I'm Bee (or Spacey) and I love writing dark romances✨️
Currently hyperfixating on From and writing a reader-insert on ao3 to smooch some monsters (eventually)
As dusk settles
Summary:
When the bus came, you foolishly tried to play hero. Except heroes defeat the enemy. They don't get captured after cowering in the dark. And now you weren't sure what you were becoming, but you wondered if death would be a kinder fate than whatever the creatures have planned for you.
Aside from that, I'm willing to headcannon about the creatures and other characters, write suggestive and spicy content, plus occasional nsfw, and will probably post random things while sleep deprived.
Fair warning, some content is on the darker, if not pretty messed up side.
*trying to flirt* haha i bet ur guts look soooo pretty i bet u have the greatest bones ever. ur beating heart would be so sexy to hold in my hands i would be so gentle with it. why are you running
do the creatures do it with reader daily or one creature every day
Sbdhsb what a question. In this essay I will—
No, kidding.
It honestly depends on who you're bonded with most! And your own limits. And, uh, how consensual everything is.
Luckily for everyone, I imagine they'll prefer a willing partner. And that is the crux of everything. If you aren't in the mood, and they can't arouse your interest, they'd probably dislike pushing. If you're too tired or in pain, they won't force anything either.
In the end, it's mostly you who decides how this goes. Sure, some may gravitate towards you after a succesful hunt, high on their kill. Others when they had a long, uneventful night and either look to blow steam off another way, or crave a form of acknowledgement or even intimacy.
But of course, there are creatures with a higher libido who'll attempt to hog most of your time. And even if they fall into a rhythm of 'one creature per night', it wouldn't work because there's both a few competitive ones, horny ones, and some shit stirrers amongst them.
If you can manage daily, you'll absolutely get bend nearly daily tho—
Hey queen I was going to ask a request from you that is a little on the NSFW side. You do not have to add it to your list if it makes you uncomfortable, you are the author and you make the decisions.
My request was your opinion of the creatures preferences in sharing.
To specify I mean which ones prefer privacy and which would like being watched/ watching and common pairings. (Like which of their fellow creatures they commonly share with.).
As I said you do not need to do this! It is just a request and the author always gets the final say!
I hope you are doing well! Love your work!
I handpicked a few and developed those mostly, because this would get really long otherwise.
Hopefully you'll enjoy! :D
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The creature’s thoughts on sharing
● The creatures are communal sharers when it comes to prey. But that prey dies. Played with and left broken beyond repair. You’re never supposed to. It complicates things.
● As a collective, they all want something from you—your company, time and even approval and affection. Individually, they may want different things. Some want you with them when you sleep. Another may desire the same but specifically inside their own corner within the cave, where it's just the two of you. Multiple want to… play with you.
● However… You are but one person, with limited energy and a body that can be overloaded. They need to be careful not to overwhelm.
● Usually they operate on first come first serve. That also doesn't quite work with you. Not if they mean to keep you willingly.
● Instead, they wait, they observe and note who you are drawn to most. After that, they fall into a natural order. You’ll spend most time with the ones you seek out, be that a platonic bond or not, and slowly they’ll integrate you into the collective.
● For some it’s integral that you get used to their touch. They’ll always test how far they can go, where the limits are and what they can do to ease you into your place amongst them.
● What they ask is a lot for a human. That much they can understand, despite how much fun it is to make you a little afraid every now and then.
● As for preferences… It depends on the mood.
● The Nurse may want to be intimate in a way that would feel wrong to show anyone else. She’ll want your attention on her while she devotes hers to you, her lips trailing along your throat, sternum, stomach and even lower.
● Curling up beside your naked form with an audience has always struck her as off. Not all things need to be shared when it can be just the two of you. Your fatigued body pressed to hers as she wraps you up in her arms, safe and sound.
● She likes more privacy in general. In this case, so you won’t be distracted. And while there is a charm in watching, she likes it more if you’re touching and clawing at her in need or desperation. Being present while others invoke that same response isn’t anywhere as fulfilling. Still fun, but not the same.
● If she is to share, she often searches out someone male. Having you bounce on a male, panting, thighs straining and brows knitted together while she rubs at you from behind, whispering in your ear… Yes, she enjoys that immensely.
