your prison. Even separated as you were, did his words taste like ash on your tongue, turning your mouth dry.
“What does it m-matter?”
The floorboards in the hall were cold, a stinging numbness biting along your soles to creep up your bare legs. You shivered, pushing further towards the side, into a corner. Away from the doors. Away from him. Them. Your attention shot to the talisman, still at the front door. The faces hidden by pieces of ripped fabric and frosted glass.
Keeping you safe. And you alone.
But from what exactly?
Wetness still clung to your underwear from earlier. The one inspiring it having gotten lost somewhere in the chaos of stumbling bodies and wailing cries. People that had either fled successfully or died trying. Aside from the overwhelming tension pressing onto your ribs, it was only your racing heart bringing a cacophony inside your head.
Created by whatever simmered between these monsters, waiting to surge and swallow all you knew.
Even those precious, private moments.
At the exact moment you and your lover had finally decided to take the next step, nervous and giddy and happy for once, the terror, the warning cries, began—they’re inside, they’re inside, they’re—
All those days of innocent hand holding and stolen glances at lips, to braving a first kiss in the sweetness of the sun, to finally choosing to share the night, were cast aside for the moment. One palm being ripped from the other by the stampeding mass of panic and survival instinct packed in human skin.
A palm you wished sat nestled in yours now, arms working like a shield against the terrors outside. So close. Always cloyingly close.
Whatever or whoever brought them inside, led them to you. Not only pressing to the front door, but also against the doors inside. Inside Colony House, where it was supposed to be safe.
Nearly naked, you hadn’t been able to ignore the glances for once. They barely resisted the path you carved toward freedom, to safety. Watched as you went as if the sight caught them off guard. Roving glances, grins that were predatory still, but in a manner of a different kind, followed you. Never rushing. Never impatient.
But another sensation rolled over their stagnant, blood soaked figures.
Anger.
It settled in the tenseness surrounding the eyes you glimpsed, the slow crane of their head, every other muscle alarmingly still as gears had turned in their heads. As they did, realisation struck.
You had been with someone. Almost shared skin and pleasure and awkward fumbling limbs, a hickey on your throat working as proof—
You hoped your beloved was safe. That you wouldn’t find any remains in the morning, but a relieved, watery smile, hands warm with life cupping your cheeks as you embraced. Among the fleeing residents, more than one had been underdressed. They couldn't know who belonged with you. That was your only hope.
They’d find out still, a buried part whispered. They’d tear that palm from mine forever.
“You can still confess.”
Heat flared in your chest, knotting tightly. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“You do.”
The self-assured tone broke over your skin as hot and cold terror. The grinning ginger had always been a devout stalker of yours. No matter where you went, he found you. Him and a small posse, eager to catch you out on your supposed crimes.
They had a list—ignoring them, shutting them out, speaking with certain people, rejecting their kindness, bringing yourself in danger. But the one that truly changed them, the one that genuinely infuriated them, was when you spoke to others with the intention of dating. If this was to be home, then you’d make it so. They didn’t get to ruin that.
The gifts began then. Rewards if you listened. Vile things if you didn’t. Corpses, body parts, eyeballs and tongues and pieces of bones—from hands—thiefs—or the ribcage—signifying the breath shared unrightfully with yours, even if they had been no one to you.
“Haven’t we been patient with you?”
You were a mule to them. Stubbornly resisting the bit forcefully placed into its mouth.
“Kind?”
Creatures stood outside your little sanctuary, akin to mannequins. You could count three, four… six… You tried to swallow, muscles too tight and frozen to manage it.
“Do you want us to be kind?”
Chills traveled along your skin, burrowing deep into the sinew. Your attention snapped back to him. Even the smiley ginger barely moved as he spoke. Were they so angered they became motionless?
“Leave me alone,” you whispered, sliding down to the ground, huddled beside the table to the side, finally taking the shirt and putting it back on. It stuck like the feeblest form of armor to your skin, bringing no real distance between them and you. It was no different from the walls.
“Let us in and all will be forgiven.”
The hairs on your neck stood on end, goosebumps trailing down your arms and sides. You could sense the lie in the calm. Heard them speak truthfully so often, that every lie shone brighter than the sun.
Their lies had grown so rare. Potentially non-existent by now.
