🔞Under 18 do not interact. Minors and those with no listed age will be blocked.🔞 Clover ☘ 29
Dark content sideblog. You'll find a mix of fandom and original work here!
Warning for blood, gore, dc/nc, horror, and occult themes.
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Hello and welcome! I’m Clover, and this is my dark content blog!
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Celia is getting sick of Derek’s persistent shit-talking every time there’s an auction.
Warnings: Noncon, unsafe gunplay and gun violence, gendered insults and vitriol (in both directions), verbal cruelty, very brief reference to genital harm that does not come to fruition, brief reference to canon-typical cheating. Celia is a hypocrite and a creep in this fic.
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Hag.
The word scraped on Celia’s skull as the bidding came to a close.
Adrenaline fizzled out along with the music. Auctioneer and bidders alike filed into the waiting room: a lavish affair of marble floors, fine upholstery, and complimentary coffee with the most lovely creamers. Celia poured herself a boiling mug and seethed.
Hag.
Men. She couldn’t get away from them. Even here, where she was doing something for herself instead of for everyone else, she was surrounded by men.
Fox got a pass. Whenever her eyes met his over the steel rim of his mask, she saw kinship there. Understanding. Vicious pride that would never be masculine enough for the world, ambition enough to crush everything under his heel. Ironic, how the man with beast parts was less of an animal than most.
The huge one, the one she only knew as Mountain, barely looked happy about his victory in the bidding war. Hard to tell if he was smiling under all that beard. She hated when men did that, bottled all their emotions up. She hated when they expected her to do the same.
He wasn’t the worst man here, though.
“Looked like a slut anyway,” the worst man announced to the room as he stomped over to the coffee.
Celia gripped her mug tighter. That little blond prick had introduced himself as Scorpion, not that anyone cared. You can only get so far with a pretty face and a body that’d look good even if the suit didn’t cost ten grand. Probably accustomed to daddy’s money compensating for his personality.
Hag.
“My condolences, Lady Diamond. But if I’m being honest, I don’t think that one was fit for your tastes.”
Celia loosened the death grip on her mug and turned to face the voice. There was her gracious host, his bushy tail swaying. She gave him her best almost-genuine smile.
“Oh, don’t discredit yourself. You always find the most tantalizing little pets.”
She couldn’t see Fox’s smile under the mask, but his amber eyes crinkled at the corners as he bowed dramatically. “You flatter me, Lady Diamond. As graceful in defeat as you are in victory.”
“A shame that not everyone is.”
Fox’s eyes didn’t move, but his ear rotated towards the unpleasant company in the room. “A shame.”
Celia sipped the coffee. She would have to ask where he found this creamer. “Would you mind if the unlucky bidders borrowed the room for a while? To commiserate?”
Another lavish bow. “It’s the least I can do.” A pause, then a whisper. “A good businessman knows which customers to prioritize.”
A blank check.
With that, Fox swooped away, flicking his hand over his head and raising his voice. “If the victor will follow me, we’ll discuss shipping arrangements.”
The Mountain, who had previously been struggling to fit his fingers through the tiny handle of a coffee cup, gladly set it down. The two of them disappeared and then… Celia was all alone with a man who wasn’t half as charming as he was handsome, and permission to do whatever she liked.
“Scorpion?” She held the word between her fingers like its namesake.
He took a few seconds to look at her, as if he’d forgotten the room wasn’t empty. She had just enough time to appreciate the color of his eyes and the curve of his lips before he ruined it by speaking.
“Oh. It’s you.”
Celia’s smile was brittle as ice. “Ma’am.”
“The fuck did you just call me?”
“I will call you whatever I like.” Celia’s hand shifted to her hip. “You will call me ma’am.”
He’d be prettier if he stopped smiling. “Sorry, I’m not into milfs.”
Celia flicked the gun off her hip and aimed it between his suddenly-wide eyes.
“I don’t think you heard me.”
“W-what the fuck are you doing?”
Her smile was cracking. It didn’t matter. She didn’t have to perform for him, not right now. “I’m going to fixyou.”
His hands shot to his groin as if they’d protect him from a bullet. Celia laughed.
“Not like that. That’s not what’s wrong with you.”
“H-hey!” His voice was rising, his eyes darting around. “Where’s the fucking security in this place?”
“Calling for help already?” Celia’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she strode closer. “It’s not coming.”
He hadn’t even moved away from the table. Did he want to be cornered against it?
“H-how’d you get a gun in here?”
“Oh, all the grown-ups get guns.”
Indignation twisted on his face for just a second before she pressed the gun under his jaw. Then, when he took that firm suggestion with a strangled noise and a flinch, she pressed herself against him.
Hmm. Maybe she was wrong about his suit being well-tailored. Now that his body was flush with hers, she didn’t think those grey slacks were doing him enough credit. He was narrow and toned in all the right places.
Suddenly, those pretty eyes weren’t so interested in meeting hers.
“G-get off me.” He mumbled the words, struggling to find an inoffensive way to bark orders at her. His grip on the table was shaking.
Celia slotted her knee between his. “Ma’am.”
His thigh felt nice between her legs. Slender but muscular. Celia chewed her lip and pressed down against it.
