Otis keeping you tied to his bed, keeping a tally of how many times hes raped you on the bedframe. Just carves it right into the wood with the knife still stained with your blood
summary: Otis brings you back to his room expecting you to finally crack. Instead, you keep pushing back, throwing his threats and teasing right back at him. What starts as another game of him trying to get a reaction out of you turns into a full-on battle of wills, and the more you fight him, the more interested he becomes.
author note: gonna do a third chapter dedicated to the smut LMAO
ALSO APOLOGIES FOR THE TYPOS I NOTICED THEM AFTER UPLOADING AND DID NOT HAVE A CHANCE TO GO THROUGH AND PROPERLY EDIT >:(
The door closes behind him, and for a few seconds you can still hear his footsteps moving down the hallway. You remain where he left you, staring at the door as though you might somehow see through it. Your breathing is still uneven from everything that happened in the woods, but now that you're standing in the quiet of his room, the adrenaline has nowhere to go. It settles beneath your skin instead, leaving you restless and painfully aware of everything; the faint metallic smell, the dim light, the sound of your own heartbeat.
You tell yourself that you're relieved he's gone, and that maybe you should be looking for a way out. But your mind keeps circling back to his words; I'll get a yes outta you eventually, mama. You hate how condiently he'd said it, and even more that small traitorous part of you that had wondered what would happen if he was right.
The door opens again before you have time to collect yourself. Otis leans against the frame, watching you with an expression that tells you he's been paying attention.
"Thinkin' about me?" he asks.
You scoff and turn away.
He pushes himself off the frame and steps into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Liar."
The word is almost playful, and you glance up at him despite yourself. He's changed nothing about his expression since the woods; that same crooked grin is there, but the creepy makeup is gone, only black residue left at the corners of his mouth.
He's testing you, waiting for your reaction.
"Y'know." he says, moving around the room, "most people'd be beggin' by now."
You fold your arms tight.
"Maybe I'm not most people."
He stops. For a moment, his grin disappears, replaced by something thoughtful.
"That, you're definitely not."
You don't knoiw whether you like hearing him say it or not. Either way you refuse to let it show.
"So what?" you ask. "You just gonna keep trying to scare me."
Otis gives a little shrug.
"Maybe." He walks closer, stopping a few feet away. "But I don't think that bothers you."
You frown.
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know you could've kept runnin, but you stopped. I know you smiled when you were supposed to be afraid of me." He tilts his head, studying your face. "And I know you been thinkin' about it ever since."
You look away immediaely.
"You're crazy."
"That I am, mama." his voice is quiet, amusement laced through every word. "But tell me I'm wrong."
You force yourself to look at him. His red eyes hold yours, and for a moment you're certain you've done it. You're not going to flinch or look away. You're not going to give him anything.
Then, his expression softens into that familiar, infuriating smile, and you realise he's waiting.
"Go on, tell me."
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His smile grows.
"Thats what I thought."
You hate the satisfaction in his voice.
"I don't have shit to say to you."
Otis' grin widens immediately, like thats exactly what he was hoping for adn you curse yourself for giving him even an ounce of satisfaction.
He gives a quiet laugh and shakes his head, looking pleased.
"There y'are thats better, mama." He takes another step toward you.
You glare at him, refusing to back down. "What's better about it?"
He shrugs, his eyes flickering over your face, leaning forward so you can feel his hot breath.
"That attitude. Don't lose it on me now."
You scoff. "You want me to have an attitude?"
"Hell yeah." His smile turns crooked. "Either that or you can stand there cryin'" He takes another step, stopping just outside your reach. "Go ahead and tell me what you're really thinkin'."
"I think you're a fucking psychopath." You spit.
He merely laughs." Good."
"I think you're disgusting."
"Mhmm."
"I think you're fucking insane."
He nods approvingly. "Now we are gettin' somewhere."
You stare at him, thrown by how little your insults seem to bother him. If anything he seems more entertained by each word. "You seriously enjoy this?"
"Enjoy what?"
"Me telling you how much I hate you?"
His grin softens into something almost affectionate. "I enjoy how much you mean it."
You frown.
"Theres a difference, mama."
He circles you slowly, giving plenty of room to follow him with your eyes.
"Some people try to eep me happy, tell me I'm misunderstood, offer me money, beg, cry." He smirks, letting the silence stretch for a moment before continuing. "But you…" He lets a soft sigh escape his lips, shaking his head as though hes trying to find the right words. "You, you."
He comes to a stop behind you, and you turn your head slightly to keep him in your peripheral vision.
"What about me?"
"You're clever."