“I’ve done nothing wrong. You’re just—”
—crazy.
You swallowed the word, the beat of your heart snaring it off as terror pushed at your tongue. You held your breath as you waited for their insanity to continue.
But…
Nothing. Quiet so loud entered the hall, you could believe they’d died. But as always, they remained, monoliths of despair to all who came to this wretched place.
To you… they had been distractions once. Beings you indirectly confined in by sharing sarcastic quips and overdramatized tales. To you, they had been almost friends. It only turned into a mistake once you asked about them. Their interests, if they had any, and if they had dreams and nightmares as they slept. Or whether they had aspirations beyond killing.
Which, you eventually found, they had. The lack of pushing for access should’ve set you off. How many began to fail to show up as you got a steady fanclub of creatures sharing the early to late evening hours with you. Six of them.
Four males, the three wearing hats standing to the sides. Two females, one younger looking with light brown hair.
All here.
So close to having caught you. Ignoring them made them more insistent. Punishing them with vitriol didn’t work. Every interaction turned into a weapon in their hands. Anger could be twisted into guilt, guilt into a chain that tugged you forward by the heart. And once they had a piece of your heart…
You shook your head.
Your solace was found in your fellow survivors. One especially.
A loud bang rattled through the small space, making you jump with a small cry. A palm sat on the glass. Planted there violently. It was all they could do now. Scare you from behind the doors.
“Sorry, dear, we know you’re frightened, but we can’t tolerate this,” a feminine voice continued from inside the building.
Her gentle cadence trickled over you, daring to take a tiny edge of fear away in its familiarity. Her silhouette watched you, your shape blurry to her as she was to you. Hair sat styled perfectly, a headband keeping the strands from falling down.
“Why don’t we try this—I count to five, and you open these doors.”
"You can’t touch me.”
“Yet,” the ginger whispered with a humourless giggle, fingers tapping rhythmically against the door. A dull, relentless drum, twisting your nerves taut as it rapped against the inside of your skull.
Ignoring you both, the female creature began her count down. “One.” She stretched the syllable out, like you were a child still learning numbers. “Two.”
Her counting was undercut by the insistent tapping of those fingers. Blending together in the still of the night, under the watchful gazes of the quiet monsters. All bearing down on your frazzled mind, churning out possible outcomes should you disobey.
“Three.”
But you were frozen, blood like lead holding your limbs in place.
“Four.”
You whimpered, soft and pathetic, knees pressing together.
The quiet stretched out, the second having passed already. They were giving you extra time to decide. As if you were truly idiotic for ignoring this last warning.
And that got your muscles thawing. Barely. Minimally. You stood, hovered, hesitated as you met her gaze through the frosted glass. Closed your eyes, screaming and crying on the inside—and sat back down, back thumping against the wall as you slid to the floor. Hoping you hadn’t doomed your beloved.
The final number, when it finally came, tasted like cold pins and pricks and cool fury. Draping a clogging sense of dread over you like a stifling cloud. It was short. Stripped of pretence.
“Five.”
The tapping stopped. Abrupt. Cutting your breath off.
They waited, letting the dread settle deep under your skin.
Your breaths pulled from your lungs with rejection of oxygen, vision blurring and zoning onto things too closely.
The palm still pressed to the glass. Their continuing presence despite fleeing people potentially being out, waiting to be caught. Her red lips pulled in a too wide grin. Mirroring the one you couldn’t see.
The anger you still tasted. Turning cold. Turning sharp. Turning fully against you.
“It’s such a shame you chose the hard way, dearheart,” he murmured.
“We’ll find the one who stole your pretty heart.” She chuckled, the laugh anything but kind. “Find it, and take it.”
“No—”
“Too late,” she sing-songed. “One day you’ll be in our hands. I hope you know what that means.”
Your brain tried to—refused to imagine what would happen. That type of violence had never been dealt out by them. Why would that change? Why you?
Why me, why me, why—
“Sleep tight,” the male creature said after you failed to say anything in time. Not that you had anything prepared.
You wanted to go home. Wanted the floor to swallow you up and never spit you out. If it meant you’d be safe, meant you never had to fall into those hands—
Tears pricked at your eyes. Feet twisted, shoes tapping away. Each branching off in their own direction.
