IRLPikachu

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.

-——————————————————————-

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.

“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.

• One of the Cowboy’s favorite things is tasting you. His absolute favorite place to be is between your legs, your thighs clamped on either side of his head, your warmth seeping into his skin, blocking out everything but the heat of your core, your scent thick and heady, full of want directed at him.

• he absolutely loves when you tangle your hands into his hair and try and force him where you want him, as if you could ever command him if he didn’t choose to let you. But you’re you and so he does, chasing your taste with his tongue, licking into you with a growling, whining desperation that grants him his reward in the form of another gush of wetness seeping out of you and into his mouth.

• this is a dance he’s done since he first caught you, wide-eyed and frightened in the dark, your screams of fear turning quickly into pleas of desire beneath his touch.

• he’d enjoyed that too. The hunt and chase, stalking you slowly through the streets, enjoying the way your fear grew as his kin joined him, cutting you off from escape in their quest to help him, not that he needed it.

• you were always his, it just took you a little time to realize.

• but, what he hadn’t thought of, what he hadn’t even realized was an option, was your ass.

• another perk of offering you that slightest bit of control; you showed him the most wonderful ideas.

• you were overstimulated, your pretty clit a swollen, pulsing mess, each nerve lit up with pleasure and pain from the too-many orgasms he’d pulled from you, his tongue seeking still, lips wrapping around it, suckling, too much, too much, too—

• you moved, ignoring his snarl, the sting of claws burying into thighs as he started to tug you back to his mouth, and hovered your ass over his mouth instead.

• there was a split second of hesitation, of confusion—and then his tongue, long, warm, and wet ran gently over your rim, a quiet chuckle resounding through your skin at the sharp intake of your breath, the tensing of your thighs

• sensitive little thing, aren’t you?

• he’ll have to… see just how deep that sensitivity goes.

• can he make you shake and cry this way too?

• he’ll have to find out.

—

• Smiley knows exactly where to dig his claws to make a human beg to die while still keeping them mercilessly alive. He knows where to sink his many jagged teeth to taste the most fear while spilling the least blood, dragging it out until his prey bucks and cries and screams against him, unable to escape his grasp

• he’s had years—decades, centuries—to study what happens when each nerve is sliced, to find out just what happens when he peels the skin from a skull, or how a limb moves when he’s tugged on it until it’s hanging on by strips of skin and tendon

• but you’re not prey.

• you started out that way, sure, a funny way to pass the time, a refreshing change from the usual humans too frightened to entertain him, but by the time you’re drawn outside, your human heart pushing you to save the poor, unfortunate bodies his kin has already started to tear into, well… you’ve piqued his interest.

• so it’s only fair he shows you the same fascination and attention he shows his kills.

• your body’s a fragile, warm thing, the frantic beat of your heart loud enough to drown out the temptation of the hunt, and he takes his time once he’s got you pinned to the concrete, peeling away your clothes, studying each twitch of your face. the way your breath catches when his fingers brush against the hard nubs on your chest, the way you bite your lip to hold back a whimper when he slips his hand into your underwear, cupping you in his palm, fingers gliding through slick curls.

• interesting.

• your panties fall away in a quick slice of fabric, the sound causing your to whine, thighs threatening to close before he spreads them apart once more, trailing a finger slowly—teasingly—down your slit, savoring the frightened, needy sounds you make.

• he’s never heard them quite like that before. it’d be a shame to waste you like the others before he’s heard more.

• he turns you around, hands curling around the gloves of your ass, massaging so very gently, fingers tracing along the goosebumps that break out across the skin.

• it’s the way you clench that draws his attention to the hole there, kept hidden away from him.

• he presses his fingers against it first, a gentle, circular motion against your rim, and then a curious thought comes to him.

• his hand lowers, dipping into your sopping folds, fingers coming away slick with wetness. It sticks to his fingers when he spreads them experimentally in front of his face, bringing them to his lips and trailing his tongue along the sticky string.

• your taste is exquisite, a deep, salty manifestation of your want, and he tilts his head, a thoughtful hum echoing out of him.

• the sound makes you whine, squirming in his grasp, and he catches your shoulder, thumb pressing lightly into the tense flesh, pushing you back down.

• not now—he’s studying, don’t be rude.

• he massages your slick in soft circles around the puckered hole, shifting his body until he’s laid over you, before he slowly, experimentally, leans down, his tongue dipping gently into your entrance, eyes widening in surprise when your nails dig into the concrete, your ass bucking back against his face as if seeking more of the sensations he’s brought you.

• his grin widens, a glint of amusement shining in his eyes.

• he wonders how he should move his tongue to make you beg

• he licks a circle around your rim, teasingly flicking his tongue against your hole before pulling away altogether, leaving it ignored and wanting.

• you answer with a whine, falling right into his trap.

__________________________

SUMMARY:

for the first few months you got trapped in this town, you've been observed by one of the creatures that seemed to grow fond of you to a concerning extent, gaining a twisted kind of obsession towards you till one night when a resident let one of the creatures inside the colony house—and you were kidnapped that night.

now he has you, and you have him, and that's final.

______________________________

HEADCANONS:

- when you first got captured, you've been wailing and screaming your heart out for him to let go as he carried you on the way to the caves, tears staining your cheeks as you flailed your arms around, grabbed his hair, his clothes, his face, anything that you convinced yourself would make him drop you, but he didn't budge.

he tried calming you down but you were far too absorbed by the fear of death that your cries drowned out his voice.

- you'd sit silently huddled against the farthest corner of your brand new "home", too afraid to make a move, like an inch would immediately call him over, so you sat like a statue.

- he'd try poking you into talking, even tug at your sleeve in an attempt to grab your attention, but you wouldn't move, that made him take the next step: pinching your cheek. that startled you out of your frozen state with a shriek as he grinned softly.

"there you are" he'd jovially comment, your reaction leaves him beaming.

- it'd be impossible to be alone, he'll keep you where he can see you at all times since he loves you now. and he'll be frequently around especially when you need to eat, he'll be there, might even hand feed you.

- the nicknames would be "Darling", "Dear", or "My Beloved". he'd call you any of these as he plays with your hair or cuddle with you; doesn't mean he'll tone down on the ridiculous ones like "scaredy cat" whenever you try to sneak through the tunnels to escape and he randomly appears out of nowhere, carrying you back to the room he specifically made for you.

- whenever he goes to sleep, he'd cage you with his arms around your torso and bury his face in the nape of your neck, and you'd shiver whenever you feel his face transform which you're kind of glad you can't see, given your position

you can't deny the teeth poking you sometimes though, it leaves you a nervous wreck till he wakes up.

and if he were to get credit for anything, it would be that he's mindful of his face shifting in sleep and has to have you facing away from him so he doesn't scare you into oblivion, still you lose sleep due to the fangs behind you.

- he'd take you outside once in a while to allow you a moment to breathe in the air, and of course you'd try to break free the second the air hits you, but the chance is slim to none when he's carrying you with a firm grip, he's that confident.

- he'd love hearing your heartbeat. when it accelerates every time he's near, when it's steady during sleep, he'd cuddle with you just so he could rest his head right where your heart sits to listen to it, a sound the shriveled one inside him will never resonate with.

- he'd like to have you sleeping on top of him sometimes (similar to otters). doesn't matter if there was already a soft bedding for you to lie on, he wants to look less threatening to you, he'd even ruffle your hair as you fight your sleep, too alerted by the idea you're that damn close to something that likes tearing people apart with a sadistic smile.

you'd eventually lose the battle, slipping into slumber as his fingers finally whisk you into a deep sleep, gently tangling themselves in your locks. you'd admit you like the tenderness he somehow possesses.

- his kisses are gentle, he'd give you one on the cheek, on the forehead, even nuzzle your face, you'd forget for a second that it's a creature showing you affection. he'd caress your face with his thumbs over your cheeks, occasionally calling you sweet names.

- don't assume that he doesn't need some affection back, you've plagued his non-beating heart into capturing you, so least you can do is show him some appreciation for not killing you right away.

he'd love for you to hold his face in your hands, he'd melt like butter though it won't show. mess with his hair, kiss him, bite him (yes bite him) he'll appreciate anything you give him, even a small hug would do.

________________________________

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.

-——————————————————————-

“These are really pretty.”

Plucked flowers sat arranged in the girls hands, their fragrant petals fully bloomed. You inhaled the subtle sweet scent. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this species before.”

“I don’t think I have either. They look like a type of orchid.” The girl beside you adjusted her glasses with a demure smile. “Do you like them?”

“Absolutely,” you said, accepting the bouquet with a quick grin. “They smell really—”

A buzz neared, followed by a bee hovering close to the flowers. You tensed, sitting more akin to a statue as it landed on one, then the next and the next in search of nectar. Its stinger way too close to your fingers. You exhaled once it finally left after finding none.

“They do seem to attract attention.” You glared halfheartedly at the girl. “Sorry,” she said, looking down. “But they smell good, is what you were going to say?”

The pinkish petals shone bright under the sun. As though they lit up with joy… For your anniversary of being here. It seemed quite bitter to celebrate being stuck one more year. You had believed you'd escaped the tradition after leaving Colony House. “Yeah…”

“Were you hoping someone else would give you flowers?”

Heat flushed in your cheeks. “What?” You dropped your arm back down to the log beneath you two, the breeze rustling at your clothes. “No. No, that’s… ridiculous.”

“Well, I think that if you like flowers, maybe you should try giving them yourself.”

Confess first? To him? Fat chance.

“...Most guys don’t seem to like flowers though.” And the ‘guy' you had in mind especially not. Not that you could even properly grant them to him anyway.

An odd little smile pulled at her lips. “Try. I’m sure if he likes you, he’ll adore anything you’d give him. I can help make a bouquet.”

-——————————————————————-

Hope was a cruel thing.

The sweet scent had dulled to your senses, though everyone you came across stated the flowers smelled wonderful. Asking where you got them from and from who especially. Only to wind up teasing you over the lucky recipient after you stated their purpose, much to your consternation.

You stared at the red ribbon keeping the bouquet together. Was it too much? Too girly? Would it offend him? With a sigh you leaned back in your chair, taking a sip from your water and wringing the clammy glass between your fingers after.

He’d arrive soon. His first stop was always your window. Sometimes it seemed to be his only true stop.

A false form of flattery. Worse—an effective form of false flattery.

The bouquet drew your attention again. It was delusional to leave something like this out in the vain hope it’d be appreciated. Your fingers twitched with the urge to snap them back up. Glancing further down the street, it was well past the time to linger on regrets. Shapes drifted through the town like pale ghosts, spilling from the forest and from between houses. Eerily human until you got too close. You searched amongst them, for the one that had your heart currently racing.