You blink.
He grins.
"Mean, too."
You turn to face him fully. "And?"
"And I like it, mama."
The admission is so casual that it catches you off guard.
Otis steps closer, tilting his head as he studies you. "You got this real nasty little look when you're mad." He bites his lower lip for a moment, adjusting his jaw. "Makes me wanna see how mad I can get you."
"You're doing a good job of that."
Otis goes still. Crooked grin disappearing from his face and his eyebrows lift slightly. He looks at you, almost surprised.
You immediately regret saying it, but theres something strangely satisfying about having him caught off guard.
"Yeah?"
You shrug, trying to make yourself look indifferent. "Yeah, you're doing amazing." you say sarcastically
A slow smile spreads across his face. He looks down for a second before meeting your eyes again. Now, a different kind of satisfaction is in his expression and you realise you had fed him a compliment.
"Didn't expect that," he murmurs to himself.
"Don't get excited."
"Too late for that, mama."
You roll your eyes.
That little laugh escapes him again, shaking his head as he looks down at you.
"Oh, you're good." He points at you. "Real good mama, thinkin' you can get to me like that."
Your eyebrows pull together. "I'm not trying to get to you."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm not."
"Sure."
He takes another slow step closer, studying you with an expression that makes you squirm.
"You think I don't know what you're doin'?"
"I'm literally telling you what I'm doing."
That's the problem." He chuckles. "You're tellin' me one thing while you're standin' there lookin' at me like that."
You frown. "Like what?"
He pauses, eyes moving over your face.
"Like you're tryin' somethin'."
"I'm not."
"Maybe you are."
"Maybe you're just imagining things."
That makes him laugh.
"Could be."
He watches you for another moment, and something almost thoughtful crosses his face before the familiar grin returns. "That's real funny, though."
"What is?"
"You spent all that time tellin' me how much you hate me, then you turn around and start complimentin' me."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"You said I was doin' good."
"At pissing me off."
"Still."
You sigh, folding your arms again. But Otis takes your irritation as an invitation to get closer.
He watches you for another second, eyes lingering on the stubborn set of your mouth before trailing down your body, hovering on your crossed arms. Then, he steps forward until theres barely any space between you. You instinctively straighten up, refusing to retreat, and teh satisfaction that flashes across his face makes you immediately regret it.
"Still gonna tell me it wasn't a compliment?" he murmurs.
"Yes."
He gives a quiet laugh. "You're stubborn."
"So you've said."
"And you're gettin' red."
Your face heats further. "I'm not."
"You are."
He lifts a hand, and you tense when his fingers catch lightly beneath your chin, turning your face toward the dim light. He doesn't hold you tightly; he doesn't need to. The gesture is enough to make you acutely aware of how close he is. His thumb rests along your jaw as he studies you, that crooked smile slowly returning.
"Look at you," he says softly. "All worked up."
"I'm annoyed."
"Oh, sure you are sweet thing."
You try to pull your chin away, but he follows the movement, keeping your face angled toward him. His eyes flicker over your expression with an almost fascinated amusement, like every little attempt you make to hide your reaction only gives him something else to notice.
Your hand comes up before you can think better of it, striking across his face.
The sound cracks through the room. Otis' head turn with the impact.
For a second, everything goes completely still. You stare at him, your chest rising and falling, waiting for the anger. Waiting for that hardened expression you saw in the woods.
Instead he grunts, slowly turning his head back toward you and smiles softly. Not the mocking smile he had been wearing before. Geniunely pleased.
"Hell."
You blink
He touches his cheek affectionately, then looks at you again.
"That was good."
Your brows knit together in disbelief. "What?"
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head. "I said that was good, mama."
You stare at him.
He looks almost impressed.
"Didn't even hesitate."
"Don't touch me."
"Then don't let me."
The answer comes so quickly that it catches you off guard.
He steps closer again, but this time there's no wandering around you, no pretending he's trying to figure you out. His attention is completely fixed on you.
"You wanna hit me?" he asks.
You hesitate.
"Yes."
His grin flashes.
"Good."
You don't know why that makes something inside you twist.
"You wanna call me disgusting?"
"You are disgusting."
He shudders in delight.
"You wanna call me crazy?"
"You're fucking insane."
"Again."
"You're a sick bastard."
His eyes brighten.
"That's my girl."
You hate how much you like the sound of that.
You hate even more that he seems to notice.
"Keep goin'."
"You're a fucking asshole."
"Good."
"A pathetic little freak."
He actually laughs at that, head tipping back for a moment.
"Jesus Christ."