All you wanted was a sliver of home. A person you could build something with.
Been thinking about Stalker! Reader. maybe she used to do it before coming to fromville. Now their attention is on the monsters. Like to the point she can sneak up on the creatures.
Somehow, reader has things from the creatures they've taken. And gets embarrassed when they find it. Pictures, clothing items, also hair? Things where theyd wonder when reader got it without them noticing. Extremely absurd close ups that there like??When did you take this? I never saw you??With any creature of your choice, (plus smiley cause i love him)
I just imagine reader coming into Fromville with those creepy camera sunglasses and mourning the fact they won’t work anymore.
Also, to summarize this:
Normal people getting stalked: 😨
The creatures: 😍🥰🥰
-——————————————————————-
The Creatures with a Stalker! reader
It’s unusual for them to be caught off guard. The human with the camera slung around their fragile neck managed it. Multiple times. No one, including the other residents, knew of the things you hid. Neither did the creatures.
You merely made pictures and shared them freely. Who’d expect you hid so much?
● Smiley had been curious about your hobby. Mainly because nothing he could see from your room showed where you kept some of the collections you spoke off. You had appeared embarrassed after you mentioned them. The reveal had been a mistake then.
● Your room was tiny. Closer to a broomcloset than a bedroom. He could give you more than this. Somewhere with space for the collections you did show, plastered on the walls.
● In this tiny room, there shouldn’t be a single spot where you could hide anything significant. The exception would be your bed. Underneath was plenty of room. You were too smart to hide valuables there, but it was the only spot he currently saw. And he smelled a secret.
● The night Kevin gave entrance to them, was when he finally had the chance to find out. He was nearly as giddy about that as he was over the lives he got to snuff out, their fear thick on his tongue. Alas, after opening the door to your room, he couldn’t find you. It was as if you had vanished. Odd. He was sure you had been there from the rustling noises.
● His gaze went to the bed. Peering underneath, he almost expected to find you there. You couldn’t have fled so fast. But you weren’t there. What he found instead was one of those polaroids. It lay there as if forgotten in a moment of haste. Dislodged after scrambling to collect anything of value, left to flutter down under your bed.
● He took it, eager to see if it was part of what you hid. He blinked the second his eyes landed on the picture, a reflexive motion that served no purpose beyond showing his surprise.
● The polaroid… It was one of his brethren depicted there. Close and without anything between that revealed it was taken from inside. Nothing that suggested the interior of a building. No windows, no doors, no walls. You had been outside. His pupils blew as excitement twitched in his chest.
● He went to look around your room, sparse as it was. There were no other pictures. That mattered none. He had a piece of the puzzle and he’d selfishly keep it. That unfortunately meant placing it back where he found it. If you believed someone took it, you might stop with your collections altogether. He’ll figure you out. Wait you out.
● The next nights, he watched you not up close, but from afar, studying you as you interacted with his brethren. His new approach piques both your and his brethren's interest.
● Now that he knew to watch… He found you sneaked out at least once every night. With your camera in tow. You were quiet. Quieter than even them. Swift and precise. Stalking your prey without their notice, raising your camera with consideration, adding more to your forbidden collection. Leaving with your price while his brethren questioned where some of their most beloved possessions had vanished.
● Heat snapped under his skin, hunger tightening in knots. Had you been of a more violent constitution, you’d make a wonderful killer.
● And there was something within him that wanted that part of you. You may covet mere pieces of them. But he knew your game now… He’d have to be the better still, and show you, you can have everything of him.
● All it would take was the pretence he never knew of your ambush skills. Then he could finally sate his curiosity regarding your taste.
● Contrary to what you believed, he had picked up on some strange changes. The Cowboy kept his possessions carefully ordered. He knew all his priced trophies by heart. None of his brethren would have moved his things around. So who did?
● The question bothered him during his waking hours. Worse when he’d settle down to rest. He had gone through his possessions prior to sleep. When he woke… another item was gone. The pocket watch he’d treasured.
● Someone was taking his things. A human. If the time the watch vanished wasn’t a tell, then the lingering scent was. The darkening sensation in his chest was neither fury nor amusement.