And you didn’t need to search for long. One peeled away from the road, casually beelining for your window. The sway of his hips brought a smile to your features. His already sat in a smile—another facette—and if you used your imagination you could say it looked happy. Your stomach flipped, eyes drifting down.

Perhaps he was happy. You couldn’t imagine it was for the same reason. His cold heart didn’t beat for you, nor could it hope to effectively pretend to.

His gaze never left you the second he paved his way over. It was the same every night. Except as you glanced back up, his piercing gaze had turned towards the flowers instead.

“Howdy, darling.” He nodded at the bouquet, something cooler falling over his features. A pretence? Surely, it had to be. “Should I be jealous?”

“O-oh, no.” You scrambled with your glass, clicking it down too hard on the table, its contents nearly sloshing over the side. “They’re not for me. I… I got them for you.”

His smile became lopsided, sending a twisty, curl in your stomach. “For me,” he mused. “Color me surprised.” The creature’s head craned down, his brim hiding his eyes from view as he studied the gift splayed out over the window sill. Then he glanced up, an emotion flashing through his eyes that you couldn’t read. “Making me look bad for not getting you anything first.” His hands left his belt to cradle the bouquet, amusement clearing whatever had lurked beneath.

One of your shoulders lifted in a shrug. “There’s not much I need.”

That focus sharpened. “Maybe there is something,” he murmured. “Shame you won’t let me inside.”

Warmth surged in your belly in time with an icy stab, your eyes averting. “You know that’s impossible.” Your fingers found one another, wringing them.

He remained quiet for a long time, studying you as creatures behind him went about their rusted routines. “Lot’s of things are possible, sweetheart. Sometimes,” he said, stepping closer to the window to whisper, “you just have to be brave.”

Your mouth opened, hand twitching with an urge you struggled to deny—

A knock had you jump, head snapping back to the door. Your name rang muffled from behind the wood. “Can we talk?”

Quickly, you grabbed the curtain.”Yeah, just a sec, Sophia.” You turned back to the creature whose face had fallen back into a familiar bland smile. “We’ll talk later.” He nodded, holding the flowers in one hand. The sight had butterflies fluttering inside your belly. Even if the way they hung at his side seemed a disservice to their beauty. “Goodnight.”

He tipped his hat without a word. But as you closed the curtains…

You swore his eyes were more intense than any prior interaction.

-——————————————————————-

“Did you try it?”

You nodded with a slight smile.

“And?” The girl leaned forward, curiosity alight on her features. “What did he think?”

“He accepted the bouquet, so I think he likes them?”

Her eyes crinkled. “I’m glad. I could help arrange another—” She leaned on the table—

It creaked.

Flipped.

Both of you gasped as glasses went flying and shattered on the ground. The girl stumbled, fell, grabbing hold of your reaching hand—pulling you down as the chair toppled, your other arm reaching to catch yourself as the floor rushed up—

Sharp pain flared up your palm, followed by a hot sting. You hissed, redness slicking up your shaking fingers when you lifted it.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry. Here—” She grabbed a cloth from the bar, bringing it over to press to the wound. “I’m so, so sorry. I am always so—”

“It’s fine, Sophia. Accidents happen.”

She helped clean up, the wound turning out to be barely worthy to be called a cut. It had simply bled a lot. Sure stung though. After making sure it wouldn't reopen, you both stared at the mess.

“I’ll clean this up,” she said. “It’s the least I can do.”

You turned her way. “I’ll help. It’s really no problem.”

She smiled. “Alright.”

And while you were busy clearing shards from the floor…

You failed to notice her pocket the cloth soaked with your blood.

-——————————————————————-

Another bouquet was lifted from the window sill, close to gently. Astounding for a being like him. As if the hands holding it were afraid to ruffle even a single petal.

“I’m starting to think you really like me, sweetheart.”

“I do enjoy your company.”

The creature’s attention lingered on the flowers. It was a different mix this time around. A common occurrence after Sophia began helping with the search of flowers. She had a better eye for what looked well together. A skill she’d picked up from her mother, she had said.

“I enjoy yours as well.” His expression flattened, threading tension through yours. “I’d… hoped you’d trust me by now.” He searched your face. “Not all of us are the same.”

You bit your lip. “I can never know that for sure.”

“I don’t blame you.” Your eyes widened with surprise. The sight brought a small, crooked grin back on him. “None of them have given you a reason to believe me.”

Your lips rose in an answering grin. Tentative, after you spotted how his eyes darkened. “Murder does reflect badly on you.”

The cowboy chuckled, an emotion more genuine simmering beneath. “Sweetheart, I’ll make sure you’re surrounded by them flowers when I get you.” He lifted the bouquet, studying them with a peculiar glint. “You’d look good pressed onto them.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. “You kept them?” You chose to ignore the implication. Not that you could be sure if it was the one rose colored glasses demanded. If you took them off… perhaps you’d instead see the funeral he had prepared with your gifts.

He grinned, that glint remaining. “All of them.”

-——————————————————————-

“My mother always said that men sometimes need a little push.”

“To…?”

The girl arranged the flowers, bringing them together into something beautiful. A few of them stood out amongst otherwise sweet notes. They almost reeked off… spoiled meat. She turned to you, that mysterious, little smile playing on her lips. The one that had your spine stiffen and chills crawling over your skin.

“To understand.”

Whatever retort you had died, a whisper of discomfort wrapping around your neck as she tied a deep red ribbon around the stems. The scent… it turned your stomach, a part deep down whispering there was something off about this.

-——————————————————————-

The creature arrived later than usual despite his kin roaming the streets. It was nearing the time when others would start to make their attempts.

If things followed any kind of order still, that was.

Lately they stopped coming over. At most, you’d get a jaunty wave from a few.

It was only the cowboy now.

The creature appeared longer at your window. Sometimes sticking to the point your heart jumped with the idea he might be reluctant to leave. The emotion in his eyes could only belong to a monster longing to kill, however. And perhaps it should unnerve you that other creatures avoided you. As if the cowboy had staked his claim.

It shouldn’t make your heart leap up, because he…

You suppressed a sigh, watching the lady in the swingcoat curl her fingers in a wave, her smile pleased for reasons unknown. Perhaps she knew where the cowboy had gone.

The strange bouquet would wait for the whole night if it had to. You wouldn’t. Not even for him. You’d have to explain why the gift hadn’t been received. Though, Sophia didn’t know what ‘man’ you were talking with. Strangely, she never asked.

The ribbon on the bouquet stood out harshly amongst green stems, the red seemingly bleeding into the stems. That strange scent of decay had mixed over time with something tangy. It truly smelled like rot now. The sweetness of surrounding flowers couldn’t mask it anymore.

You hadn’t mentioned it. Neither had Sophia. Maybe she hadn’t smelled it, though you were hard pressed to believe that. But you had been curious, so curious to find out whether he’d like the scent.

You took a swipe over the streets again, but the one you sought still wasn’t there.

As the moon steadily rose, disappointment nestled somewhere in your chest. You reached, grasping the curtain—

Stilled to crane your head. Listened.

Footsteps got closer, softened by grass. Your hand dropped with a stumbling pulse. From the side, he appeared. Smiling with his hands on his belt as always.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, taking his hat off and placing it over his chest. His combed back hair rustled lightly with his head tilt. Those wide eyes appeared painfully sincere. “Tried to get you something special, but all things special take time.” He fished something from his pocket, presenting it.

Nestled in his palm sat a crooked thing. Pale, slightly yellow in tint, rounded and slimmer at one end.

A… tooth?

You blinked at it, getting closer to the glass. And yes, it was indeed a tooth. A big canine. Root and all.

“Where did you get this from?” The answer spun like dread through your mind. He must have—

His smile twisted, gaze eagerly taking you in. “I had to search far and wide for it. Bears are pretty rare around these parts.”

A bear… He killed a bear for you. The strangest combination of flattery and horror twisted into a concoction of pure speechlessness.

“...I’m not sure what to say.”

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice for starters,” he said smoothly, cheeks creasing.

Warmth flooded your body, eyes averting long enough to take a steadying breath. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

The creature tilted his head. “What was that?”

“I said—you know what, no. I’m not playing this game.”

He chuckled, eyes drifting to the bouquet. “You might consider it a strange gift, but yours are no different.” You turned to the flowers as well. The white and pink sparsely broken by some yellow.

A laugh startled out of you as a thought popped up. He looked at you curiously, head swaying lightly. “I’m not giving you teeth.” His smile gained a smug tilt. His usual way of laughing. Then he pressed closer to the window, settling his hat back in place with a single motion.

“I do expect a little teeth,” he said sweetly, his index finger pointing to the side of his throat. “Here.” Then pointed lower to his collar, focussing on your widening eyes. “And here.” When his finger lowered only further, you rushed up from your chair, the thing wobbling in place.

“Woah, woah,” you whisper yelled, hands flailing, “we get the message.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Would you like teeth?”

You spluttered for a second. “Listen here, mister cowboy man, why don’t we finish up exchanging gifts for now and go to bed.” That dastardly smile only widened further. “W-well, no, not together—I’ll go to bed and… sleep, yes, sleep.” You nodded to yourself, heat clinging to your skin like sticky humidity.

He hummed, head tilting in thought, amusement bright in his countenance. “I did come a little late,” he mused, but thankfully stopped with the deadly teasing. The massive tooth was placed on the sill beside the flowers, tenderly as though it were precious. The odd sight worsened the fluttering sensation low in your body. The way he, a being so inhuman, carefully lifted the bouquet. Like he thought your gift even more precious.

He brought them closer, face mostly hidden by his brim.

And…

Grew stiff. The barely there—soft, your mind supplied—smile dropping. His shoulders tensed, muscles snapping visibly taut.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, an edge in it that set off a slow shiver, “you didn’t make these alone, did you?”

“...You got me. I’m not that skilled yet.” You chuckled, froze and shuddered. “Why, can you smell that?”

His posture was ramrod straight, only his head remained craned down. “Maybe… it’s time to prove it.”

A crease settled between your brows. “Prove it?”

“Open the window for me.” His voice became slightly gravelly.

There was a whisper inside that zoned in on the way he dropped the flowers to his side. Not letting go, but certainly not bringing it close to his chest as he was wont to do.

“Sara and Sophia wouldn’t appreciate that, I’m sure.”

A close mouthed chuckle shook through his shoulders, his face lifting up. What you saw made you step back, heart dropping. His eyes weren’t merely blown, they were close to wild.

“Don’t care ‘bout them,” he said, that rare Western accent peeking through. A phenomena that you associated with… emotion. Stress. “I only want to see you without that damn window between us.”

You studied him for a second, your pulse thudding louder. He had never cursed prior to now. “I don’t know what brought this on, but I won’t let you inside.”