You can't help it. A tiny laugh escapes you too. The moment it happens, you realize what you've done.You clamp your mouth shut.
Otis watches you for a long moment, his grin slowly returning as though hes just discovered something far more interesting than he'd expected to find in you.
"Fuck, mama. We got a wily one." he murmurs.
You frown. "What?"
He shakes his head, almost laughing to himself. "Nothing."
But he doesn't look away.
You fold your arms again, trying to recover some of the confidence you'd had a moment ago. "You're staring."
"I know."
"You gonna keep doing that?"
His hand settles lightly against your jaw again, turning your face toward him. He studies you for a moment, eyes moving across your expression as though he's trying to decide whether you're going to fight him again.
"You're still scared."
You swallow.
"Yeah."
"But you're still here."
"Do I have a choice?"
Otis smiles. His thumb moves once along your cheek before he lets his hand fall. Then he leans closer, close enough that his voice drops to almost a whisper.
"You know what happens now?"
You stare at him.
He smiles.
"Now I get to find out just how wily you really are."
He takes your hand, turning it over slowly in his, his eyes never leaving your face.
You look down at your hand in his, then back up at him. There's something almost absurd about how calm he seems now, like he's already decided what you're going to do next. That confidence irritates you enough to make you want to prove him wrong.
You study him, trying to work out whether he's genuinely giving you an opening or simply waiting to see what you'll do with it. Either way, you find yourself wanting to surprise him again.
So you do.
You step closer. For the first time, his expression flickers.It's barely there, but you catch it.And suddenly you understand why he enjoys this so much.
You like seeing him react.
The realization should make you step back.Instead, you hold his gaze.
"There," you murmur.
His eyes narrow slightly. "There what?"
"You look at all the girls you kidnap like this?"
His eyes stay on yours, and the smile that had been threatening at the corners of his mouth disappears completely. His fingers remain loosely curled around your hand, but his attention sharpens.
Then, slowly, he smiles again.
"That's what you're thinkin' about?"
You shrug, trying to make it seem casual. "You didn't answer."
He lets out a quiet laugh.
"You're somethin' else, mama."
"Is that a yes?"
He takes a small step closer, studying you with renewed interest. "You jealous?"
Your eyebrows shoot up.
"What?"
He grins."That's a funny little question to ask me."
"I'm not jealous."
"Didn't say you were." His thumb moves once across your knuckles before he releases your hand."You really wanna know?"
You nod, your heart rate rising as his eyes look deep into yours.
"Most of 'em ain't alive by this point."
The room seems to close in around you.
Until now, you'd been so focused on Otis that you'd managed to ignore everything else- the stale, metallic smell lingering beneath the heavier scent of dust and old fabric, the dim light spilling across the room, the stains you had deliberately refused to look at for too long. Now that he's gone quiet, you notice all of it at once.
Your eyes drift past his shoulder.
There are things scattered around the room that you don't want to identify. Things that look as though they belong to someone else. Clothes shoved into a corner. A dark stain disappearing beneath the edge of a piece of furniture. Something lying beneath a sheet near the far wall, its shape unmistakably human even with the face hidden from view.
Your stomach turns.
"You see it now," he says quietly.
He follows your gaze toward the covered shape, then looks back at you with that same crooked smile.
"Was wonderin' how long it'd take."
You swallow hard.
"Is that..."
Your voice dies before you finish the question.
Otis's eyebrows lift.
"That what?"
You take an unconscious step backward.
Otis notices, but for once, he doesn't laugh.
He simply watches you, his expression almost fascinated as the bravado you've been clinging to starts to crack beneath the reality of where you are.
"You were real brave a minute ago."
You glare at him.
"Don't lose your nerve now, mama." Otis finally lets himself lean closer, crowding the space between you as he takes a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "Not when I'm this close.
Your shoulders tense. "What do you mean by that?"
"You know exactly what I mean." Theres anger behind it now, his eyes firey red
You swallow, forcing yourself to stand your ground even as every instinct tells you to put distance between you.
"You want me to be scared?"
His eyes narrow.
"I want you to be honest."
You stare at him.
He tilts his head, studying you as though he's waiting for the smallest crack in your expression.
"You could've kept your mouth shut," he says. "Could've stood there and cried like everybody else. But you didn't."
His voice lowers.
"You hit me."
You say nothing.
"You insulted me."
He scoffs
"Too clever for your own good."
You scoff in return. "You keep saying that like it's a bad thing."
His smile widens.
"Never said it was."
Otis' smile never quite reaches his eyes. "Thats the trouble with clever girls." he murmurs, close enough now that every breath brushes your skin. "They start thinkin' they can control the game."