● Whoever this human was, they had been subtle at first. Taking smaller things that would be invisible to many. But not to him. He has collected his hoard over time, adding only the best or pieces of his most enjoyable kills.
● He’d catch the little thief in the act. If they were still brave enough to return.
● And brave they were. He had kept his eyes closed, seated against a wall as he always did. He hadn’t heard anything. No shuffling feet. No breathing. Until rummaging began. This time… not with his things. But another’s possessions. He was not your only victim then.
● Slowly, he opened his eyes, finding a human clothed from head to toe. Unidentifiable. But the scent…
● Had he a beating heart, it would've thrilled with excitement.
● It was you. The strange human who talked with them. The human he swore he glimpsed outside on rare occasions. A sweet thing. And apparently a little needy for pieces of him. You’d even began taking what was his. As if clothing yourself with him.
● The question changed. No longer centered on identity, but on what. What did you do with your stolen goods?
● You rummaged quietly through the pile. Stilling after picking something up. You turned to his companion, a pair of scissors in hand. One with a swan-like handle.
And…
● She had been just as awake as the other. He had not been alone in his observations. Her prettiest earrings had gone missing. The Handbag lady understood why you’d take those. She had done the same to the woman they used to belong to. It was alright to borrow them, but keeping them all to yourself? Now, that was simply not done.
● At Colony House, she’d tried to find you as well. Perhaps she shared this defect with you, as she had wanted to add you to her collection. You could have her earrings, clothes and more, just as you had mumbled about when especially fatigued. She liked the idea. It would be adding one possession of hers to mark the other.
● Your, frankly, barren room had been empty of life. But the window had been untouched. Your door closed as if no one had left. A panicking human wouldn’t be closing anything behind them in their attempt to flee. Looking under your bed was natural then, as the only hiding place left.
● But the picture under your bed—touched by another curious soul—had been an unexpected twist. She flipped it in hand, smile freezing. She blinked at the image of herself. It had been taken from the side, her red lips stretched in a grin, fingers grasping the strap of her bag as she wandered. It was taken from the trees. Outside.
● It had captured her intrigue. Your camera wasn’t merely for making still lifes of anything mundane and your fellow humans. You must’ve been capturing their image more often than not. All without anyone’s knowledge. And, oh, she burned a little at that. How talented you were, how quiet. It would be lovely to shatter that quiet.
● The pair of scissors nearing her hair intrigued her far less. You knew how she adored her hair, and yet you’d tarnish it? Greedy humans like you require proper punishment.
● She wouldn’t be delivering it on her own. Curious steps wandered over, too quiet for you to hear in your distraction. Your heart must be thrumming so loudly in your pretty head, blood rushing and blocking your hearing. The confidence in his steps told her he had caught on as well.
● You had gotten comfortable.
● How fortunate they all had different uses for your life beyond that of a toy ready to be discarded.
● She let the scissor inch closer, your fingers slowly raising a few strands. She could barely contain her response, desire aching in her teeth, curling lower in her body at your proximity. Such a talented little hunter you were. So close to your target.
But they had played this game far longer. Patience was always rewarded. And in the dark, your human eyes failed to notice the two shadows falling over you.
Another small one-shot where reader isn't doing so great. As usual :)
I wanted to get this out of my head, so wrote it down pretty quickly. My brain said it was time for the horrors after writing certain scenes for 'As dusk settles'—
Cowboy creature x gn! reader
Word count: 1.747
Warnings: Descriptions of violence and gore. Death (kinda off-screen?). Kidnapping. Threat of non-con.
Or in which Cowboy kills your horrible husband :)
-——————————————————————-
It had been a while since the car stopped moving. Your body ached from the way you had slid with every wide, screeching turn. You listened, breath shallow and shuddering.
There was cussing.
“Piece of shit thing. Can’t… believe this… right now.”
Mostly anything else was too muffled to hear. You didn’t know what to do. Didn't know where you were. Aside from his drunken slurring, nothing penetrated through the car’s hull. Your eyes flickered in the dark, the slightest sliver of light pouring from where the trunk sat cracked open. For oxygen.
I ain’t fucking a corpse.
You inhaled quickly, the drug in your veins not allowing you anything else. If it did, you would’ve jumped at his loud exclamation.
“Hey! You got some gas in this bitch, or what?”