The way he stared, you could only describe as predatory, fingers curling at his side as if ready to sling his hypothetical gun up. “Darlin’.” His jaw twitched. “What's a man gotta do to get you to step outside?”

The corner of your lips tugged up, a hollow pang following. “Well… be an actual man, I’d say.”

Something colder and older than you understood passed like a dark shadow over his eyes. Making you swallow. Hard. “I’m sorry.” You reached for the curtain, ignoring him as he stepped even closer to the window. “I have to go.” You ignored the call following after you. Snuffed out the lights and pretended to sleep as he remained standing.

You kept your eyes closed, but your ears…

Lazy knocking filtered through perfectly.

…Noise could not be shut out.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “didn’t mean to frighten ya. Could we talk a bit more?”

“I do need to sleep,” you replied in a whisper.

“You never answered my question.” You inhaled slowly. “Whether you like teeth.”

And promptly stopped breathing mid exhale. "What's with you, tonight? You…”

…were never this bold.

Your pulse beat louder, reaching your throat as you watched the curtain, his shape hidden fully from view.

“It’s the thought of having to wait all day to see you again.

That beating organ inside you softened, painful longing mourning with it now. “I think the tooth is worth a few hours less.” His first gift. Strange, but oddly fitting for a being like him. It took effort to the point he was hours late. “But please, I need to sleep. You know you kept me up last night too,” you joked, stifling a yawn.

The quiet that followed sat heavy between you, his own laughter or sassiness nonexistent when it shouldn’t be. Tension snaring tighter the longer he remained close.

“...Sleep well, sweetheart.” The tone was wrong. Strained and nearly shaky.

Before you could say anything, his steps faded. And you swore they did so with more haste than usual.

-——————————————————————-

“What did he think of our latest bouquet?”

“He… I don’t know. He acted strange. I swear he liked them, but he got a little… insistent?” You traced the tooth in your pocket, invisible to all but your touch. “He did get me something this time though.”

Sophia’s eyes grew wider. "Really?" She leaned towards you. “What did he get?”

You chuckled, cleared your throat, thinking of the madness you could say.

He found an animal I wasn’t aware existed here, fucking killed it, took its tooth and cleaned it thoroughly before dumping it on my sill. Oh, and he was somehow not even soaked in blood despite, and I repeat, killing a bear.

Instead you turned to her with a crooked grin and said, “It’s a bit special to fully explain, but he did put a lot of effort into it.”

She hummed. “Something he could’ve been planning for a long time, you mean?”

That had you pause, fingers stilling. The creature might've been searching far longer than you knew. Maybe for multiple nights. Using a predator's logic, killing and presenting a tooth from such a dangerous and rare animal was likely extremely meaningful. That hope inside you bloomed into a familiar ache.

“Yeah.”

Sophia looked up in thought. ”Maybe by giving you something, he… uhm, expects more?”

“Like he thinks he can buy me, you mean?” you stated, raising your brows. Wondering not for the first time why you were discussing these things with a kid. A weirdly wise one, but a kid all the same.

She looked down, flustered. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No. I think you could be right. Maybe,” you said, insides churning, “he does think I’m easy.”

Easy prey, that is.

-——————————————————————-

Like any other night, you grabbed a glass, filled it with water and went to your room, biding the other two inhabitants goodnight. The only difference was how you’d ignore the glitter in Sophia’s eyes. She couldn’t know that the bouquets she helped make all found their way on the windowsill.

Not that there was one tonight.

You clicked the door shut behind you. Sighed wearily as you approached the curtain. First placing your glass down, then reached to pull the fabric aside—

A gasp pushed from between your lips, a hand darting to your chest.

"Holy shit.” It came out shrill enough that your muscles tensed. You strained your ears, but the house remained silent afterwards, showing no indication anyone heard.

Expect for him.

The creature opposite you more or less stared you down, eyes darkened and even wilder than the previous evening. If anything, you’d say he looked haggard. His hair was ruffled in places beneath his hat, as if he had clawed at it. His collar sat rumpled around his neck, the bolo slightly askew. Your eyes trailed a tear in the front of his shirt. Not bad enough to split the fabric wholly, but visible all the same.

“Sweetheart,” he said, tone husky, stirring a well known heat low in your body. “How have you been?”

“No different than yesterday.”

He stepped closer. “Slept well?” You nodded after a while, wondering why he asked these things. His eyes trailed over your form, darting quickly over everything and seemingly nothing. Lingering on—

“Eyes up here, buddy.” And that’s where they went. Locking onto yours as if he wanted to swallow you whole. Your throat tightened.

“Did you keep it?”

You blinked at his bland smile, but it appeared off. As if his teeth didn’t fully fit his current form. You gulped, then fished the tooth from your pocket. His head craned forward, a—a fucking rumble of approval coming from his chest.

“I keep yours too. I meant that.” He said, grin sharper than you’d ever seen. “Let me show you.”

“Haha.” You rolled your eyes. “Did you think giving me one thing would make me jump all over you? Don’t get me wrong, you must’ve put in a lot of effort in finding a bear, but—”

Your mouth snapped shut. He… began pacing, hands on his belt, gaze fixed like a shining beam onto your form. Back and forth he went along the short span before your window.

“If you were that easy,” his teeth snapped together, lips lifting to bare them, “I’d have you ridin’ me already.”

A shock of heat pulled at your nerves, flashing through your whole face. “That—, I…”

His fingers curled tighter around his belt, a sound close to a whine hissing past those clenched teeth. And when you let your gaze drop—

“Oh…”

There was a very obvious… problem… there.

“Are you in heat or something?”

The look he shot you sent a different kind of warmth to your cheeks. You averted your eyes momentarily, but like a magnet, his seeming desperation drew them back. His pacing was like clockwork. Exactly six steps to the right, and six back to the other side, head swiveling to keep you in sight.

“Your little gift did this.” He still managed to talk steadily. Using that overly cheerful tone.

But your gift… The rot scented flowers…?

Blood seeped from your face. This must’ve started yesterday then. The sudden change wasn’t because of his gift and his belief he could persuade you—it was because of yours.

“I think you should take responsibility." Those words dropped like a bomb stubbornly keeping itself from exploding.

“Woah, they were just flowers! I didn’t know they’d do this,” you rushed out with some near stumbles, hands raised up. Dropping them quickly as the submissive quality blew a deeper blackness into his eyes. “I’ve been giving them for months now.”

His gaze roved over your body, the burn heated and invasive as if he had already claimed the skin hidden under admittedly very little clothes. Shorts and a top with slippers.

“What you got between them legs gets compared to flowers too, you know.” Your lips parted, eyes widening. “You have no others prepared.” He nodded to the empty sill.

“You’re asking for a lot there,” you said, voice pitching higher, a stilted chuckle cutting off when you turned back.

“Whether today, tomorrow or years into the future, one day you’d be caught.” You gulped, unable to ignore how he followed the motion. “Why not now? I can show you what I’ve prepared for you.”

The bait was set, waiting to be bitten. And even though you saw it being placed, you already felt wetness trickling in your underwear, those wide eyes and bared teeth an alluring, yet poisonous scent that drew you in all the same. Your hand drifted to the latch, shaking as fingers took hold of it. He stilled in his pacing, twisting rigidly your way. Following the way you pulled it up and open.

You reached to push, froze with your heart in your throat, staring at creatures beyond him. Creatures who’d kill you without hesitation. The cowboy stepped forward to fill your sight, gaze starving and piercing and raising that heat higher. You almost made a sound.

“Just one little push, sweetheart, and I’ll be yours.”

The window groaned in a high pitch, rusted metal fighting back against said final push. One you hadn’t consciously made.

The glass lifted, its sheen no longer dulling his shape. That pale skin touched by distant streetlights, shadowing his face partly. Teeth that gleamed, eyes that shone.

He smiled, cheeks twitching as if containing the sharp teeth hidden impossibly beneath. Reaching a steady hand to you. Waiting for you to take it. Your mind still screamed you could turn back. It planted itself in his anyway, shocking warmth seeping into your skin.

Fingers clasped over yours and with a gentle tug, he pulled you forward. Helping your legs sling over and out. Guiding your feet to land before him.

And you shook.

Shook as his grin appeared more a snarl up close. Throat tightening under that animalistic hunger. His gaze dipped down to follow the bop of your throat again. Weight settled on your shoulders.

Pushing.

Trembling knees gave out immediately. Eagerly. You never broke eye-contact, craning your head to stare past his chest to his wild expression. He worked on his belt, slowly looping it loose. Excitement zapped up your spine, kicking your pulse straight into overdrive.

This was really happening.

“You gave me quite a terrible day’s worth of sleep.”

You had dreamt of this.

“I think you should apologize, dollface.” His member was freed, not flushed like you had expected, but painfully hard. Thick. Too big to fit in your mouth. You’d try anyway. Saliva pooled at the challenge. “Open your mouth.”

It wasn’t a request.

You hesitated to follow through. Not because of the vulnerability, the cruelty he had to be capable of—but because of the other creatures out there. You tried to look sideways—

Fingers firmly grasped your jaw, digging in with unnecessary force, twisting you back.

“Don’t look at them. They already know to leave you be.” Those fingers slid down, wrapping around your throat. “Now… don’t make me repeat myself.”

His hold kept you in place, your walls clenching at the subtle strength, already aching for him. His eyes promised a more forceful approach if you denied him. Tempting as it was… your lips parted. “Stick your tongue out.” Heat flared in your cheeks, but you complied, panting already. “Good.”

His cock slapped on your tongue, heavy and tasteless, the wet sound a small taste of what would follow. Those eyes were close to pitch black as they watched your tongue wrap around his head.

Air flowed with growing difficulty past his tightening grip. Your pulse fluttered against his fingers—a subtle shake in them that you couldn’t resist pushing. Holding onto his thighs, you tried to take more inside your mouth.

He didn’t let you, his free hand snapping up to grab the back of your head. Rumbling came from his chest, face morphing into a snarl. Not yet morphing into the nightmare lurking under his skin. You hoped to see it. The other face that he staunchingly hid.

The muscles of his thighs tensed beneath you, his feet shuffling wider apart. The grip on his jeans tightened—preparing, jaw slack and throat fighting not to clench—reflexively shutting your eyes when his hips thrust forward. Not rough like you expected, but slowly sliding over your tongue as if to test the waters.

He still tasted like nothing. No scent came from him beyond that of old clothes and nature and something like cool stone underneath.

That grip on you tightened as you sucked on his head, massaging the underside of his head. Nearly snaring of your breath. Your vision blurred, head growing wonderfully fuzzy. A soft sound, akin to a gasp, fell beautifully from his lips. Hips stuttering as if they didn’t know whether to push forward or to pull away. And that was reward enough.