● Another creature who likes a healthy dose of privacy is the Cowboy. There is something strange about kissing you when others are looking in. Everything else, he doesn’t mind sharing. If anything, you are the one who gets a little shy under all that attention. But kissing? Long, drawn out session with only your lips locked together, fingers grabbing onto him and your body flush against his? That’s not for sharing.
● Contrarily, he loves watching. Especially when you’re not on top, are fighting your own reactions, or are eventually flipped down and made to take. Not that you aren’t beautiful when in charge, but you don’t cry out the same way, don’t search for purchase and grip around you when reaching the brink.
● You melt beautifully, and having an audience has you either more flustered or performing more wildly. Either way, it’ll be a show he’d never forget.
● If he has to choose who to directly share you with, it’ll be the Handbag lady. Their desires align well, both enjoying putting you in your place or simply taking care of you. Tying you up, playing with cutting off your senses, seeking where pleasure and pain meet. That his lady friend likes dressing you up, just to turn you into a mess isn’t so bad either.
● The Tough guy is a little different. He enjoys having an audience. Doesn’t care who as long as they desire you as well. Having someone watch as he slowly picks you apart or roughly pounds you into the floor has his non-existent blood boil.
● Getting carried away is a risk when you cry out for him, your body taking him in even deeper. Those hungry eyes on you stir up a competitive streak within him. A sense of heady victory when he is the only one claiming you.
● He’ll growl at anyone getting too close. Not necessarily because he doesn’t want them touching you, but because he wants them to know he’ll fight to remain buried deep within your warm body. If they want a turn, they’ll have to wrestle you away from him. And he loves it when they try, so long as you do too.
● Occasionally, he does want true privacy with you. Not specifically to be intimate. He simply wants to be near, and be the one watching and listening as you do your own things. He’ll touch you softly if you do want intimacy, more gentle without an audience. He won’t grip to bruise, won’t slowly sink his teeth into your flesh or drag a nail down the center of your chest.
● Like nearly every other creature, showing genuine softness to a human in each other's presence feels strange. These moments are special.
● And of course, there are moments, if you are willing, where they all come together. Circling you. Trapping you. Testing your limits. Yes, they’ll be taking breaks when you’re close to shattering under the constant barrage of demanding monsters. They'll make sure you drink and eat as they deplete your energy and drain your blood.
● But if you’ll have them, they’ll collectively bear down on you for hours on end. Until you can’t take more, until sleep takes you from them, your slumbering body gently cleaned, bandaged and clothed. None will leave your side.
Your town was never tidy and clean, but recent events were worse than anything that ever transpired before. Murder, missing people, and people missing organs. The new neighbours gain your suspicion. What they do when no one's looking is too terrible for words. And part of what they do is for you.
Creatures x gn! reader
Trying to focus on Swingcoat creature
Set outside Fromville
I lied and wrote part of this idea that went to the backburner even though I loved the idea. I have it aaaall planned >:)
Anywayss, I hope you all enjoy :D
Warnings: Gore. Murder. Implied torture. Implied stalking. Reader does some stalking too. Breaking and entering. Or is it?
Word count: 2.783
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The latest report of violent crimes and gang activity found its way to your porch in the shape of a newspaper. The headline couldn’t be any more subtle. Drug Lord caught smoking at old Henny’s snackbar.
You snorted. Whatever nutjob made these papers probably took the same damn drugs.
The small town never slept. Your nightshifts were actually quite wonderful. Some of the more sketchier people were out and about then. Your own neighbourhood was unruly, college students loitering about seeking their next high or something to break, but recently…
You leafed through the paper, finding pictures of missing people. Many belonging to your corner of town. After finding more than one body in the nearby forest, mauled, horrifically killed…
You blew out air.
Yeah, night shifts weren’t so bad all of a sudden. Many of those students didn’t dare step outside anymore. Or their parents kept them shackled indoors, fearing whatever freak or freaks ran these murder errands to harvest organs.
Police officers were no exception, one officer found dead as well. It was probably why it got this much coverage now.
Quiet rustling startled you away from the face of a young man, his whole life in front of him—cut short brutally.
“Hi there,” the new neighbour called, well, new-ish. It had been a few months. Close to half a year. “Off to work again?”
“Like every other evening, ma’am.”
She thrilled a laugh, her painted lips stretched uncomfortably wide. “That’s not true, you used to be home during the nights.”
