I suppose the creatures, I mean the cowboy and Smaley, wouldn't fuck you out of necessity... rather, they'd do it to play with you and test your limits.🥀
I just like to imagine these assholes live their immortal lives without even a shred of an active libido, get used to that fact, and then along comes that one ✨️human✨️ who disrupts everything.
And now they have to deal with horniness after all these years shehwj
But yeah, they technically have no reason to get down to business, but would absolutely LOVE to play with you. It's like a 'healthier' outlet of their messed up sadism with the plus side that it feels good for both themselves and you. And no matter what they may say, they do think it's intimate, it's bonding time and that it shows how much you trust them. Which they'd value more than they could convey. Even more if you want their sadism too. They'd feel accepted in ways no words could describe.
Not that this means they can't be weirdly vanilla at times. As if they imitate what they once were and desired as humans. Or simply because you may want things to be more gentle occasionally. It's a wonderful excuse for them to pretend things could be normal between you and them.
Still, they'd absolutely like to test the limits of what you can handle, which might not always be a good thing—
But they'll never go so far that you'd die. They are intimately aware how far they can push the human body before it breaks. The territory they explore is simply a little different with you :)
Warning: Inspired by the first episode of season 4. So spoilers ahead!!!!
Just an idea that grabbed me by the throat and shook me until I wrote this small piece.
I may write more for this in the future, but for now, I needed to get it out of my system before it made it impossible to focus on other things.
Hinted at Creatures x (female) reader
Warnings: Heavy on the non-con elements, though nothing explicit happens. Some blood. Suggestive.
Word Count: 993
-——————————————————————-
The rope burned into your skin. A new struggle rubbing fresh burns into the already raw wrists.
“Oh come now, there’s really no need for that.”
The hands dabbing some… ointment onto your neck, gently carded your hair out of the way. The scent embalmed you. Heady and strange.
“What is this?”
She sighed. Indulgent laughter ringing alongside it. “I already told you.” She leaned forward, her front pressing to your back. The fabric of her dress chafed against you, her cold necklace touching bare skin, sending shivers crawling over your spine. “You have trouble understanding all this. Understandable, really. But this’ll be a nice surprise for everyone,” she whispered. Too close. Lips almost touching the shell of your ear.
Then the warmth moved back and away. Tutting after you strained against the binds again. Soft fingers traced close to where blood trickled down your hands.
“After I cleaned you so nicely. Good thing they like blood,” she said. As if your attempts were an addition to her preparations. Expected.
“Now, let’s get you dressed up. A present is more fun if you can unwrap it, wouldn't you say? Shame you had to fight it. Then we could put you into something more appropriate for the occasion.”
“Fuck you,” you snarled at the girl walking to the closet before you, her long, blonde hair shielding her face as her back turned to you. Not that this was a girl.
Her eyes—
There was no color left in them. No iris and pupil to be discerned from the black. They weren't like the creature's hungry, unnaturally blown eyes. This thing was different. Something else. Pretended to be one of you during the night and day.
“Oh no, that’s not for me.” She rummaged through the closet, hangers clanging hollowly, fabric whispering as she judged the articles. She let them slip through her fingers one by one. “I didn't think it was for them anymore either, you know?” She stopped at a particular article, lingering with purpose. “But then, some indulgence is alright every now and then.”
Her words spun nausea in your gut. It wasn’t the first time she made that insinuation. That the creatures…
That they—
Your next breath hitched, warmth flushing your cheeks. You pressed your legs tighter together, muscles in your loins and thighs trembling.
Their stares had started to feel different. In a way you couldn’t explain. Heavy. Piercing. Intrusive somehow.
It made you see some sense. Had you retreat while they tried to press closer.
A low click plucked you from your thoughts.
The girl carefully lifted something from the hanger. Almost reverently, fingers barely gracing the article hidden from your sight. Then she turned. That smile on her face as she presented the dress.
A relatively tight, strapless bodice, fabric flowing down to just above knee length. White. A color of innocence and purity.
“Just enough to leave room for imagination.” She winked at you, already making her way over.
Your pulse pounded in your throat as she neared. The dress like a prison cell in her hands, the smile unfeeling and excited at once.