He must be sensitive. All night and day he must’ve suffered.

You grinned as much as you could around him, looking up to meet his shadowed eyes. Ignoring the throbbing ache below, you reached for the hand behind your head. Tracing tight knuckles and an iron hold. Placed your hand flat over his. And applied pressure. Pushing.

Showing him what you want.

As if something snapped within him, as if he needed that permission, he thrust deeper, a low snarl rattling from him. Filling your mouth with no mercy until he hit the back.

Your throat squeezed, a wet gag pushing past the cock pushing too deep, hitting the back insistently. There he remained, making you fight not to struggle.

You moaned, his thighs trembling minuscously harder underneath you. He wasn’t deep enough. Not anywhere close to being all the way inside. Your nails dug into his jeans, your other inching down your front to the joint of your body.

Blinking up at him, his gaze burned into you, his cock twitching the second you made eyecontact. He followed your hand as it disappeared beneath your shorts, watching as if mesmerised by the motions your fingers made hidden from sight.

The touch of his gaze alone invoked sparks.

Without that wildness, that urgency, you were sure he’d have stopped you from touching yourself.

“Take a deep breath,” he murmured, voice deeper, breathier, than you’d ever heard in the past. His face strove to remain passive. You wanted to shatter that resolve.

So you listened, inhaled, heart beating with exhilaration. Then you held on, his thighs tensing.

His length slid back. Only his head rested inside. Burying back in as deep as you could handle with nary a second between. Groaning came from above, his hips quickly finding a rhythm.

Without giving you any time to get used to the invasion. Thrusting without even a second spared for you to take a much needed breath, head spinning and emptying deliciously with every push and pull.

The heat inside you seared at the roughness, your core tightening in time with his fingers. Cutting of more air. You gagged wetly. But he pushed harder against you, unable to pop inside your throat.

Had he been clearer of mind, you’d expect teasing, guidance, sudden roughness or unexpected gentleness.

But he wasn’t.

Mindless growls and whimpering left him when you gagged a second time. His hold on you tightened when you tried to pull back, shackling your head in place like you were nothing but a stubborn toy. He pulled back, sped up, keeping most of his length inside. Humping more than thrusting, keeping you on the verge of gagging. His body tilted forward, curling over you as if he’d topple anytime.

Your tongue wrapped around his length, saliva wetting your chin. Raking nails down his thighs, harshly, warningly, had him whine, hips shaking as his knees nearly buckled. Electricity shot down your spine, goosebumps rising at the sounds he made, the wet sounds coming from you.

Pride rushed through your struggling chest, every breath preciously sparse, yet plentiful to keep taking him, having him slide along your tongue. Desperate to get as deep as possible like he was nothing but a rutting beast.

He’d hate seeing himself like this. It’s why you loved it. Why you wanted the tears pricking at your eyes.

It was why you struggled against his hold. Pushed forward to wrap your lips further and further. It didn’t take much. Breaking his hold, relaxing your throat for his thick cock.

His hands shot up to the window for stability after you took the reins from him, the glass shaking with a thud.

Despite pushing as much as you could, there was still a third left. It almost saddened you that you couldn’t go deeper.

So you made up by sucking.

Hard.

A beautiful, high-pitched keen chittered past his clenched teeth. Urgent and fragile and everything he shouldn’t be. He bowed forward, cock pulsing in your mouth. You eagerly leaned back, pumping his wet cock over your tongue, panting and roughly twisting him so you could finally taste him. But—

Nothing came. Despite how his cock twitched. There was nothing on your tongue beyond cool air. He only whined louder. Sounding more like a wounded animal than the suave, in control cowboy you knew.

He slid down, and you let him, growing slack yourself as confused shock lodged deep within your muscles.

Did… he not cum like a human man would? Or…

His face fell to your neck, nuzzling—no, hiding—there, arms slumped beside your seated form. Uncaring that his hat floated down with a whisper. He inhaled, the tremble pushing further along his body.

…was the flower's effect messing things up?

You shifted, froze at the tiny growl reverberating against you. For a second, your hands hovered. Then you wrapped your arms around him, reaching to card through soft hair. “I’m not leaving.”

It inspired another keening sound. He shuffled closer, pressing against you with near desperation, as if he wanted to crawl inside your skin. Which meant the ‘problem’ was now nestled flat to your stomach. Your walls ached, imagining that urgency bearing down on you.

Swallowing, clearing your raw throat, you reached, trembling, for one of his slack arms. Tracing down his forearm, until you could clasp your hand with his. You guided him to your front. To where you wanted him most.

The instant his skin grazed your stomach, he latched on. Dipping low, beneath clothes without any help. Slipping easily further, past your sensitive clit. You jumped, mouth parting when he pushed two fingers inside.

“So wet fo’ me,” he near slurred. He lapped at your skin. Close to your artery. It had you shiver. Imagine the sharp teeth he could bury into you.

“Yeah,” you breathed, pushing at his shoulders. Unexpected as it was, the creature lost balance. Toppling back, elbows barely catching him. The first sign of anger threaded into his face, gums baring, eyes widening in an uncanny manner—but mellowed out when you crawled after him, your lips lifting up at such unbridled emotion. He had never shown it so cleanly. “All for you.”

Maybe you looked hungry to him, cheeky. All you heard was a bristle like he was offended by his own trembling desire. The twitch of interest of his cock. The curl of fingers with too sharp nails.

“Want to be inside me?” you whispered, climbing over him. Purposely rubbing your clothed pussy over him. His teeth gritted, something dangerous flashing through his eyes. “Want to cum for me?”

The flash returned. Brighter. Nails biting into the ground, grass blades splitting. You braved grabbing those tense arms. His wrists, holding them down with the certainty he’d snap.

And by the looks of it, by the shadow of madness flickering wildly in his impossibly wide eyes—

You sat down. Right over him.

—he was too far gone to care.

The response was immediate. His face changed, teeth protruding like jagged blades. His upper body shot up. A screech roared into your face, chittering up his throat. Claws clamped down onto your waist. You had no time to admire his other face.

He drew you up as if you were nothing. Dragged you past the house, behind it, the steady glow of street lights fading, to the garden you tried to tidy and make into something more inviting.

You gasped as he lifted you up, roughly seating you onto the picnic table you had placed there. A more private spot, thankfully. The wood dug into your flesh. His claws followed, yanking on your shorts, ripping it and your underwear down impatiently. Baring skin to cool air and beady eyes. An appreciative chitter met you.

What could be playing in that head of his?

With the steady roll of growls that left the creature, more beast than man now, you had a pretty good guess. His shoulders were raised, stiff. Still, you spread your legs, heat searing in your core at the sight of his bristling need. Melting you from inside out. Dropping your gaze, his cock had those same dark veins. Same texture as his skin.

Would it feel different? Taste different?

He made to move, grasping your thighs with the intention of parting them wider—but your hand was faster, encircling him. Tugging. As if the touch shocked him, his face reverted. Not smiling. Not showing anything but hunger in the pits of his eyes.

Wetness dripped down to the table as you guided him forward, slotting him between your legs. He followed like a thrall, hands planting themselves beside your hips.

“Come on then.” Your eyes narrowed. You rubbed his head against you, the slick sound making you grin. His head nestled against your hole, waiting for that one final push. “You’d be mine is what you told me.”

“Always,” he whispered.

You faltered, muscles weakening—

Gasped when he pushed forward, entering you smoothly. Your head fell back as he stretched your walls, heat snapping up your spine. The creature didn’t stop until he was flush against you. His eyes had closed when you straightened. Lips parted.

“Always,” he repeated. Heat flared up your cheeks at the reverence in his tone. Was it… real? For you?

“Then show me.”

His eyes snapped open. Whatever spell came over him broke like a lock. Searing hunger returned from its cage, making your breath stutter.

“You,” he hissed, “will bear this until the end of time.”

Your top was lifted off before you could comprehend it. Back slamming into the wooden surface below you, knocking air out. The cool surface had you yelp as it touched heated skin.

Fingers grabbed your hips, bringing you closer to the edge of the table. To him. There was no hesitation in his movements, nothing but a sense of urgency as he pulled back, only to fill you again. Slamming into you, jostling the table with the force.

You sought purchase when the next thrust proved equally as harsh, digging into wood, grasping the edges, his hands—even as he growled in warning. You only held onto him tighter.

The pace he set was brutal, chest bouncing with every thrust, the picnic table squeaking as it skidded. All you could do was bite your lip, keep your cries quiet, and hope no one in the house heard.

“Good,” he murmured, frustratingly even. “You already understand no one else gets to hear you. Next time I’ll make you loud.”

A whine pushed past your lips. Latching onto his quiet promise. Heat coiled in your belly fast. The creature looked at all of you as if he didn’t know what he liked seeing most. Your face. Your heaving chest and tensing stomach. Thighs that trembled. Your pussy that wrapped around him perfectly.

He groaned as you clenched harder, bending over you to clamp down on a nipple. You cried out, but his hand shot up to muffle it. Teeth snapped into your skin, a ring of pain circling your bud. Another cry tried to find passage. He only pressed down harder. Same as his teeth. All until skin broke, flesh splitting. Hot liquid trickled over your chest.

Muscles convulsed underneath his weight, your hands trying to push him away. His teeth slid free, human and blunt and red. The sting fueled the fire in your loins. Walls clenching until you were sure he’d get stuck.

He didn’t. His hips pistoned against you still, the cowboy rising with a triumphant grin. He watched the bleeding ringlet, purring and unblinking. Having found a spot to focus a little longer on.

Then he released you, pulled you up. Spun you around to bend you over. Too fast for you to comprehend. One second you saw him, and now—

Smooth wood and potted flowers and the back of the house—

He slammed back inside, hitting too deep like this. You lifted with a whine, feet kicking out. A warm palm shoved you down.

“Take it,” he growled, words rumbling with an odd undertone, grabbing your hip. Drawing back, filling you without mercy, his head hitting a painfully sensitive spot. “Take all of me.”

And you did. You lied down. Kept your ass up. Despite the table digging cruelly into your thighs, the bleeding ringlet. Despite the stinging slap he delivered to your cheek.

Once.

You babbled, heard him chuckle.

Twice.

A scream formed and died.

Thrice. Harder. Both hands grabbed your hips. Fucking inside your fluttering hole as if he wanted to melt into you

The wet slide would embarrass you in the morning. Currently, it spun the coil tighter. And tighter. His length dragging over sensitive walls, hitting places you couldn’t reach with your fingers alone.

Pain and pleasure entwined, meeting at your core.