“Yeah, well, we all need money,” you said, straining not to roll your eyes. Her fancy earrings and handbag told you enough. Either she pretended to be of ‘class’, or she and her weird ass husband genuinely had money and chose this dump to live at for whatever inconceivable reason.
No one wanted to live in the shittiest corner of what might as well be Gotham city. All you needed was a green-haired freak and a rich punch-aholic furry and you’d be settled for life.
“Oh,” she crooned sympathetically, “but you are starting to look pallid, dear. Don’t work yourself to death.”
You snorted, folding the paper to take with you to the bus. “Think a murder clown might do me in first at this point. See you later…” you trailed off, brows knitting, her name had still never… been mentioned, “ma’am.”
Best not to ask. But during the day…
Maybe you could settle an awfully ridiculous hunch.
“Yes, we will.” She waved a steady hand, her grin barely faltering. Maybe she had been at old Henny’s too to get tweaked out. Her pupils sure were wide all the time. Cocaine then, easy to get from your opposite neighbours. “Maybe you could give me some more gardening tips.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, smiling slightly. She was strange, but kind enough. Pretty hot too, but even if she hadn’t been married, her husband scared the crap out of you. Weird ass hillybilly that one. Stared right at you the whole time you stepped inside your car, and as you left the road. Never ceasing with his freaky smirk. Yuck.
Your best shoes crunched on fallen leaves, the forest blessing you with its mess in your garden now that autumn rolled in. You threw a mournful glance at your car, its tires torn to shit by some jackass.
The bus could take you to work, and thankfully the metro station could drive you back most of the way. That fifteen minute walk had gotten simultaneously more terrifying as relaxing now that police patrolled more extensively. Not that you wanted to meet them on a boring night.
That’s why you stuck to the shadow as you walked back home, your workshift having been as mindnumbingly dreadful as always. At least it paid well enough. Your legs were sore, back wishing it was dead so it could curl up.
Your head was held high, your pace brisk and confident despite the screaming in your muscles. Never look like an easy target. Don’t look at your phone. No wearing headphones or earbuds. Don’t turn corners you couldn’t see behind.
Those rules were stomped in anyone’s head in this town.
But every night you shuddered inside, passing the cold, blocky apartment buildings leading to your small home pressed against the forest filled with vermin. Eventually, your luck had to run out. Whoever was behind these sick murders could already have you on their radar, learning your routine no matter how you tried to change the turns you took getting home.
Your pace didn’t change as your heart sped up, pavement grey and cracked and dreadfully long. Your eyes didn’t flick around more wildly even as a stray car raced past, splattering puddles of water around. Anyone who saw you had to believe you weren’t to be messed with. That meant not being a nervous wreck.
And—
You almost froze, feet stumbling a little after someone rounded the corner ahead. Your eyes strained as you took in the stark white cutting through the night with the harshness of a dull saw, streetlights catching on the clothes. His hat… A white cap, with a black brim. An equally black bowtie at his collar.
Was that… a fucking milkman? It wasn’t that far in autumn yet.
Accidentally, your eyes crossed, the close-mouthed, smiling man never bothering to break the contact as he walked down the sidewalk. Your way. As you neared each other—
A bloody handprint sat on his chest. Hairs rose at your neck. Was it real? Was this an early party and a mere costume?
He nodded as he passed, but you were too slow to react. Hopefully he didn't consider it a slight.
You fought not to hurry, calming yourself with his fading steps, the man growing more distant. Your grip on the taser loosened. Not fully, never fully.
The corner he had turned came next, the dark alleyway close to it too shadowy to peer inside. You glanced inside anyway, as if the earlier man would be spat out, a knife in hand—
You shook your head, swiftly reaching home without any more hiccups.
A light at your neighbour was on. As usual. Nothing ever moved inside the house though. During the day, they were absent too.
Glancing back, finally giving yourself that relief, no one had followed you. No one was around. Walking up your small porch, you unlocked your tiny hut cosplaying a house, that relief seeping into your bones as you closed it behind you.
Locking the horrors of the world outside.
And if everything went right… then hopefully you could lock that terrible gut feeling away too soon.
You did not sleep. You peeked past the cheap, flaky shutters at the neighbours house, soda in hand and snacks to the side. There was no one inside that house. One night, when your shift ran late, you had come to realize that.
That woman and her creepy husband went back indoors, either side by side—his hips swaying like he was in a movie and he played some schmuck, thinking he was hot shit—or with time in between.