Then she did something. Her hand brushed against you. And your body went limp. Legs that had geared to kick at her slumped down. Your upper body was lowered to the bed.
Fear encircled your heart, a choked off breath sticking to your throat.
Not even as she bathed you—
Not even when she tied you up, did she—it—do this.
What was she?
She lifted your legs, drawing the dress up and over your body. Higher and higher. Leaning your upper body up to close the bodice over your chest.
Then she went to the pantry, bringing out—
Heat flared down your neck.
—Lingerie
You looked at the ceiling when she neared. Kept your focus firmly on the tiny crack in the corner as she slipped it on your body, adjusting it so it sat perfectly. She brushed the dress down, covering her violation again.
“There. Now you’re almost ready.”
“Why are you doing this,” you trembled out, words thick with terror. “What do you gain from this?” You managed to look her in the eye when she leaned over.
“Not much if we’re being honest. This is more for you.”
Your gaze flitted between her eyes. “Me?” you asked in a small voice.
She nodded. “I know it’s scary, but you don’t have to be. Sure, they’ll hurt you a little. They… are a little rough around the edges. You’ll have to forgive them for that. But…” Sophia brushed your hair aside, wiping a stray tear away. “I haven’t forgotten about you. Tonight will be for decompressing. You’ve been through so much.”
“Just one final touch.”
Her other hand brushed against your abdomen and—
You gasped, back arching as hot, heavy need poured into your lower body. Melting your core and clenching muscles that suddenly felt achingly empty.
“There.” She smiled more softly. As if she did you a favor. “All ready now.”
The blonde stood up. A look of remorse twisted at her features. “It saddens me that we won’t see each other again. Not for a long time. They so like to hoard. At least I can leave knowing you’ll be in capable hands.”
A whimper overtook the words you wanted to utter. Legs squirming the second the ability to move returned.
Sophia walked to the entrance of your bedroom. The night was around the corner, twilight touching the skies with stars. They peered through the peek in the curtains, signaling what was to come.
She gave you one final smile. Friendly and horrifying.
“I’ll leave the door open.”
Then she softly clicked the door shut.
And you knew–
She spoke of another door altogether.
The first, distant screech spilled from the forest. They wouldn‘t be coming out just yet. You’d be left here, rolling with the ache in your loins.
This is inspired by a comment I left on a fic not too long ago.
This is before Boyd enters Fromville, so there's no talisman.
Creature collective x Reader
Focus is more on Smiley and the slow horror though.
Soulmate AU
Wordcount: 3.669
Potential triggers: Some description of gore. Minor OC death. Coercive themes.
Most people born with a soulmark or marks celebrated their hopeful union. The media told all about the wonders of such destined pairings. Scientists backed it up for centuries, showing how even genetically soulmates fit together. Their offspring, if possible, often got the strongest genes from both parents.
All of it was miraculous and awe inspiring. A mechanism of nature that led to healthy, strong offspring and legendary pairings in history. Couples who ushered the world into the next stage with their strong, instinctive connection.
So, being born without one such mark, already set you apart as someone not meant to be extraordinary.
If destiny hadn't even deigned you a perfect partner, why would it give you anything else? That’s the way some people thought. That you, and others like you, were inconsequential.
Yet, it never stopped you from living life. Hadn’t taken your ability to make friends away. You still got a job and a home.
So, in your professional opinion, those people could go suck a dick.
Arriving in hell hasn't changed your mindset. The currently growing blemish around your forearm… made you pause.
Pausing was, however, impossible right now.
Your heart soared in your head, feet pounding on the ground. Long grass bristled with your desperate passage.
There was a spot within the grassy field. A hiding spot that never failed you before.
All you needed to do—
Was reach it.
Low, howling screeches chased after you. Already, tortured screams tore your soul apart.
They had found someone. Another victim.
You pushed more power in your legs. Then you slid, feet skidding over the ground. Right underneath a small truck. You rolled to a jolting stop, palms gripping the greenery beneath tightly.
Quickly, you quietened your breath, despite your body screaming for air.
Now was not the time. Not in the night. Catching your breath could happen during the day.
The skittering of the creature neared.
Your breath stilled fully.