Rising when he bent over you, his clothed front flush to your back. Close to cresting when his hand wormed between wood and skin to find—

You gasped. That one touch tipped the heat into an inferno. This time you couldn't bite it back down. The scream that stuttered in your throat, growing louder with every merciless thrust. Until fingers slipped over your cheek, under your jaw. Two entering your gaping mouth. Pressing your tongue down. You bit him. Skin tearing as you shook and clenched and—

He shushed you, whispering things you couldn't comprehend, but quietened you down. Enough to see light burst behind your eyes. Light that traveled down your nerves, licking a path of fire to every nook. Gathering hot electricity in your loins. And as your walls milked him—he groaned, human and broken—stilling, buried deep.

His cock twitched, warmth filling you up. You whimpered, knees knocking together at the sensation. The emptiness in your head flooded out, cracking you open to reality.

The cowboy—a monster—draped over you. Purring reverberated against you, caged as you were beneath him. He nuzzled against you, massaging your hip. Slipping his fingers free from you in time with his softening cock.

Soreness floated up like an afterthought. There the second you focussed on it. Whispering quiet agony over most of your body.

Your heart didn’t calm from its crescendo. It rose. Understood what lay over you. What no longer was influenced by a drug of sorts. You stiffened. He noticed. Of course he did. The purring stopped. His motions ceasing.

“I suppose it's time to show you now.”

Blandness infiltrated his words like poison. As if nothing had happened. He pulled back. Not fully. He spread you open, gaze burning into your most vulnerable parts. Puffy, sore and slick from his roughness.

"Beautiful."

You didn’t struggle when he lifted your feet one by one, drawing your clothes back on. Nor did you complain when he pulled you up, helping you back in your shirt—not without gently tracing the bleeding bitemark first. His healed fingers disappeared behind you, returning clean. Your toes curled, heart skipping a beat. He kept you steady on your shaky legs.

Offered an arm as if he hadn’t pounded you within an inch of your life.

The creature appeared fully back in control. If anything… he looked calmer.

A shriek nearby is what had you grab the crook of his elbow. What had you huddle closer when he steered you back to the front of the house. Other creatures still roamed, paying both of you no heed.

“Mind picking that up for me?”

You blinked, looking down… at his hat. A jitter went through your arm as you reached for it. Touching something so entwined with his persona had a forbidden tinge to it. You picked it up, handing it over.

The hat found its way back to his head as if it never left. He implored you to put your slippers back on, lost somewhere between him using your mouth and getting dragged away.

Then he tugged you along. Further from civilization. Away from safety. You had already signed your fate the second you placed your hand in his the first time. And now you did it again, accepting his guidance.

He didn’t speak, paving a sure path straight to the forest. You weren’t sure what to say yourself, overwhelmed as you were. Your mind tried to make sense of it. Of the ache between your legs, shooting down your thighs. The chafing of fabric over a bitemark. Of him.

Him and his calm. His spend dripping from your pussy, ruining your underwear.

Perhaps that was why you barely noted the cool air or how much time passed. Trees growing thicker and plentiful the deeper you went. Fatigue pulled on your eyelids, draping them shut. Not once did he let you stumble despite it.

Eventually, under the careful watch of a lowering moon, you came across a small hill, a crevice beneath. He tugged you in front of him. “I wanted it to be here,” he murmured, gently pushing you to the dark crack, wide enough to fit through. Your feet wanted to skid, to dig heels into the leaf covered soil. You stopped that urge. Facing whatever lay behind that shadowy darkness.

The stone walls prodded at your skin as you went inside. The creature followed closely, as if worried the rabbit would escape his maw.

What hit you first was the scent. Sweet. Floral.

Inside, the moon cut through from an opening above, lighting the small cavern. You faltered in the middle, gazing around. Flowers, pressed and dried decorated the rounded walls. Fresher ones lay in the middle. Surrounding what was an imitation of a bed. Blankets and pillows crowned by flowers.

Your flowers.

And that was what hit you next.

“You were going to kill me here…”

He stepped closer, his body heat touching you.

“I was.”

His arms wound around your waist, face dropping to your shoulder.

“Not anymore.”

The sickest part was… you believed him. Trusted him. It shouldn’t be rewarded with loyalty. Not from a being like him.

Shakily, you placed your own hands on his. Head leaning against his. A quiet purr left him.

That small piece of inhumanity is what hit you hardest. Tears welled in your eyes, freely dripping down your cheeks to splatter on soft petals and cold stone.

He held you.

And if asked, you now knew the answer.

He’d hold you…

A laugh bubbles out of you, disbelieving. “Now isn’t really the best time to be making jokes,” you roll your eyes, reaching for the door knob.

She lunges forward, slamming her weight into the other side, knocking you back just as you’ve started to push it open. It clicks shut once more, the sound of the lock being twisted into place following right after.

Your gaze snaps to the sky, checking the position of the sun. It’s low. Hidden. The blue shadow of dusk has already started to crawl over the town. Your breath catches, mouth running dry. Fingers tighten around the knob and you slam your shoulder into it, barely noticing the sting. “Clara, this isn’t funny, let me in!”

She shakes her head once, a cold denial. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” her voice shakes, “I wanna go home.”

Your head swivels wildly, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. Some of the creatures were early risers, out with the first sign of night. It was hard to tell when the first of them would appear.

“Clara,” you soften your voice, unable to keep the tremble out of it, “this isn’t going to get you home. If you leave me out here, you’re killing me,” you try to meet her eyes but she’s closed hers, palms pushed into her eye sockets. “This place, it lies, but you can still fix this. Just open the door. I won’t tell anyone,” you jerk at the knob, twist it as harshly as you can, press your foot into it and push. Still, it doesn’t budge.

She reaches for the curtains. Your curtains. You picked them from the storage room with Tian-Chen months before her death, one of the last memories you had with her.

“Please,” you beg one last time, tears starting to well up in your eyes.

She pulls them closed.

“You fucking bitch!” Your fist slams into the wood of the door, rattling it slightly, “I never should have let you in here.”

You don’t wait for an answer. She probably wouldn’t have the decency to offer one anyway. The porch creaks as you scramble down the steps, looking around for the closest building.

The diner.

Someone would open the door. They had to.

You start in that direction, breathless. A flash of white rounds the corner of the diner, stopping you dead in your tracks. The bride creature.

They’re here.

Her features are hard to make out behind her veil, but you know she’s seen you from the way she pivots, turning away from the side of the diner to move slowly in your direction.

Your lungs burn with each rattling breath as you turn again, putting your back to the predator behind you in an attempt at escape. Time feels as if it has slowed down, the grass beneath your feet turning to quicksand as you run. Each step feels fought for, like the town itself is trying to offer you up to the monster you flee from.

You trip over your feet, clumsy in your desperation, a prey animal made foolish.

Thoughts flash through your mind like lightning. The lake, a bush, up a tree, one of the abandoned vehicles. Places to hide, all without the safety of a talisman. All a gamble.

Which is the best?

You cut back toward your house, turning the corner and flattening yourself against the wall, taking a moment to catch your breath and gather your thoughts.

A new thought flashes to the forefront. It’s crazy. It’s stupid.

It’s the best idea you’ve had since that door closed.

You turn toward the treeline.

It takes you about twelve steps into the trees to realize what a bad decision you’ve made.

They’re everywhere.

You press yourself into a tree, squeezing your eyes shut as the nurse passes by, praying with everything within you that she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t see you. Her mere presence is enough to make the hair at the back of your neck stand, joints threatening to lock up, to trap you in this spot, unwilling to let you move.

Your prayer is answered.

Until it’s not.

The breath of relief that escapes you when the nurse passes you by causes her to freeze, head slowly turning to look over her shoulder. A wave of ice rushes through your veins, your blood running cold as you stumble back, abandoning your pursuit of stealth in the name of escape.

There’s too many of them between you and the town you left for the trees, so your only choice is to keep going.

She shrieks. Loud, piercing, and terrifying. An alert to all the creatures nearby that she’s found prey.

Branches snap.

Creatures you hadn’t even noticed suddenly stepping out from behind trees, surrounding you. It’s sheer luck that you dodge the strong, muscled creature that steps into your path, nearly catching you in his arms. A choked sob tears from your throat as you trip, knees slamming harshly into the rough forest floor. Twigs and rocks dig into your skin, the pajama shorts you’d slid on in preparation for bed offering little to no protection.

You dig your hands into the ground, unwilling to stop for even the time it would take you to stand, rushing forward in a half-run, half-crawl that quickens when another shriek sounds from somewhere to your left. Too close.

Your leg catches on another branch, sending you sprawling toward the ground again, a cry of fear echoing from your lips for only half a second before your stomach meets the forest floor, the breath knocked from your lungs in a sudden burst of air. You wheeze, seeing stars, tears soaking your cheeks.

The odds of finding a place to hide has plummeted to zero. You consider giving up, then immediately shove the thought away, rolling pitifully away from the Milkman’s reaching hands. It’s hard to find your feet again but somehow you manage, blinking away the dizziness through force of will.

The cave entrance comes into view.

You hope that the lack of sun has brought them all out as you lunge for it, hurriedly swiping at your knees in an attempt to wipe the blood oozing from the scrapes away so that it wouldn’t drip onto the ground in a path straight to you.

It’s darker inside. The deeper you go, the harder to see it gets, the moonlight unable to reach. Your breath echoes off the stone, the sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance. Other than that, it’s silent.

You feel the foolish urge to call out.

Stifle it.

Nothing kind would answer.

You keep walking, hands out in front of you to keep yourself from bumping into anything. There are tunnels, dirt crunching underfoot as you follow one, turning the corner and—

Outstretched hands bump against a clothed chest.

Your lips part in preparation to scream when a warm hand closes over your mouth, another curling around your arm, tugging you close.

“Hush now,” the creature’s voice comes out in a lazy drawl, his hold unbreakable, “let’s not draw the other’s attention just yet. It ain’t every day a little lamb delivers themselves right to me,” he chuckles, amused, “and isn’t it just my luck that it’s you?”

You push uselessly at his wrist, muffled cries drowned out by his hand as he pushes you against the stone wall.

“Shh,” his fingers card through your hair in what you think is an attempt at comfort, your mind unable to comprehend anything except for the lack of pain. He’s not yanking, not tearing the hair from your scalp, just stroking.

He pulls his hand just far enough away from your mouth to let you breathe, his thumb gently trailing along your bottom lip. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark enough to make out the silhouette of a hat atop his head. You know this creature.

He killed Tian-Chen.

No—he held Boyd in place while others did.

God, you used to read to him. With him.

“Please just make it fast,” your chest heaves as you look up at him, a pathetic mess of tears and snot, “please.”

These things don’t care about your pleading. Everyone begs. Everyone dies screaming.