You want to snap back, keep that last shred of defiance between you like a blade, but the room as changed around you. The covered shape in the corner, the smell of iron, the heat of him standing too near all presses in at once. Still, you lift your chin, refusing tears.
You hold his stare.
"Maybe I can."
Something sharp flashes across his face. His hand lifts, this time stopping before it touches you. His fingers hovering over your shoulder, close enough for you to feel the heat of them without actually making contact.
"You think so?"
His fingers finally touch you- not your throat, not your mouth, but the side of your shoulder. The contact is light, almost cautious, which makes it worse. His thumb drags once over the fabric of your shirt, and your breath catches despite yourself.
You hate that he notices.
“There,” he murmurs. “That little look.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Ain’t flattering myself.”
His hand closes around your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to remind you how easily he could. The knowledge makes your stomach tighten. So does the warmth of his palm.
You find yourself leaning into his touch, looking up at his pale features with a softness that surprised you both.
He walks back towards his bed, beckoning you to join him by patting his lap.
You oblige, closing the distance slowly, never breaking eye contact.
Otis watches you approach with an expression that is impossible to read. Anticipation sits beneath his skin as you stop infront of him. His hand remains extended, palm open against his knee.
"Still sure?" he asks coyl.y
You glance toward the door which remainds shut. But you could run, put some space between you and him again.
Instead, you place your hand in his.
"Yes."
His fingers close around your as he guides you into his lap.
The mattress shifts beneath his weight as you settle against him, your knees either side of his thighs. His hands come to rest at your waist firmly.
His restraint unsettles you more than his confidence ever did.
"You're quiet, somethin' the matter, mama?"
"You talk enough for both of us."
A low laugh vibrates from him, sending a shiver through your body. "Just when I though you were gonna be sweet.
You adjust your position, deliberately settling closer and you catch his chin between your fingers, looking down at his chapped lips.
"Don't look so pleased with yourself."
"Hard not to."
"You're still fucking disgusting."
"Mmhmm."
"And a sick bastard."
"Oh yeah."
"And I'll never fuck you."
That wipes the grin from his face. His hand slides up your back, stopping between your shoulder blades. You shiver, and his mouth hangs open slightly.
"Don't be so sure."
The words are soft, but the confidence behind them makes your stomach tighten.
You keep hold of his chin, refusing to let him turn away. “That sounded like a threat.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
You almost laugh at the lie. He is made of them- smoke, blood, crooked smiles, and promises that sound more dangerous than threats.
Still, you don’t move away.
His hand settles at your waist again, waiting. When you lean into him, his fingers tighten just enough to make your breath catch. That familiar satisfaction flickers across his face, but you silence it by pulling him down into another kiss.
This one is slower.
Less like a fight. More like a decision.
His mouth moves against yours with surprising patience, your hands slide over his shoulders, catching in the fabric of his shirt as he guides you backward.
Now he's lying under you, his teethy smile showing how much he was enjoying the view.
“Still with me?”
You look past him, toward the open door, then back at his face.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
Irritation flashes through you, but beneath it is something steadier: the knowledge that this time, the words belong entirely to you.
“I’m still with you.”
He studies you for another moment, then nods.
“All right, mama.”
You pull him closer by the collar.
“And stop calling me that.”
His grin brushes your mouth. “No.”
“Then I’ll have to find another way to shut you up.”
“That so?”
“You talk too much.”
“You like it.”
“I hate it.”
You kiss him before he can say anything else.
The argument dissolves into heat. His hands move over you with deliberate care, pausing whenever your body tenses and continuing only when you draw him closer. The touch is unsettling—his skin warm, his scent clinging to him, the faint residue of makeup still dark at the corner of his mouth.
He is everything you should despise.
Somehow, that makes every moment of wanting him feel more dangerous.
Your fingers find the edge of his shirt.
"Take it off.”
The command sends a shiver through you, but you remain the one making the choice. Your hands tighten in the fabric, and his smile fades into something intent and watchful as you pull him closer.you press your mouth to his again and let the room fall away around you—the dim light, the metallic smell, the terrible shape beneath the sheet—until there is only the heat between you and the dangerous satisfaction of knowing that, for once, you were the one who decided how close he could get.
Otis’s voice drops against your skin.
“That’s my clever girl.”
You close your eyes.
"Don’t ruin it.”
His laugh is quiet and rough.
Then he pulls you down with him, and the rest of the night disappears behind the closed door.
feeling crazy writing for Otis like... I KNOW HES HORRIBLE IM SORRY