You had to trust the grass would keep you hidden. The sprites curled around the vehicle all the way to the bottom of its doors.
It hadn’t failed you yet.
You prayed tonight wouldn’t be any different.
The chuffing got closer.
A cry almost forced itself from your mouth. The truck creaked and shifted. Weight having crawled atop it, talons clicking over it.
For a long, painful moment, it remained there. Quieting down. You swore it sniffed. Hairs rose on your neck, fearful it could somehow scent you.
Worse—
It—it chuckled. The too human sound uncanny between snarls and screams.
It sounded like a regular man.
Then a thud followed, making you tense. You craned your head, barely able to see the legs of the thing through the grass.
But its footsteps wandered off and you sagged forward.
You wouldn’t say you were relieved. You couldn’t with the agonised screams in the distance. It gripped you tight, invoking fear so deep you wished to be unmade.
But day arrived like it always did. Quietly. Morosely.
Crawling from beneath the truck, you decided to sleep first thing. The bodies wouldn’t go anywhere after all. If you were lucky someone else would deal with them.
After tonight—after nearly getting caught—you wished to be rested for the next nightfall.
-——————————————————————-
One of the next victims was another passenger belonging to the tour that landed you here.
Her corpse lay angled strangely, her bones poking out from her broken limbs. It was as if they had taken personal offence to her sheer existence. Not even her face remained unblemished. An oddity. They never touched the face.
Soil landed on the fleshy remains of her cheek. Another clump covering her eyes. The girl, Clarice, had been kind—offering her water to you when your bottle became empty during the long hours of the tour. Said long hours were because of this little detour. She had been bubbly, sharing photos she’d been making.
Burying her numbed you down.
She wasn’t the first. More than one from the tour club had been taken already. Only four—you included—were left from the original twelve.
And if you didn’t know any better, you’d say those things were targeting you all specifically.
You scratched at your arm. The mark underneath your sleeve flaring hotter. It was still irritated. Apparently, you were a late bloomer. Additionally, that left you with fever and an awful itch.
You supposed it was fitting that developing a mark in hell would suck ass.
Placing a few daisies on Clarice’s grave, you eventually left. The sky had darkened quickly. Earlier than usual. As if the environment mourned with you. Or, more likely, mocked you all for elongating your time here.
-——————————————————————-
The mark stung, cold shivers rippling down your heated skin. You wanted to moan out your misery.
A cold cloth dapped against your forehead. The newest resident, a priest of all things, sat with you underground.
The one kind enough to watch after you as the fever worsened. “Father Khatri, can you smite whoever’s doing this to me,” you slurred quietly.
You thought this whole soulmate thing was supposed to feel good. You saw how others were when near their partner. Unity, peace and joy shifted over them. Not this.
It likely didn't matter. You were never going to meet them anyway. Not while you were doomed to die here.
One corner of Khatri's lips ticked up. There wasn’t any humor in it though. His eyes lingered on your uncovered mark—the odd thing that appeared to shift at times. Even weeks later it still hadn’t fully developed.
“I don’t have the power to judge,” he said, eyes snapping to meet yours too quickly. As if he couldn’t bear looking at the thing a second longer. “And neither do you. Whoever’s on the other side is yours.”
“And what if whoever that is sucks?”
He paused, something close to concern passing over his face? You didn’t ask, dread kept your words shackled deep within. “As iron sharpens iron, so one sharpens the other.”
You lolled your head his way, hair sticking to your damp pillow. “What does that have to do with this shithead giving me a fever?” you grumbled.
“That we can only pray it’ll help you grow.”
-——————————————————————-
Fuck Father Khatri.
Growth was useless if you were dead.
They had found your spot. Some idiot had led them right to it. The man had been caught nearly instantly as he attempted to dive inside the cabin’s secret compartment.
He had blindly reached out to you, grabbed your arm, pleading, whimpering. And so you were dragged out with him, both toppling over to the ground, dirt clinging to you.
Only in the pale moonlight did you recognise the man. The tour guide. Max
“Oh God. Oh God. I’m so sorry,” he kept rambling at you. But his fingers still remained clamped around your forearm. Even as you janked desperately to free yourself—
Because the creature held Max equally as tightly. It sat crouched, beady eyes switching between you two. A sound of satisfaction rumbled from its chest.