Warm lips brush against your cheek. No teeth. A tongue follows, tracing a tear streak up to just below your eye. It lingers, warm and wet, before finally pulling away. “I said hush,” he says smoothly, “ain’t no fun in you begging like that.”

Your focus snags on the words ‘like that’. Your eyes burn with more unshed tears. He still wants you to beg, just not like that.

Your head tilts back against the stone, eyes squeezed shut as you sob, lips pressed into a thin line to keep from making any noise.

His hands cup your cheeks, burning hot despite what he is. Thumbs brush across your cheeks, a bit too forceful, as if gentleness is a concept he hasn’t quite grasped yet.

You stare up at him, lips trembling as he wipes away your tears. He glances down at his glistening fingers curiously before his gaze catches yours once more and he offers you a smile you can only just make out in the dark. Human teeth gleam at you. Not the sharp, abyssal, angler-fish like teeth they wear in their other form.

He looks down, staring at something—your lips, maybe? But why—

His mouth closes on yours.

It doesn’t hurt. Your mind latches onto that, clings to it—wants to keep it that way so badly that your lips respond, moving in tandem with his. His lips are soft. Warm. Gentle. He’s being so, so very gentle. His hands stay against your cheeks, tilting your head upward to give himself better access. His tongue traces your bottom lip, prods against it, seeking entrance to your mouth the way he seeks entrance to the houses back in town—cruelly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a trickster.

This isn’t real.

It can’t possibly be real.

Your fingers twitch with need that somehow calls to him and he answers instantly, his hands leaving your cheeks to tangle with yours. He lifts them above your head, pressing them into the rough cave wall, circling both your wrists with only one of his hands before he pulls back to look down at you, an unrecognizable glint in his eyes.

“Please,” you repeat, though what you’re begging for, you don’t know.

He sighs, tapping his pointer finger against your lips. “You aren’t ready yet. That’s okay,” his head tilts toward something deeper in the tunnel where you can’t see, “you’ll get there. I think I’m gonna keep you.”

He pulls away, dropping your wrists. His hand catches yours again. “Come on. Wouldn’t do to have the others notice you just yet. I ain’t the only one who wants a taste of you.”

Your eyes widen. Flashes of the nurse, the bride, the tough guy flood your mind. Images of those sharp, blade teeth tearing at skin play out like a bad dream behind your eyes.

Let it not be said that social anxiety cannot kill.

The familiar auburn haired mimic stands in your doorway. Your door—ancient, borrowed, and mocking—creaks quietly as it wobbles in place from the force that it was opened with. A testament to his—its—excitement. Usually, it is so careful. Gentle. Soft fingertips on stolen chess pieces.

Your window is closed. Boarded. A choice you made only a week before. A silly attempt to escape the inescapable. You thought you could choose when to cut contact. He’s—fuck, its—proving you wrong.

Its smile is wide tonight. It’s always wide, but there’s something particularly menacing about it tonight, and it’s not just the blood dribbling down his chin.

People are screaming. The house echoes with it. The bones of the ancient mansion shake with the terror of its occupants, but there’s a sense of sadism too. As if even the house is on the side of the damned.

You have questions. Curiosity sets fire to the fear and burns it down to ember and ash. The alcohol roars. Liquid courage rushes through your veins, lighting you up from the inside out.

What is he?

Where are they?

What is this place?

“Who?”

His head tilts. It’s subtle. You shouldn’t notice.

You do.

“Nobody you cared about,” he answers. His teeth are surprisingly clean, despite the blood on his face. He hadn’t eaten any of whoever it was, then.

Did he need to eat?

“I care about everyone here,” you say.

He hums. A soft, contemplative sound in the back of his throat. Almost thoughtful. “Trudy.”

Trudy. Trudy, Trudy, Trudy.

You repeat the name in your head, trying desperately to put a face to it. You’re certain you’ve heard it before. Perhaps the dark haired girl who’d arrived with her family? Or the curly haired one in love with the painter—the one whose anniversary had been the reason for the party tonight?

You can picture their faces, but their names don’t come.

God, no wonder you spent most of the night in your room—you didn’t know these people.

He quirks an eyebrow.

You scowl. “Shut up. I did care about her.”

Did you, though, if you cannot even picture her face? If the sound of her name spoken from the lips of death brings you no pain at all, save for the distant twang of guilt?

He moves now, finally. A slow, measured step deeper into the room. The screams from downstairs die down when he shuts the door behind him. Blocks out your kin and his alike.

The world shrinks until it’s just the two of you.

You should move.

You don’t.

His eyes—as blue as the sea and twice as cold—lock you in place. He’s like a riptide. Your mind can scream, cry, and beg, but the harder you will yourself to run, the less you want to. You are tired—no, scratch that, you are exhausted, and where has running ever really gotten you, except for right here, back in his reach?

The hair at the back of your neck stands up when his fingers meet the curve of your jaw. He is wrong. Too warm. Too still. His chest does not move and his breath is not warm. Your heart doesn’t speed. Your palms do not sweat. Your brain is disconnected from your body, one screaming while the other simply waits.

He is wrong. This place is wrong. You are wrong.

Fingers dance along the line of your jaw, pinching your chin and tilting your head up. He likes to look at you. He likes when you look back.

“You’ve been hiding from me,” he clicks his tongue, amused, “Why? You know I always find you.”

Your eyes flame. Nostrils flare. His fingers turn sharp, claws brushing lightly beneath your eyes in warning. You hate the power he has over you. Despise the way your lip trembles at his words, but your tongue dares not speak what you want it to say.

It, you remind yourself. It is an it. Not a he.

The reminder is futile.

You know yourself too well to deny your own hopelessness. For now, though, you cling to your pettiness.

“Don’t,” you warn, a plea in disguise.

You don’t want to think of the before. When survival relied on how well you could hide, how quiet you could be, how low you could stoop before you lost the ability to live with yourself.

The talismans had been a lifeboat in a raging sea, but by the time Boyd had found them, you’d been drowning so long you’d gotten used to the burn.

“Don’t?” He asks, thumb pressing gently at the top of the bridge of your nose, trailing downward, before gently tapping the tip.

Your nose wrinkles. An instinctual, familiar reaction to the very same gesture he’d just performed. His thumb follows instantly, tracing the wrinkles with the barest of touches.

It tickles.

His smile melts when you sneeze, lips pressing together in a softer, more human expression. It’d be convincing if not for the blood.

You reach forward mindlessly, using the sleeve of your shirt to wipe at his mouth. He tilts his head into it, allowing you better access. His tongue flicks out to swipe along his bottom lip as if trying to assist you in the cleanup—or perhaps for one more taste of the life he'd stolen.

“Have you been hearing them lately?” He asks, catching your arm at last. He turns it in his hands, rolling your sleeve up to run his index finger over the spiderweb of blue veins in your wrist. His nails aren’t quite human, but aren’t quite not either. They’re in between. He wants you to feel the sharp edge of them, the unspoken threat of what he could do.

The question doesn’t make any sense to you. The answer is about as far away from you as the image of whoever Trudy may have been.

“Hearing what?” You ask, wincing when his nail nicks the crook of your elbow. An accident, because he lets you pull your arm away afterward, turning his attention to your hair instead. He catches a strand near your face, curling it around one of his fingers.

“You haven’t, then,” he decides, gently—playfully—giving the strand he’s wrapped around his finger a tug, “I’ve been wondering when they’ll start. Shouldn’t be long now. Quicker if you’d come home.”

Home.

Images of rock come unbidden. The smell of wet stone and moth bitten fabric. Something sweet beneath it. Decay and lake water. Rich and mineral.

Fingers curl into fists. Skin burns as nails carve crescents into palms. That had not been your home.

His hand catches yours once more, and he pries your fingers open, frowning. His frown is scarier than his smile. Something strange happens to his face, something shifting beneath the skin, and you will the monster forth. It’s easier to focus when you can see what he is.

He must sense your thoughts, because his head tilts, eyes gazing intensely into yours for a moment before his skin changes. Smooth gives way to rough and shriveled, skin like ancient paper. Those eyes, ocean cold, sink into his skull until they’re almost completely covered, only the smallest prick of black pupil visible. His jaw is open, sharp teeth jutting out in all directions, like some kind of deep sea creature.

You stare at the teeth. They’re so sharp, capable of ripping out a throat with only the tiniest bit of pressure, and you wonder how many found their end beneath them in only the few minutes it took him to find your door. Just Trudy, whoever she may have been, or were there more?

He guides your hand to his mouth, and you watch helplessly—hopelessly, maybe—as he runs his tongue across the small, barely bleeding nail marks you made on your own palm. He’s careful not to nick you with his teeth.

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as he carefully carves his own mark into your palm. His is deeper. Bleeds more. “What voices?”

He doesn’t answer at first. He’s too busy teasing the wound he’d created, the tip of his tongue poking at torn skin, dragging slowly up the slit of the cut. Even his tongue is inhuman like this. Too long, too narrow, too pointed.

You lose your patience after a moment and start to fight against his grip, annoyed. “What voices?” You ask again, trying to jerk your arm away. You can’t, of course, but trying annoys him anyway. So much so that he digs claws into your wrist, hot blood sliding over his fingers and down your arm.

The smile is back. You’ve angered him. It usually takes so much more. He’s on edge, maybe, but why?

“You’ll find out in time,” he tells you, “but for now…,” he pulls his claws from your skin to catch your hand in his once more, locking his fingers with yours.

His hand is warm. Always so warm, and calloused, too, despite the lack of blemish on the rest of him. The skin is soft, even so, and his thumb brushes against your knuckles in a reassuring swipe as he begins to drag you toward the door.

You weren't scared, but the sudden pull toward the door reminded you of what was going on outside this room, and you thought that maybe you should be. You were scared before, when he was outside, and you were scared years ago, when you first arrived. Maybe it was better that you weren’t. You always heard that it was better to die brave than to die a coward. You didn’t feel brave either, though.

Not that you wanted to be. You didn’t. You just wanted… well, your bed, and sleep, and..

“Howdy, darlin’.”

No.

Not him.

The rush of relief you feel at the sound of his voice is met by the rush of disgust the relief brings you and tears prick at your eyes, beginning to spill down your cheeks.

The cowboy tugs you forward by the arm, wrapping an arm around you. “Hush, now, baby, you know I don’t like it when you cry.”

The words would be sweet if not for the gleeful hitch behind them.

Smiley’s fingers are still locked with yours, but he lets go when he hears the sound of footsteps. You look up too, and start to shove weakly at the cowboy’s chest when you see one of your people. You don’t know his name, but you’ve seen him around. He’s… kind.

Smiley’s grin is downright devilish, and he puts one foot in front of the other, sauntering toward the terrified human, hands swinging at his hips.