They never looked at each other. Held their grin in place like it was plastered on permanently. Walked calmly. Didn’t speak.
The uncanniness did away any assumptions of it being a drug induced state. It was consistent, their return eerily timed nearly by the minute. Close to dawn.
You zipped from your drink, darting from one of their windows to the next, each lacking curtains. Except for the lower floor, near where a basement sat. The former inhabitant had you over once when she needed help carrying a couch inside.
Watch your step, honey, basement’s right there.
Close to the back entrance.
You glanced at your phone, the time lighting up in broad letters. It was getting close. You peered back outside, counting the seconds, and—
From the corner they appeared, walking down the streets from opposite sides, meeting smoothly at their porch, turning towards their home. Your skin crawled as they robotically went inside, your attention zeroing in on that one peculiar detail;
The door was unlocked. Each and every night.
Your gut clenched, nervous sweat slicking your palms.
They moved around the house, passing one window, two windows, then stopped appearing.
You sat, rooted on your chair, keeping the shutters pried open. But like usual, nothing else was out of place. Their, comparably, picture perfect house stood proudly amongst decrepit buildings, their garden snatched into a solid example of addiction to appearance and public approval.
As if they wanted to appear worthy of a thief’s assessment.
Your eyes roamed the building, dry and itchy with how little you blinked. Watching as the sun eventually rose up, slowly rising along the walls, catching on the windows when it spun over the roof tiles, and hopefully revealing that nothing’s off about your potentially vampiric neighbours—
A shuddering breath escaped you, the shutters finally snapping back in place as you leaned back, chair creaking. The snacks on the white bureau table, scored from a thrift shop, had long cooled down. Your stomach churned. Not out of hunger.
Out of fear.
You rose, pocketing the taser and pepper spray inside your jacket. Big pockets were a savior for when you needed to pull a dirty trick fast.
Making your way downstairs, you left through the backdoor, their backyard connected to yours and the wide forest beyond.
Where you once enjoyed a drink on the tiny steps leading to your backyard—now was avoided entirely during the evening and night. There was that sensation of being watched. Being catalogued. And not by raccoons or squirrels or a rare black bear.
By something more intelligent.
The newspaper didn’t lie. The locations of the murders were disturbingly close to your home occasionally.
You shook it off, swallowing as you quietly closed the door, staring at their dark green one. A mere few feet away. So close, yet the distance seemed insurmountable as you took the first steps, heart thudding with a screeching panic to stop, turn back, call the cops who were useless and corrupt—
All too soon your feet stopped before the simple door, light yellow panels reaching above you as you craned your head up. Powdery algae grew in patches and streaks up the walls.
Your head twisted back forwards. Like with nearly any other windows, there was no curtain here either, letting anyone see inside their home. No movement. No sound. Nothing to signify life.
Slowly, you grasped the handle, the shake in your hand well-contained. Twisted the handle—winching as it creaked. Stilling to listen. Still nothing.
You pushed onward, the door opening smoothly. Unlocked as well.
But why…? Who would keep their doors unlocked at all times? In this city? Unless… They wanted people to come looking.
You shuddered, taking the first step inside, pausing, straining your ears. Continuing as no creepy cowboy lassoed you inside to press a sawblade against your ribs and harvest your insides.
The small utility room held an old washing machine and dryer, the white exterior yellowed. The washing bin sat empty in the corner, collecting dust. Peeking beyond the opening leading to the combined, spartan, kitchen and living room area, you still were alone.
And neither had gone upstairs. Which meant…
You twisted your head to a closed door. A door that led to a staircase.
They had to be there.
Courage fled your frame, your bladder nearly caving as heavy dread fell upon your shoulder. You clamped down on the taser. The white door stood between the truth and you.
Unless they merely slept there, and this was all a misunderstanding.
But they never spoke of a job, never showed up during the day, never yawned, barely blinked, and one time you swore you heard screaming—
Your feet spun away before your brain caught up. Away from that door. Moving back—
A soft groan came from downstairs, a dry sob.
You stilled again. Head slowly swiveling to that door, quiet settling after the disturbing, hair raising sound of misery.
This time, you went forward, using that momentum of bravery to open the door, revealing the cement stairs that led to an unknown space. Grabbing your phone, you shuddered in some air, clicking on the light. It wasn’t a deep space, wasn’t wide, but—
It reeked.
Slowly, you moved over, getting closer to the entrance.