You swallowed hard, instinctively stilling under its attention.
“Please, please I don’t want die,” Max cried. The portly man was frozen in fear. You could see the terror in his usually gentle, blue eyes. His face pale and slack.
When the creature pulled him even further towards it, Max let go.
You immediately scrambled up. Or tried to. The creature wrenched you forward by your sweater, making you gasp. Inhuman strength pushed you down beside Max. Not harshly, but certainly not kind.
Then it straightened, staring down at you both.
When its arm raised, both of you flinched. You screamed at your legs to move. To do something. They wouldn’t listen. Only twitched uselessly on the ground.
But the creature… it only reached for his other arm. Slowly, it lifted up his sleeve. And underneath—
You stared.
Nausea twisted in your gut. A gentle warmth shimmered under your own mark. As if it recognised—
You couldn't finish that thought.
You began trembling violently. And those horrible, yellowish eyes saw it all. Saw the way you looked away, how blood drained from your face.
Its face reverted, becoming human. Or something close to human. The smile was too wide, its pupils blown. And his gaze— it pierced deeper than skin.
When the smiling ginger took a step your way, you bolted, dodging another swipe of its hands.
A screech tore from the thing's throat and terror rolled down your spine.
Daring to throw a glance behind, you saw it walked after you. Max was left there in front of the cabin, still frozen in place. Forgotten.
You whipped your head forward again. Eyes darting around, trying to find a place to hide.
The night was almost over. You just had to survive a little longer.
Because it couldn’t end like this. Soulmates were supposed to lead to brilliant pairings. To love and care and, and—
The forest was too dark. One misstep and you’d be flat on the ground. It was too risky to keep running. You’d tire. You’d be caught. If not by the creature chasing you, then by the next.
With no other viable option left, you dove in a thick bush.
And just in time.
Twigs snapped not soon after. But not from the direction you came. More than one pair of footsteps ambled through the forest.
Had they attempted a pincer attack?
One creature passed very close to your bush, its white clothed side rustling the leaves. You almost let out a whimper. You swore they’d hear your frantic pulse.
But they kept roaming.
The thing you noted those final hours quivering between thick foliage, was how quiet they had become.
-——————————————————————-
Max lived. Max was suspicious. But he was also kind and compassionate. And very regretful for nearly getting you killed alongside him.
If that thing would’ve done you in at all.
“That monster’s got your mark, doesn’t it?” His Yorkshire accent was out of place. He had moved to America only a few years ago. How unfortunate a decision that was. Now he was here, sitting in the diner with you, nursing watered down tea.
You couldn’t look at him, kept your gaze firmly on your mug. Words of denial wanted to spill out. More so for yourself than him. But he understood anyway, his palm landed heavily on your shoulder. Warm and solid.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered gently, his large, black brows downturned, sympathy bright in his eyes. “Mine wasn’t favourable either.”
The placating words landed poorly. You couldn’t imagine they were an actual monster.
He never asked the questions plaguing your mind however. Whether they were intelligent, because no animal had a mark. So what were they? And if they were conscious… then everything they did was purposeful. Not instinctual.
And that terrified you the most.
-——————————————————————-
The next nights were… calm. No one was found and the creatures only occasionally howled. They didn’t even growl or chitter.
It didn’t change the dense blanket of fear stinking up the place. The roof above creaked under careful steps. You pressed harder into the corner, hands shaking by your sides.
The creature had been up there for a long time now, just pacing. It snared the small group into ragged, short breaths and zipped lips.
Max shifted in place beside you. He remained close to you most nights now.
You wondered if it was out of selfish reasons. That he hoped they would focus on you again if you were found, so he could run. The barn’s hidden compartment only had one entrance though. If they found the door, you were all dead. As simple as that.
Yet, they still continued the new trend. No one was found. No one died.
And while everyone else breathed a sigh of relief, you only felt more afraid by the day. That mark on your wrist was getting ever clearer and felt like a ticking timebomb.