He must be talking to someone. There was a person there. People who could help you. Your fingers bend against the coarse interior you lay on. He had been smart enough to put tape over your mouth, your already weak croaks silenced.
A sound of disgust left him. “He fucking ignored me, dickhead.” Scuffling followed. “Oh, you work here too?” There was a pause, as if he waited for an answer. “Great, you can help me then, cause your shithead coworker couldn’t be bothered.”
“Of course, what seems to be the problem?” Your heart stammered, jaw twitching. There really was someone. A man. Your eyes darted along that tiniest crack as quickly as they could, trying to find the strength to move, your heavy tongue working inside your mouth, but producing no sound.
“I’ll tell you, you wannabe cowboy fuck. You’re gas station doesn’t have any fucking gas.”
Tears threatened to fall again, sight growing blurry as every attempt continued to fail.
“That is quite bad.”
“Yeah it is, I got places to be and thi—hey what are you doing?” A grunt of exertion, more scuffling and—
“Let go of me.”
—fear.
Something ripped wetly, liquid spraying audibly to the ground. A scream left him. Pained. Disbelieving. Raising the hairs on your arms as the pitch turned high. “Holy shit, holy shit.” A thump shook through the car, jostling you slightly.
Your breath slowed in a vain attempt to grasp what was happening. The other man—
“No, stay the fuck away from me.”
“Try running then,” the voice said brightly.
—was he attacking…?
Another thud followed. This time as if someone fell to the ground. Whimpering cries and profanities turning hoarse with terror, shuffling along as if he was—was crawling.
A slow, steady pace chased after him, rounding the car together with those sounds of pain.
Your heartbeat skipped, trying to speed up past the drug’s effect. Desperately, you peered through the crack, a shape beginning to move past it. Further away.
Your kidnapper, your husband took a heaving breath. “Fuck you—aah!”
More of those ripping sounds filled the air, barely kept out by the metal hull of the car. Nausea spun deep in your gut with every wet, squelching, splattering and spraying noise of flesh tearing apart. Accompanied by screaming and sobbing and pleads and—
Your name. Cries for help wrapping around your name.
And you cursed him.
Hoped above all hope that he wouldn't give you away. Subject you to whatever fate he was suffering. If you weren’t on the verge of throwing up, you’d have let dark satisfaction run its course.
He deserved to die. Deserved this pain.
But you couldn’t help the internal flinch when bone cracked, dizziness spinning through your belly. Snapped. Not once. Not twice, but many, many times. Squelshing following.
No coherent words came from him anymore. Only weak, gurgling sobbing, his throat probably bleeding from the screams his killer drew from him.
It felt like hours had passed, your body slowly regaining some strength. Bringing a pulse along that thudded irregularly. Vision blurring, limbs twitching uselessly.
And even as the screams died down, as the realisation he was dead settled deep and cold under your skin, the wet sounds didn’t stop.
You pressed your eyes shut, got close to praying that he wouldn’t find you. Please, God…
Don’t let me be found.
Seconds passed, your mind trying to count them. Giving up as you reached into the thousands. Starting again when the most hair raising screech came from somewhere far away. Goosebumps settled along your skin.
An animal. It had to be.
All fell into silence. Not even the car popped or creaked anymore, having settled a long time ago. The scuff of shoes grazed over the ground.
Steps came next.
Steps that got closer.
Ice poured over your clammy skin, limbs twitching. Come on, move. You looked at your hands. Move.
The shape returned. Bigger. Closer. Taking more light away. There it remained. Standing as if it knew you were there. Relishing in the wait. A soft brush trailed over the car. Fingers slowly curled inside and under the hood.
Your throat tightened.
Sweat slick eyelids clenching together as a creaking sound split the night, more light flooding inside to stab you in the eyes.
“Well howdy there, neighbour.”
Wannabe cowboy fuck.
The hat resting on his head was in pristine condition, as if it were a prized possession. A pale color, snared by a dark band, its exact shade hard to tell with red, neon light snagging onto it. The rest of him—
Dark red stained his fingers. His otherwise friendly grin made horrific by the blood smearing over his face, culminating at his lips and dripping down to his chin.
Had he used his teeth?