The stench hit you, like rot and stale sweat mixed with feces. A gag tightened your throat. Something shifted at your stifled noise and your muscles locked. Completely. Unmovable as your eyes jumped over what you could see of the small basement.
“Leave,” a croaky voice whispered, as if their throat was too destroyed to muster more. “Don’t…” A deep, shaky inhale interrupted the words, followed by wet coughing.
Holy shit…
Holy fucking shit.
Someone was there. Someone who clearly needed help. More noise startled you. Creaking boards coming from upstairs.
On instinct, you stumbled forward, the door closing quietly behind you as whatever moved up there settled again. Sweat beaded down your temples. You almost coughed as the stench touched even your tongue.
Spun when another set of lungs heaved a wet breath, raking nails down your spine.
Without proper input, you already moved downstairs, the short staircase swallowed within no time, within an eternity. Your meager light held your taser in sight, pulse thudding in the back of your head.
To the left, someone shifted, to the right, a deeper part of the basement, there was nothing but crates with things you couldn’t properly distinguish. Odd, shadowy shapes sat along the wall.
And that person to your left…
A young, tan man, tied up, upper body bare and ripped open and, and—
Bile rushed up your throat, acrid as it flew inside your mouth. You forced it back down. Blood, dried out and fresh coated his skin, his chest splayed open so terribly, you could see his sternum. His thigh had been torn into by an animal, thick stripes raking down the side.
He should be dead.
This wasn’t possible.
Fear sat deep in his sunken in eyes, a desperation in them that called to your innermost sympathy. You wanted to reach, wanted to run.
His cracked lips opened before yours could. “Leave,” he repeated in that weak, croaking voice. Looking behind you at—
Twisting, you nearly dropped both the phone and taser, stepping back.
The odd shapes…
Monsters…
Those were monsters.
Hairless, pale, blotchy skin and sharp rows of teeth marring their mouths angrily. Dressed in all too familiar clothes. Curled up against the far wall.
Side by side. Asleep.
“Leave.”
You didn’t need to be told twice, instinct kicking in to save your own skin. You fled up the stairs, trying, failing to be entirely quiet. Fled back outside, back to your home, back inside. Sliding down your door with vomit in your mouth and a tremble in your bones.
You had guided that woman’s hands when planting a bulb. Had shook their hands when meeting them. She had patted your shoulder, stroked your back, and held her palm there. Nauseau curled at your stomach.
That man… How wasn’t he dead? Had they done something to him? Was he a monster too?
Cold sweat coated your skin. The tremble reaching your soul, shaking sense into it.
“Fuck this,” you muttered, springing up. Rushing through your house, grabbing a backpack, you gathered any and all necessities.
You weren’t staying.
Fuck your shitty job. Fuck this town. An evil clown would've been preferable to this shit. The stench, the grime and stains coating the cement—they were too real for it to be fake.
Practically running outside, you went to the bus stop. And waited. And waited. Checked the time every few seconds. Until your insides went cold as you checked the website to check if any routes had changed.
They weren’t driving today. No public transport at all. How had you forgotten? You had taken the shift off tonight for a reason.
Glancing around the neighbourhood, you had no one who’d loan you a car. You had no cash to pay for a taxi, ubers weren’t a thing in this fuckass town invested with petty theft and vandalizing assholes.
You had legs. You had time. But autumn had rolled in and the days were short.
You wouldn’t get out of town.
But you weren’t sleeping beside those freakshows. No. Never.
Your brain raced with a solution. Only one really made sense.
Destination in mind, you took your belongings and sped walked to a hotel. Opposite your neighbourhood and the hive of murder activity. A place filled with people.
Heyyy, I've been wanting to ask and I almost asked in the comments of my story Too Kind but I found this amazing thing. Ik you've talked about what the creatures might do in their free time and idk if you also talked about this but do you think they talk amongst eachother like little yap session. And also I've been cooking something up story wise but I've been struggling to imagine what they do hanging out with their human, ya know. Sorry if this is super long.
Sbdbsb little yap sessions—
I don't think they really talk like humans do. Not with each other at least. It's hard to say how exactly they'd act with one another, but I imagine they can read each other freakishly well. Or, if Fatima's experience is like theirs, then they can potentially feel the other's emotions and see what they see. Though, the seeing part might just be a Fatima thing tbh as she only has that experience with Smiley.