Only in the shower did you watch it writhe and attempt to form into something solid, water trickling past it, but never cleansing your skin of this particular blemish. But then, as if changing its mind, it would slither again—wrapping around your wrist in bold lines, letting go after minutes, then constricting once more.
It seemed almost like that thing didn’t know what to do with you yet, and that the mark reflected that indecision. You didn’t fail to notice how, more often now, it curled like deep vines over your forearm. Not tight, but not loose either.
If your hunch was correct, then it was close to making a choice soon. And if the mark didn’t already tell that tale, then the increased howling a week later certainly did.
-——————————————————————-
You waited longer than usual to find a place to hide. Max was hounding your steps more and more often, muttering nonscensical things while throwing glassy eyed glances your way.
You began avoiding the man. Clearly this place was getting to him. If becoming more fatalistic would protect you from his instability, then you’d wait like a moron until dusk.
Max wasn’t willing to wait that long.
Even if Father Khatri’s was.
“Why are you still here,” you whispered to him after a creature finally stopped howling.
“Because you are,” he said, a tremble poisoning his faux confidence. The priest seemed determined to ‘save’ you from whatever idiocy he believed compelled you to stay out so long. His attempts to bring you inside failed thus far.
“I’m going to hide, you know. Just a little later. Go,” you ordered him. Hesitation was there in the wringing of his hands. You placed a hand on his arm. “Go,” you repeated, quieter, putting as much reassurance into the word as possible.
After studying you a few seconds longer, he nodded and left. And so you sat on the deserted street, accompanied only by a fluttering pulse and a ticklish mark. The streetlights snapped on, blinking in and out before settling.
That was your cue.
Standing up, you rushed to one of the homes, cramping beneath its crawling place. No one had gone there and it was far away from Max who had gone the other direction.
And then it was another waiting game.
Sure enough, those things began wandering, their shoes clicking on the pavement. They were still uncharacteristically quiet compared to before.
Until—
“H-hey!” someone called out. A voice you recognised. Max.
You lifted your head, brows furrowing. What was that dumbass doing?
“I-I know what you want. You have a soulmark, r-right?”
Your face grew slack, blood flowing from your cheeks. You held your breath, sweat breaking out on your forehead. Max didn’t know where you were. He was only going to get himself killed.
Slowly, quietly, you inched to the edge of the crawling space, where boards were thin and above ground. You could just barely make out their shapes. Max standing in the street, that redhead a few feet away from him with its back towards you.
Your mark flared with warmth and you swore the creature tilted its head your way.
Other creatures appeared in your vision, circling closer. They stopped a short distance away too.
Max shifted in place, hands lifting placatingly. “I can help find your—” Max cut off when the ginger pressed in. “Wait—” He tried to backtrack, failing to see the other creatures in the way.
You almost wanted to yell for him to watch out—even as betrayal hurled through your body. A torturous death wasn’t what he deserved.
“Don’t y-you want to find—”
A sharp cry left him as he bumped into another, bulkier monster, who quickly grabbed onto him. Max tried to struggle, but more latched onto him.
You dug your fingers into the rough wooden planks, throat tightening.
And even with the ginger’s significantly softer tone, you could hear the silky smooth reply crystal clear. A reply you didn’t know was possible, as they never spoke before.
“Who said we can’t find what’s ours?”
You didn’t get time to process its words as the first scream rang out, making you press your eyes shut. Your nails dug deeper into the wood, splinters digging right back.
The mark had warmed more at the creature's voice. But your heart was gripped by ice.
The gut twisting sound of flesh ripping and more desperate pleas split through your skull.
Your forehead thumped against the planks, eyes staring down in the dark.
Max had tried to sell you out. You could only guess why. Maybe to win favor. Perhaps he mistakenly thought they’d stop killing once you were delivered to that creature.
But this wasn’t what he deserved.
Wasn’t what any of you deserved.
You glanced at your forearm, at the wretched mark hidden beneath, warming at the ginger’s proximity.
And an insane thought popped in: what would Khatri say now? Was this the ‘iron’ he expected? That thing couldn't possibly help you grow as a person.
Another scream fueled your despair. Because only this mark might keep you safe from the fate everyone else shared. They might not kill you, but—
What would they do? What would that one creature do?