Men were only good for one thing, but some men were especially good for it.
She saw his jaw tighten. He forced the word out painfully, as if it was tearing up his throat. “…Ma’am.” Then, his brief flash of good sense fizzled out. “Y-you’d better let me go before—“
Since his stupid mouth was open so invitingly, she put her fingers in it.
His face went red. His hair, once perfectly styled, was coming loose in slatternly strands. Celia’s breath caught and she ground harder against his thigh. There was nothing so thrilling as taking a hammer to a man’s pride.
“There,” she purred. “That’s what was wrong with you.” She pressed her fingers deeper until she felt him gag. “You think you can just say things.”
He let out a noise, fear with a fragile veneer of anger, desperate all the way through. His perfect teeth brushed her fingers, clacked against her wedding ring, but didn’t dare press down. Not a tough guy after all.
Something was pressing against her, though. As she ground herself against his thigh, she could feel a response stirring in those expensive pants.
“Aww, is this making you hard?” Her own hair was becoming as messy as his. She didn’t care. “Your dick is a worse liar…” Her knuckles ground into his teeth until she felt his throat spasm around her fingers. “… than your mouth.”
Hag. What a joke. He wanted her just like any man did. He couldn’t help drizzling a thick layer of degradation onto his attraction.
Tears were pooling in his pretty eyes, whether from misery or gag reflex. With a groan, Celia pulled the gun away just long enough to hike her skirt up before jamming it back against his face. She hoped it left an indent on his cheek that everyone could see.
The wet patch on his slacks would surely be visible.
With a groan, Celia pulled her fingers from his mouth, trailing a long string of saliva. He coughed and gasped.
“Say ‘yes, ma’am,’” she panted.
He looked like he was about to catch fire. His hair was a mess, his face wet with tears, his cheek mushed against the barrel of her gun. And yet, the adorable tent in his slacks was rigid as ever while she ground on it.
“…Y-yes, ma’am,” he whined.
Celia gasped and gripped the table for support and almost forgot to not squeeze the trigger.
When the aftershocks faded, Celia let out a long sigh and brushed sweaty hair from her face. She rubbed the gun fondly against the red mark on Scorpion’s cheek.
“See?” she whispered. “That’s how you make a woman come.”
She stepped back, adjusted her skirt, and picked up the coffee that she’d left on the table. Still hot. She sipped. Still a great creamer.
“You know…” Celia brushed back one more stubborn strand of hair. “I feel much better about losing the bidding war now.”
With that, she aimed her gun at the wet stain on his slacks and fired.
He screamed just as well as he whimpered. Celia finished her coffee as he collapsed to the floor, a red wet stain quickly overtaking the slick one. When the cup was empty, she set it down and left the room.
Two of Fox’s henchmen flanked the door. Their gazes were aimed at the far wall in stoic professionalism, but both men were restraining smirks.
“I’m afraid Mr. Goffard’s boy is making a mess in the waiting room,” Celia informed them. She slipped her gun back into her skirt. “Someone ought to clean him up. Oh, and do tell Fox to let me know where he buys his creamer.”
question about the ending where the mc belongs to hemlock: it's described how they (the mc) stop caring about their life before meeting hemlock while they're 'hanging out' at the fae's quiet place (by hanging out, i mean having mindblowing sex)
how much exactly does the mc stop caring? if, for example, they had a passion for art or music before, do they still retain that? do they still have memories of people they used to know? or is their whole being now focused on the one who owns them?
MC still retains their interests and personality, it’s mostly a position of mutual devotion! Since MC has, at that point, partaken in Fae Gifts or has given Hemlock their name, by rules of fairy etiquette they’re indebted to or belong to Hemlock. Since Hemlock is a lovely yandere, though, MC is likely not looking at eventual freedom. Hemlock would make sure of that.
Hemlock wasn’t lying when they said they’re scouting for someone to work for their boss, who is the Queen of the Summer Court. Once MC is devoted to Hemlock, they fill this role of mercenary on behalf of the Summer Queen. But despite their commitment to this duty, they still have all the parts of them that make them unique! MC would be fully coherent and able to make decisions contradictory to what the court or Hemlock wants, but… they probably wouldn’t want to. 💛
Hello！I am Chinese, so these words are all translated by translators.I beg your pardon.TUT .I'd like to ask, will Jak be interested in some niche culture lovers?Like Gothic, Dark punk...I'd like to know what Jak thinks of such people.It's important to me.(♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ )Thank you for creating such a charming character.I like Jak too much！Thank you！！！
Dress him up people!!! Jak's whole thing is loving the main character.
He chooses you in LT because the niche sub-cultures you follow, how you dress, act, who you are. It's what he enjoys about you. If someone dressed goth, or even preppy and wanted to see him follow suit- he would.
Jak dresses plainly for efficiency over style. If mc actively offered him fashion advice or suggested clothing that they'd prefer, jak would jump on that with vigor. He wants to make mc happy.
*trying to flirt* haha i bet ur guts look soooo pretty i bet u have the greatest bones ever. ur beating heart would be so sexy to hold in my hands i would be so gentle with it. why are you running