In all honesty, I wouldn't be surprised if they can just kinda... feel what the other's think and do. As if they instinctively just know if that makes sense.
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 🥲
Can you imagine like a role reversal between reader and the creatures? As in, reader is a creature and they are human. Except they're still fucked up, horny, and find a way to capture you >:)
I know in a lot of your work the creatures have a psychic link, so I wanted to know if you have any thought on Fatima finding out about the creatures obsession with the reader through the link and maybe getting obsessed herself?
૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა
Fatima experiences all their horniness and is left horrified and wants to hide Reader away now—
She probably resists any interest in reader beyond that of a fellow person stuck in a strange situationship with the creatures tbh. I mean, she has Ellis—
But this is honestly something I'm still puzzling with for 'As Dusk Settles'. Fatima really threw a curve ball at me there xhshdj
Spacey, when Smiley is being bratty, is there any punishment that genuinely gets to him enough to make him regret being a brat? Like, not in the sense he regrets being submissive, but in the sense that he wishes he had behaved better? Is there a punishment that has the chance of making him clingier/more needy for affection and/or reassurance after? Just more bratty subby Smiley crumbs I beg-
At your own pace and if it interests you, of course!
Someone else asked for more bratty Smiley as well a looongg time ago, so here we finally are :))
It's mostly suggestive this time.
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Brat! Smiley and which punishment would truly get to him
● Smiley had no real need for these things. Such human needs had fled from him many years ago. He, however, did enjoy sharing his body with you. It was fun. Messy. Your little noises and involuntary movements were especially fun. If he truly pushed, you could be louder, wilder, whinier.
● But he had managed to break past that, surprising even yourself with how mean you could get. He let you pin him, let you tear his clothes off and explore ways to make him ‘shut up, take it back, stop killing those that are mine’.
● You got the luxury of truly exploring ways to make him pay. You did not handle it well. Usually, you hurt yourself more than him. If not in the moment, then later when you choose to agonize over your out of control actions. Partners don’t harm each other, is what you’d say. It was silly.
● He felt no pain. Not like you would when he pierced his teeth deliciously slowly through your body. Deliberate, unlike some of your deeds. That’s what had you hurting—the loss of control. Trying to hurt him out of anger and pain instead of passion.
● Regardless, having his muscles pulled taut did get a touch uncomfortable when stuck for hours on end. He liked it. Liked letting you find the extremes his body could handle. The time his muscles tore when bent too far, was when beautiful horror shone brightly on your face.
● And now that he had a taste, he needled at you, relaying all the things you could do to his body without permanent repercussions. You could cut into him, crack his bones, tear his tongue or voice box out to keep him quiet. Until it regenerated, that was. None of it would harm him. It was your own fragile stomach that twisted at his suggestions. He wanted to spark your human imagination. To experience the things you could come up with, with your mind shackled by moral boundaries.
● Your attempts to make him think twice about his abhorrent deeds never stuck. They were fun. Ironically, you had no qualms about using a whip or a wooden ruler to put him in his place. He only lifted himself higher to receive your thrilled rush of power or enraged barrage.
● No, your attempts on his body never worked. He never felt a shred of remorse over killing. Merely paused after witnessing your descent into chaos after he needled too much, adjusting his play to keep you from truly cracking. He did not want to break you.
● Over time, no matter how he enjoyed your body, whether in submission or domination, you never invoked a sense of genuine remorse. He was convinced you’d never find a way, even decades into the future, and, if he had a say in it, centuries.
Or so he thought.
You found a way after all, and he craved you even more afterwards, in ways he never conceived possible.
For once, he would find himself truly longing for your softness.
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He would’ve panted had he the need, euphoria singing under his skin as you slid off of him with a slick sound. He zeroed in on you. The crescent he managed to bite into your chest as you leaned over him to tie his hands, standing out against your clammy skin. It caught his eye, a different desire coiling deep in his shriveled organs. To stroke his fingers along the mauled flesh, prodding at frayed nerves until you flinched, snapped and pinned him again.
The desire scattered like humans did upon seeing him—well, humans other than you—when he met your gaze, expecting the long-suffering fondness you harbored for him.
He found none of that.
Your face was devoid of warmth as you stared down at him. You pulled away, taking your physical warmth away as well. His grin strained as you left the bed. Without a word, you gathered your clothes. He rose when you made to leave, not even taking the time to complain about feeling gross or how he was insufferable.