You took a deep breath. Eventually you’d find out. If not now, then later.
So… why not now? When there was still hope to spare another life?
Fingers slipped from the wood. Your body dragged itself to the opening beneath the porch before the thought finalised. Loose gravel bit into your palms as you crawled out unseen.
Breath sawed in and out of you too loudly. You couldn’t raise your head. Not at first.
Shaking, you stood up.
The creatures were fully invested in their victim, staring at Max with those wide eyes. Grins split the human faces of some in all the wrong ways. The others had removed all pretence, showing their true self.
And Max… Max his leg was—
Vomit nearly made its way out, but you swallowed it down. He was still alive. Despite claws sheering through fabric and flesh.
You shuffled forward, trying to suppress the tremble in your legs.
“Stop,” you said. The word was thin, nearly swallowed by the cries.
It was enough.
The screaming cut off mid-sob, turning smaller as the creatures stilled.
Their heads craned towards you as one. It tickled your hindbrain. Even as deep within a warmth akin to a hearth flowed from wrist to toe.
Claws and hands removed themselves from Max, his body crumpling to the ground. He was shaking so bad, you thought he might rattle apart.
“Why?” was the ginger’s reply, blood dripping down his hands.
They still formed an arc around their latest victim. The danger hadn’t passed. Not at all.
“Isn’t it like he said? You want me.”
Your hands clenched by your side. Feet gearing to run when footsteps came from behind. Two more placed themselves in front of any escape route.
One of them you hadn't ever seen before. And you’d remember seeing a cowboy. The other was all too familiar. That bride. Her presence felt like a mockery now.
“Show us,” he said, tapping at his wrist.
Your eyes darted between them, to Max and back. “O-only if you let him go first.”
For a long, painful moment, none of them moved. Then the ginger chuckled, ice pouring down your back. You heard it before. All those weeks back from under that truck.
Instinctively, you took a step back, glancing at the two behind you.
They still didn’t move, watching you with calm that felt unearned. It did little to reassure you.
“Alive?” the ginger continued, glancing down at Max, grin growing when he whimpered. “Or free.”
You gulped. “Both.”
Something passed between them. Quick looks, subtle tilts of heads. A conversation you weren’t privy to.
Finally, the redhead crouched beside Max. Grabbing him by the collar, he hauled him upright just enough to meet your eyes.
There was no sanity left in Max’s eyes. Only primal instinct to survive.
“We agree.”
The grip on Max loosened. He collapsed forward, then scrambled up with a broken cry, limping badly as he fled into the dark. You watched until his shape disappeared between the houses.
Only then did you realise how tightly you clenched your fists, nails tearing into soft flesh.
“Show us,” he repeated again, almost gently.
Your fingers trembled as you pushed your sleeve back. The mark barely writhed anymore.
And now… it stilled fully. Settled.
Bold lines wrapped your wrist, curling up your forearm like living ink, warm and steady and complete. The moment air touched it, your breath hitched.
Their gazes seared into your mark.
But while you watched the redhead, shifting fabric came from behind. Craning your head, you watched the cowboy unbutton his cuffs, rolling his right sleeve up.
Beneath it, inked deep into his skin, was the same pattern. Somehow it seemed older, more worn. As if it had waited for a long, long time.
Your head spun, high-pitched static ringing in your ears.
Another creature tugged a collar aside. The next lifted the hem of their shirt. Another brushed long hair out of the way to bare a neck.
And all had that same fucking mark. You hadn’t ever seen before. Or maybe you didn't want to.
Your knees nearly buckled.
“No,” you said, unable to manage anything louder than a whisper. “That’s not—”
right, possible, real.
“You thought there’d be only one,” the ginger said, pushing his sleeve up. The mark bloomed there, more sturdy than the first time you saw it. “You were never meant for the ordinary.”
The warmth in your arm surged. Anchoring. Like roots finally finding soil. It felt too welcoming, too kind.
The circle closed. Slowly, patiently pincering you. And you let them, feet burned in place.
“You never missed a mark,” the cowboy suddenly took over. “Not while we were made to wait.”
And as their hands reached for you, careful and certain, you understood.
Extraordinary didn’t always mean good. It could be terrible and unfair.