The human runs. You hear glass breaking. Was he going out the window? He didn’t even call for you—maybe he doesn’t know your name either.

“Coward,” the cowboy chuckles, “didn’t even try to save you. What do you see in them?”

“Let me go,” you demand, or, at least, you try to. It doesn’t really pack the same punch considering your voice breaks halfway through and your nose bubbles wetly with snot.

The cowboy shushes you, resting his chin on the top of your head, running clean fingers through your hair. There’s no trace of blood on him, no sign that he’s hurt anyone at all, and you know that he probably hasn’t. It isn't out of kindness. He’d kill just as soon as the rest of his kin. But he likes to be clean for you, sometimes.

“Say please,” he drawls.

“Please?” You mumble, though no part of you believes he’ll actually let you go.

During the devil hours—oblivious to what lurked around—you pulled up to one of the houses & knocked on their door to ask for directions upon entering a town which you found yourself driving in circles back to, only to hear your friend who was waiting right outside your car scream before you were suddenly pulled inside, their cry for help dying out while you were held back by residents as you called out to them..

ever since then for a month, you've been meeting those "friendly" faces outside your window, each one of them spoke sweetly to you—asking you to let them in—but after seeing what remained of your friend, after the talk you had with a woman named Donna, you never budged to their call, leaving them unanswered.

there came a particular one you've seen a couple of times in the span of that month, Auburn hair, dark cardigan and a wide smile stretched across his face. he's asked you to let him in last time he stood outside your window; disregarding his wish, you draw the curtains shut.

this time tonight—he just stared

"bit unusual" you thought to yourself as he seemed to visit you the most out of all creatures, still you dragged the blinds to avoid his soulless glare which always left you feeling haunted each time he visited.

you tried predicting which monster will be knocking on your window the following evening, the "old granny", the" jock" perhaps, or the "cheerleader".

only to be met with the same one from the night before, smiling like always, and that stuck for a few months.

you didn't pay attention at first. whenever you heard the shrieks outside at sunset, you'd draw the curtains and just hope you make it till daytime.

_____

on a warm evening, you tossed a notepad on your desk before sitting down, writing and sketched down a few animals you've seen inhabit this accursed town

you looked over your shoulder after what felt like an hour to find him glaring at your soul behind the glass, making you contort your face in regret of your earlier decision of leaving the blinds open. his head was tilted a little, his hand splayed on the glass, grinning softly at you.

and you grew tired of his recent behavior.

when you first met him, he'd knock on your window a few times and ask you to let him in, and you'd refuse before shutting the curtains and be met with silence all night long.

now he'd often play with the wooden frame while staring at you, lightly scratching them with his nail, the sounds remind you of a cat every time you tried to sleep, not even drawing the curtains could help quieten them, it bothered you.

those things outside know how to pretend and trick, and you stood with that for as long as you could remember, so you told him off

"it's not gonna work, quit it" you scolded as if it would get through him, he only stared in response, giving you the same grin.

and that's when it got messier, the more he visited you, the more disturbing it got ever since you confronted him.

first he brought you a bunch of dead flowers and left them for you to pick up in the morning.

then the following evening he brought you a torn plushie

the 3rd night he showed up, his face & clothes were drenched in blood from hunting a new citizen who happened to be unlucky at midnight which you heard from outside, his bloodied hand splayed on the window while staring at you, leaving a crimson stamp where he placed it as he looked at you with some kind of twisted fixation in his eyes.

then a dead crow with its wings torn off and its heart pulled out, left outside of its body for you to see the night after, his presence excluded.

it sounded more and more like a threat with each "gift" he left you ever since you told him off, and that kept you feeling unsettled for the rest of the week, it felt like a comeback to your reprimand

and it's been a year now, you still somewhat believe that one day this behavior of his will come to a halt, but you don't see a chance, given what he is, and what he's done

and you could only hope that as long as the talisman is hung, and the windows are nailed shut, it would serve as a reminder to whoever is idiot enough to try and let one of those things in.

speaking of an idiot...

"they're in the house, they're inside!"

hearing one of the residents shout, you jolt up from bed as screaming echoed within the building, panic tearing its way through you

with your door already locked, you ran & hid in your closet before your knees gave out upon hearing people getting mangled in the house, every beg was answered with violence right outside your room

you could've fled with the others and avoided interaction with the creature if it hadn't been for the sounds of horror outside your room giving you physical paralysis out of fear

jealousy, along with the hopeless yearning to be saved burned you as you heard the people rush outside followed with the sound of the van driving off

you felt abandoned, forgotten.

and in the temporary quiet of your room, you resentfully accept your impending doom and what might bestow upon you as you heard your door getting kicked off of its hinges, the sounds it made hitting the floor loud & taunting before the silence took over

you knew without a doubt that it was the same monster.

you fought to quieten your heartbeat in the midst of panic, the silence accompanied by slow & casual footsteps navigating your room made it feel like hell for you.

far from brave is what you are, just like everyone else here: helpless, scared, and relied on some rock to feel safe. now that the monsters are inside, with one of them after you, you can't deny anymore that tonight would not end unless you're found, and you're agonizingly close within the range

and you hate it, you hate that it's the truth the moment the footsteps stop near your hiding spot, its fingers wrapped around the handles before they pulled

and the doors creaked so slowly, and there you were

no window

no door

no talisman between you two anymore

your breathing grew shallow once he crouched to meet your level

"Please..." you begged, and his hands lazily moved and held your face, turning you to look at him with crimson all over his distorted wide smile as his thumbs slowly smeared the gore of his victims across your face

"Found you, my dear..." with such softness & eeriness in his voice, he purred.

you shook your head, your breathing grew irregular as he gradually grabbed your wrists before pulling you out of your spot...

● The man in the yellow suit was a bit strange. Friendly, but strange. He said you were the same. Strange, but friendly.

● You didn’t exactly avoid the older man. But you certainly didn’t seek him out either. He often found his way into the same hiding spots. Found his way to the diner at the same time as you, or strolled along the same paths you did. The conversations that sparked up weren’t unpleasant in any way, though, often dug up old insecurities.

● The concern he showed made you feel warmer, knowing someone would miss you when you’d be gone.

● And strangely, whenever you talked, he seemed… lonely. He had come alone, made friendly connections, but no true friends it seemed. He often retired to his room during the day and kept to himself when it was time to hide. Private and outgoing at once. It made you search him out too, feeling sympathy for such a kind, elderly man.

● But then one day… he stumbled across you while you arranged gifts for the monsters.

● Terror had gripped your lungs, keeping oxygen there until it grew too thin to sustain you. However, instead of fearful accusations and anger, he had been curious. Accepting even.

● He beheld the pile of things that you knew would be appreciated. Shiny objects, watches, jewelry. Carved wooden things and books and random apparatus with an explanation on what they were.

● “Why would you leave them this?” he asked. So you told them the tales. Stories you heard about appeasing spirits or supernatural beings after trespassing on their land by leaving them gifts. It hadn’t always been as easy to find out what these creatures wanted beyond suffering and death. They took what they wanted and left the things they didn’t.

● For some reason he appeared almost amused by all this.

● And when he asked if it had helped? You could only let that knife in your heart be twisted harder. Because it hadn’t. Not for others. There were too many bodies and too little graves to hold them. But for you… it had.

● They had found you. You had been all alone. The one who got you had been a tall, ginger man. People had told you about their appearance, everyone repeating the few who’d truly seen them and survived to tell the tale. Human, smiling, capable of transforming into something monstrous.

● It had cornered you, promptly smiled wider and proceeded to ask about the gifts. He wanted to leave you a gift too. The scars on your collar ached. A sign of the life he hadn’t snuffed out that day.

● But now that your friend knew about it… you could finally show someone those scars. Let someone touch the fear to your unknown fate and comfort it with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

● Your friend who sought you out more compared to others. Who encouraged you to perhaps lessen these gifts and focus on better things. He began to tell you his own tales. Tales you could follow instead. Filled with magic, joy, and people escaping death.

Everyone needed a successor after all. Even if he himself wouldn’t die, but remain your guide for ages to come.

● But fond as he had become, the Creatures weren’t fond of this new twist in any way. They knew that time was coming. Had been preparing long before it got anywhere close.

● The stories you followed already spun the fate of foolish human protagonists who courted the supernatural. They would take you. Whisk you away to their home and never return you. And if they miraculously did, or you managed to flee, you’d be changed forever. Those were the stories you believed in. They didn’t mind making it reality.

● Then he came along and decided to try and lay claim on you as well. Truly, you needed to stop drawing so much attention from dangerous beings. The things he taught you without your knowledge were of magical nature. Grooming you to become something they wouldn’t allow you to become.

● You were theirs first. Marked by one of theirs even. If that man decided to ever remove that scar… Well, they can make a new one, yes, but this claim had been their gift to you. A sign to show you were different.

● He knew of the claim. But they knew he’d never fully respect it. Fortunately, you were very taken by the other gifts they left you. Very interested in the notes they’d leave for you in places he wouldn’t be able to find. Time was running out, but they were confident the hook had found its target.

● It’s the little things. Those small moments where it becomes clear you are human and they are not. Softer, more fragile, easier influenced by bodily needs. 

● Do you not understand with whom you sit? How many of your kind they slaughtered and will continue slaughtering? 

● Perhaps that’s what gets to them. Because you are aware and still remain close. They do hurt you. If you get out of line or were to ever snap out of this comfort they will hurt you only more to keep you close. Are you aware of that too? How thin the line between lover and prey is to them?

● You aren’t like them. You are more free in a way and they can’t risk you using that privilege against them. Can’t risk you abandoning them. Loyalty is what they crave and from each other they know to expect it. But you… Oh, how different you are.

● They watch you. Check your emotional state. Some might not admit it, but they need to be chosen. Force would be easy, yes, but not anywhere as satisfying. And every sign of comfort, of ease and satisfaction is met by a stillness in their chest. No human hums or sings to themselves when tense. No human sleeps so soundly when afraid.

● Seeing these things is enough, eats through that gnawing need to control and claim. It softens them. But simultaneously makes them hunger in different manners…

● Smiley knows you are more prone to clumsiness. It’s different each day. Sometimes you have ‘one of those days’ as you explain it. Things slip from your grasp, you stumble over things, bump into corners and walls. And typically, you wind up cussing a little or become otherwise frustrated.

● He finds it adorable. He is quite sure it’s akin to the sensation humans gain from watching little, furry animals.

● On some of ‘those days’, you can be genuinely prickly. One final mishap and you either explode or get really close to doing so. 

● And, even if he wasn’t wiser, he wouldn’t have been able to torment you over this regardless. Watching you practically shake apart over these little mistakes is precious. Fills him with desire to press near you and squeeze you. You called it cuddle aggression. He supposes it could be called such.