“Where are you going?” he asked, genuinely perturbed when you failed to look his way once. But still you did not glance over. Not even a tiny peek. You opened the door of the small hut. Left. You hadn’t even put on your shoes. He did not worry about your safety. His kin would let you pass, uncaring of your current state.
What wormed in his chest instead left him standing there, staring at the door you closed. Quietly. It hadn’t been slammed shut in rage. You had left as if he was nothing but a stain you wanted to hide the existence off.
His smile froze, brows furrowing. Your arousal clung to him still. Your anger and disappointment lingered in the scent.
You’d shower, he was certain. Wash him away as if you hadn’t taken him inside and let him tarnish you for another night.
The corners of his mouth dropped slowly, lips covering his eternal grin.
The euphoria slipped from his withered veins.
He had no true need for these things. But the idea that you’d come to despise him, thinking him a disgusting addiction you needed to shake from your legs…
It had an unknown feeling stir in his stomach.
Alone, naked with your drying wetness on him, smelling of rejection, he felt cold for the first time in centuries.
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 he?” 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.”
I’m going to be mixing some things here and there, and I have asks that I can answer with a shorter text too! But I’m puzzling things together, so it might feel a bit messy. If I’m missing something, that is very possible 😭
Anyway, the red are new ones and I'm working on the blue ones!
Aks:
● More bratty Smiley content
● The Creatures preferences regarding sharing reader
● Either Creatures with a chubby reader or the Creatures reacting to signs of aging
● Smiley and Cowboy getting freaky with reader on their period + Smiley and Cowboy with a reader who finishes quickly
● Reader being put in the box with the creatures eager to get to them
● Jade with SO reader who defends him when told she can do better
● Jade with reader who is one of the Matthews and in her twenties
● Town’s reaction to reader being with the Creatures
● The first time the Creatures realise they love you and how they might confess it
● Reader who is really fast and hard to catch
● Creatures with a reader with healing powers like Claire Bennett
● Creatures and reader trying to paint each other.
● What kinks are the Creatures into (Cowboy is asked for specifically)
● The Creatures with a reader that focuses more on their partner's pleasure and fakes orgasms
● Reader getting jealous when Smiley spends time with female Creatures
● Milkman and Cowboy smut with double penetration front and back
● Reader’s life in Fromville as the reincarnation of the Man In Yellow’s child
● Tough guy creature content + general and romantic headcanons about the Tough guy
● Abo stuff with Smiley (the freak) (and maybe Cowboy)
● Randall finding out his gf is pregnant
● Smiley deciding mid hunt that he wants to keep reader (kinda hot not gonna lie)
● What movies the creatures would watch (dang, that’s going to be hard)
● Enemies to lovers with Jade >:)
● How do Cowboy, Tough guy and Handbag lady feel when the other hoards reader
● Smiley with a buff, firefighter! reader
● Aftercare with the creatures :)
● How would the creatures react to reader telling them they love them
● Content with Nathan (still have to think of a scenario, but I’m going to try and make it wholesome) :)
● NSFW headcanons for Smiley (might mix this one with the kink ask)
Some things somewhere in between:
● General and romantic headcanons about the Handbag lady
● Reader escaping Fromville and the Creatures following
● Handbag lady as your questionable neighbour outside of Fromville (together with other creatures)
● More Cowboy smut because I’m horribly, horribly biased
Would you ever write an imagine about how people reacted after Ch 8 or ads? Curious how everyone reacted to the assumed loss of the oc
Hmmm, maybe I will in the future. Right now, I feel like it would reveal too much considering where we are in the story. I had honestly not thought about making snippets for 'As Dusk Settles' tbh 🤔
Reader scissoring with a sex pollen affected Handbag Lady mmmmm 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤
Ughh, she'd be at the bottom, let me tell you >:)
She likes to be all in control, but you could flip her so easily while she practically begins humping desperately. It would be hard to get her to truly lose control, but in this moment you'd be able to get her to that point far easier.
Biting her lip to keep herself from whimpering as you shift her legs, rubbing up against her perfectly. She'd topple over the edge so quickly, for once being the one getting overstimulated as you push her right to that same edge again. Not that she wants you to stop, but she loathes the noises that trill up her throat. Desperate and whiny.
Once she retains her sanity, she makes sure you pay >:(
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.
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“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 yours 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.