The trunk was opened wider, eyes that stared unblinkingly taking you in. There was glee there, in those wide, wide pupils. And you knew your end would be just as gruesome.
Tears trickled down your face, leaking from one eye to the other. He watched you. No. Scrutinized you. As if he sensed something you couldn’t.
“Isn’t it just my lucky day.”
He flashed a softer smile, and you had to wonder if he understood how terrifying it looked. His gaze fell down to your hands. Blood soaked fingers lifted one, the left, gently cradling it and spreading your own fingers. He reached, tracing the band there that meant nothing to your now dead husband. Wouldn’t mean anything to anyone soon.
Blood stained the gold. Stained your skin.
A prickle of disgust intertwined with the haze of fear.
Carefully, he slid it off, lifting, and twisting it to study the names on the inside. The date when you unknowingly doomed yourself to years of silent suffering.
“You won’t be needing this anymore, dollface.” His tone remained polite. Contrasting with the sheer terror trying to rush energy to your unresponsive body, and the smugness etched on his features.
The man pocketed your ring, looking down at you. “Now then…” He grabbed the tape over your mouth next, an iron tang raising from his skin. “This’ll sting a bit.” Ripped it off in one go. Pain bloomed over your mouth, but you could only let out the tiniest croak. He grinned at that, gaze softening. “I believe it’s your lucky day too.”
Those bloodied hands moved you around, carding beneath your knees and shoulders. More kindly than you expected. Heaved you up with nary a sign of strain. Cool air drifted over your skin. He brought you close, the scent of copper rusting inside your nose to the point you could taste it.
He positioned you so your head nestled in the crook of his neck. If he propped you up a little higher, your face would get smudged with blood, that dark red all you saw when you looked up.
He had pretended to be kind with your dead—murdered, tortured—husband too. His chest shook with quiet laughter at your twitches, your attempts to move, flee. With a spin of his heel, he twisted around.
In the corner of your eyes, you saw him. What remained of him. Slow, heavy breaths pushed from your struggling lungs. Your body unable to feed you the amount of oxygen needed, panic knotting in the only thing still functioning; your mind.
With slow steps, he started towards the remains. And you wanted to look, wanted to see how miserable his end was.
But it would be your end too.
A reflection.
Some feet away, he stopped, lowering you until your feet settled on the ground, his arms winding around your waist to keep you up. One of his hands slipped up, wrapping over your throat, pressing against the pulse trying so hard to bring you to motion. Fingers locked under your jaw, tilting your heavy head up. Your eyes landing on the lump before you.
Nausea twisted, stomach and reflux working in tandem, but failing to push anything out.
He was red. From neck to toe, blood splattered all over what remained of him. The exception was his face, mouth slack, glassy, empty eyes staring to the side. Skin had been peeled back on the three limbs still attached to him. One of his calves—the bone was visible. So were his ribs, his chest cavity empty—
Your face paled.
There had been no tools on this man. None lay anywhere in your sight. Blood only sat on his hands and face.
But how did he—?
“I was in a good mood tonight,” the man keeping you steady murmured, lips brushing over your ear. Slowly, he helped you lower down onto your knees. That overwhelming stench of copper surrounding you to the point you wanted to gag. “I’m sure this sight pleases you. Maybe even more than me.”
He was going to kill you here, beside your former husband.
Beside the piece of shit who had betrayed your location, his remaining arm reaching towards the trunk, eyes rolled that way.
The man repositioned you to lean against his chest. All the while making sure your head never dropped. As if he wanted that mangled corpse to be all you saw.
“I won’t kill you, sweetheart. You’ll understand when you come home with me.”
Blood rushed from your face.
He was insane. From a kidnapper you could predict, to a stranger who—
“I’ll be better to you.” His hold remained gentle. Kind in a way you hadn’t experienced in so long. And something in his calm, light voice, in the way he rubbed a thumb into your hip like he knew you…
It made you believe him.
“Come,” he whispered, tugging you up. As if you had a choice. “Let’s get you home.”
HOLY SHIT GUYS, I WAS INSPIRED BY THIS POST TO TRY MAKE THE SONG AND YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT WHEN I DRAGGED THE TRAINING AUDIO OVER THE BACKING TRACK AND IT LINED UP PERFECTLY
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