● He feels similar when you get ‘hangry’. How easily worked up you get all because you are low on energy. Oppositely, how you may instead become quieter and more agreeable. 

● But then… there are moments for him too. You truly are unaware how much you can influence him with very little. He brings you food, of course he does. You are his. …But do you have to eat like that?

● The taste must be exquisite, because you nearly moaned at it. Face contorting in ways he can't, nor won't, look away from. Perhaps there was some truth in his brethren’s philosophy. Getting you foods beyond necessity had its plusses. The way you slide the fork or spoon over your tongue, delight flashing in your eyes at the taste… Yes. He’ll be trying to get you better things than he already did.

● And, oh, when you fidget, he has that same surge in his chest. You do it with your clothes to see how they fit. When you’re nervous. When you’re bored. 

● If angered by one thing or the other? You sometimes tremble, glaring as if it would be frightening for anyone to behold. Not to him. Not to them.

● The one thing that truly makes him melt are those little moments where you show honesty. Be it instinctive, or simply because. Latching onto his arm when frightened. Complementing him, especially on things he does and not merely regarding his appearance. Sleeping in his presence. Turning your back to him despite the clear danger he presents.

● You make him go quiet. Make him question how such a fragile being has wormed itself into his heart. He isn’t safety, isn’t comfort. But he is present—complicit in these soft moments—and that has him twisting so painfully gently inside, he’s sure he’ll crack ever so slightly.

● When he does, he isn’t certain whether to ruin you or press close and listen to your stubborn human heart. The line between lover and predator is thin after all...

-——————————————————————-

“You know, there’s games where you can’t sleep if enemies are nearby,” you said, spilled half over his lap. His fingers traced along your spine, up and down the lightest protrusions of vertebrae. 

“What strange games take so long you need to sleep inbetween?”

"Videogames.” He heard you yawn, your head turned too far away for him to see. Already that ache started within him. It hurt. It was alien and still so known to him. Warped over the years. Revitalized now that they have you.

“Will you explain?”

You mumbled something, nestling more comfortably over his lap. For you, it had been a long day filled with the smallest mishaps that touched you most deep. He’ll keep his curiosity in check, stilling himself impossibly more as your breath evened out. 

Within seconds, you were asleep. Comfortable in his lap. A privilege not many of his kind had. He was quite unique in this and he couldn’t fully contain the pride entwining with that soft sensation.

His hand flattened over your ribs, moving with the expansion and deflation of your lungs. The lightest tremble sat in his fingers. His instincts were confused on what to do with this trust…

He allowed it to form ideas. From ripping into flesh, marking you for life as he wished to do, to burying himself within you until your blunt nails tore into him instead. 

But the image he settled on... was this. This moment. The touch on your ribs counting your slow breaths. The arms curled close to your face, one palm, filled with blood, pressed against his thigh.

And the quiet took a different tint. Calmer. Shutting down the need for violence. 

When the talisman proved to work, you assumed things would get better.

The mattress was softer than any of the makeshift beds used in the larger hiding spots. With a proper pillow and blanket and warmth that belonged in a home instead of chilly outside air. Sleep during the night was a luxury no one could truly afford back then. What little sleep one could get was interrupted by the rotations to top it all off. Someone always had to be awake in case… the monsters…

There was a shift outside.

Your ears strained. The lightest steps moved past your wall. To the window opposite the bed. You watched, awaiting the silhouette soon to be there.

The whispers would start again. Attempts to lure you out. Your wrist ached sickeningly, the nauseating pull eating through your veins to reach every nook.

The talismans… You had helped testing them. The reason why sat inked into your skin. Lifting your arm, you traced the ‘signature’ there, pressed over the span of your wrist, wrapping like scars around the bone. In the dim room you couldn’t make it out in full. Your fingers followed the precise path drawn on your skin regardless. As a child you always wondered if the person on the other side would feel it like everyone said.

They should’ve. Your parents felt each other so soon, but they were born less than a year apart.

Yours might not have been born yet, was the consolation.

As you hit your teenage years, hope dwindled. When you stumbled awkwardly over into adulthood and felt no different than before… you gave up.

Even if there was someone for you—someone twenty years younger was not in the question.

But it was worse. So much worse.

The first rap of knuckles met that sheet of glass standing stubbornly between humans and the things pretending to be.

Your name fell from its lips. Uncomfortably familiar with the syllables, said with the same softness bred by months of longing. Dripping with honey—sweet but always leaves a residue of stickiness behind you’d want to wash off.

“Hello?”

There was a pause that let you count the loud, hard thumps within your chest. Eyelids pressing stubbornly shut when that sickening sensation traveled further along your wrist.

“Was there something you needed, my dear?”

A shudder worked its way through your spine, arms lowering quietly to the bed.

“You called.”

Words busied themselves, forming into rivers of all the things you wanted to say or scream. Your voice would only come out a whisper.

“It’s alright to talk with us. None of us wish to harm you.”

The words fell away into images. The day you arrived, lost, tired and hungry. In need of help with a rapidly flattening tire after shrapnel tore into the rubber.

Help arrived. Help that smiled oddly and had overly blown eyes. Ignoring anything you said. Then paused, almost in sync, after you grabbed your wrist nervously, a tick you couldn't seem to shake off even as you reached your twenties.

And something there in that moment—maybe the staring, maybe the stillness—filled you with so much dread, you ran.

And ran.

Ran as a screech so inhuman came from the group left with your car. Ran when other people, or not-people, spawned on your path. Fatigue forgotten, hunger turning into nausea that pushed your legs on.

They hadn't been serious in catching you. That became clear in the future after witnessing all the dead.

See, you did get cornered.

A man dressed as a milkman crouched a distance away from where you had backed against a thick tree, roots digging into your palms from where they pressed to the ground. As if you were nothing but a hissing animal. As if the small church you had passed, with its many fresh graves, hadn't spurred your fear to new heights beyond mere fight or flight.

He tapped his wrist. The side you had touched. And—

You had felt it. Startled when alien sensations licked up your own wrist.

His smile stretched wider, curling at his eyes. Mischievous and—and cruel. “Thank you,” he’d said politely, accompanied by a nod. Straightening and leaving after watching you for an uncomfortably long moment. None of them got anywhere near you after.

Because they liked games. Enjoyed the hunt.

And you were all that they wanted braided into one. The hunger you saw during any other near misses wasn’t for bloodshed and death. It was for what sat on your wrist. Every new encounter had the same start—a tap at their wrist, their eyes locked onto you as if to see how your dread would mount with every addition to your—

Your heart clenched.

That thought you couldn’t finish.

Naturally, knowing you wouldn’t be in threat of dying, you offered to test the talismans. Had a chance to meet them face to face and truly study them. Shaking, stuttering, stumbling over every word you managed to get out. There was no sense of victory as they studied you right back.

They should've been unimpressed. Someone so obviously cowardly should’ve turned them off.

It didn’t.

Because you had braved meeting them. Had braved the unknown consequences despite such fear. Those smiling veneers, seemingly unbothered by this new development as they remained outside.

How much more will you brave once we have you, sweet mate?

A second rap snapped you back to the now, eyes drawn to the window and the creature beyond. “We would be gentle with you.”

The same lie said by many faces. Each time spoken so politely. But you’d seen their eyes as they did. Each and every time their pupils nearly swallowed all color from their irises.

“Don’t you want that?”

Your throat was thick with too many emotions. Clogged up together with your voice. It’s been a little over two weeks since the talismans were found. People still had been lost, accidentally finding the requirements for the talismans to work. Doors had to be closed. Windows had to be closed. Even if they were open at a mere crack, whatever barrier kept them out would vanish.

But…

“To belong?”

Now you could hear them every night. Not as the creatures that roamed the nights less than a month ago, their muffled screams digging through dirt and wood to bunkers beneath. No. They were more intelligent than people understood. And that intelligence focussed on you. With others they barely appeared to try… As if they were sure it didn’t matter in the long run. They’d get everyone eventually.

The bed creaked as you dragged your feet off to the side, sitting up with a swallow. The creature’s head tilted.

You rose, hating the shake already settling in your bones. Padded over to the window. Part of you screamed as you reached for the curtain, fighting with your muscles to lock them down at your side. It lost. The curtain slid away with a grating sound. Inch by inch peeling away from a tall frame, a wide, static smile, eyes that could not be called human. Clad in a cardigan and flannel shirt. Coiffed, red hair. A gaze that froze you in place, dropping your stomach as something fluttered inside you.

“Hello,” he repeated quietly. “It’s nice to finally see you again. Have you changed your mind?”

The words were there, hanging onto your tongue. Your throat tried to work them out.

Seconds passed, the creature’s smile dropping into something closer to polite. Another passing behind him down the street. You lifted your left arm, showing him the covered wrist. Out of sight, out of mind… If only it worked that way.

“C-can I see?”

“Of course you can.”

If you come outside, you expected to follow in the wake of his answer. Instead… he shrugged his sleeve up. Unbuttoning the cuff of his sleeve without looking away once. Your heart leaped into your chest, gaze dropping to follow as he slowly rolled it up.

Pale skin bared itself. On it—

Scar-like patterns that crossed over flesh similar to overlapping feathers. Close to being like yours. But almost… fresher. As if it didn’t belong there. Could be reopened and stitched up to form a different pattern altogether.

The sleeve fell back down, buttons popped back in place. But it still sat there. Real. Cold sweat trickled along your hairline.

“Can I see yours too?”

Your attention snapped back to him. The raised brows, the lips pulled into a friendly facade. And part of you agreed instantly, deeming it only fair. Another, louder side whispered about the wrongness of it all.

Something moved beyond him. A second creature stopping in the distance, turned your way. Male as well. Head craned curiously. You couldn't make out much else before a curl of pain had your fingers twitch, face twisting down.

Your wrist itched. As if it recognised the being before you now. Forgoing caution, you grabbed hold of the make-shift sleeve. Pulled it off under his intense focus. The fabric let go of your hand, flopping down as gravity pulled at it.

The creature leaned in as much as he could, marveling at your wrist. At the mark there. Then returned to your face. Tracing your features as if he saw you anew.

“Come outside,” he whispered, leaning slightly closer still, “and you won’t have to worry anymore.”

You stepped back, eyes flickering to the other lingering creature. To the curtain. “I don’t believe you.”

“You can’t deny this connection, my dear.”

“It means nothing,” you whispered, grasping blindly for the curtain. “I can still choose.”

He chuckled lightly, eyes boring into you, all until you pulled the curtain back in place. And you felt more than saw him tap the mark, sensations bursting under your skin. Spinning a coil of ice in your gut.

“So can we."

The wooden panel creaked as he leaned on it.