#captive!reader

Now Y/n must be loosing her mind … because at some point she’s realised she actually enjoys being held captive

It was terrifying at first. Anyone would be when they’re kidnapped, thinking of being tortured and murdered.

Except your captor didn’t want to do that to you

He was in love with you

… not in any healthy way, but in love regardless

He wanted to keep you in his space, observe you, hold you, kiss you, make love to you whenever he wanted

So that’s what he did

Abducted you from your decrepit apartment, where the bills were quickly stacking up and you were struggling to make ends meet

In a way, this was a blessing in disguise

You had no bills

No dead end jobs to work endlessly

No crippling debts

Instead, you were kept in a basement— but a renovated basement with a kitchenette, living room, bedroom, bathroom and small indoor garden with a goldfish pond… random but cute

Your wardrobe is an assortment of clothes from brands you follow and liked on social media

Your entertainment was endless piles of books you’ve been meaning to read and shows you’ve been meaning to watch

When you grew restless, your Yan built you a hobby room

When you hear him coming to visit you, you race to the door now, excited to see him, and see what presents await for you to open

All of this in exchange of… well.. sex…

Your Yan would give you anything on the condition that you sexually satisfy him

It was confronting at first

But he’s very enthusiastic about your body

You kind of… look forward to it

After all… he always makes sure you finish

These days you don’t even wait for him to initiate

As soon as that gnawing need to be filled hits you, you crawl into his lap and bounce until you have no thoughts left to have

Right now you’re curled up against him, sweating and slightly sticky from your endeavours

He’s panting like you’ve made him in a marathon

Y/n: Can we go another round?

"What the actual fuck?"

You and your friends were standing outside of some random house on Halloween night, drunk people, garbage, and decorations littering the yard around your little group.

"But like seriously. What. The. Fuck. Do I have to go back in there and beat his ass? Because I so will, Y/N," your one friend, drunk out of her mind, loudly said.

She started stumbling towards the front door, forcing you to stop her.

"It's fine. I mean, it's not, but I'll get over it, ya know?"

Your boyfriend of two years, since your freshman year of college, just broke up with you because you two were, I quote, "at two different places" in your relationship. Which was total bullshit, and he knew it.

Which is why you were standing in the front lawn of some Halloween party, in a stupid Angel costume, with tears running down your face.

You know, the perfect Halloween.

Now, however, instead of crying in someone's lawn, you were attempting to drown your sorrows with a milkshake and fries at a nearly empty diner nearby, your friends shit-talking your now ex-boyfriend.

The place was run-down, only two guys working there. The only other people there were a pair of girls in costumes -a scarecrow and a skeleton- and two dudes -also in costumes- who were walking out. The fluorescent lights were overpowering, which might just be because you had been attempting to get drunk enough to forget your shitty night before your friends dragged you out of there.

You were staring at the sticky table-top when you heard the bell attached to the front door ring, indicating another probably-drunk patron entered the diner. You looked behind you, towards the door, expecting someone dressed in some stereotypical shitty costume stumbling through the door, but you were actually impressed.

The dude who walked in was dressed as a clown, or maybe a mime? Or a mixture of both? You couldn't really tell, but it didn't matter. His costume, whatever it was, was impressive. His makeup was flawless, like his skin was actually paper white with black accents around his mouth, nose, and eyes. His costume looked handmade -only because you hadn't seen anything similar in any costume store you've been in recently- and he was carrying what looked like a big black, filled, garbage bag. He was also wearing an adorably small top hat.

You smiled to yourself. At least someone is taking the holiday seriously. Halloween had always been your favorite, even since you were a kid. You always went all out with your costume, even now. Yes, you were a stereotypical Angel, given the group costume you and your friends were doing was "Angels and Devils", but you had put more work into yours. You hand sewed your costume, using actual -ethically sourced- swan feathers for the wings, and a mixture of lace and silk fabric for the bodice and skirt. The halo around your head was also made with the feathers, and was attached with wire. It took you almost five months to complete, including the designing stages of the costume. Two of your friends -out of the five of you- bought their costumes before meeting to get ready at your place.

This guy looked like he took the same amount of care when it came to Halloween. You almost wanted to go up to him and ask about his costume. Almost. There was something...off... about him. The way he carried himself, maybe? Or was it the angry expression he wore as he sat at the table, staring at the girls in the booth behind you?

Whatever it was, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with him. Like, seriously wrong.

It felt like he was a predator, and everyone in this diner, in the world, was his prey.

Maybe you really were drunk.

You turned back around, peeling your eyes away from menacing clown, and focused back on what your friends were saying.

"God, I wish we could just skip finals. Maybe you could sleep with the professor and get us out of this, Y/N," Your friend to the left said, chuckling to herself.

"Screw you, she just got dumped, you ass," The girl across from you said, trying to defend you.

"I was just bullshitting, you know that, right Y/N? I wasn't being serious... kind of." The girl across from you slapped her in the shoulder.

"I get it. I know you're just fucking with me. I mean, Mr. Jones is hot, but if any of us were to sleep with him it would be you and you know it," You laughed, motioning towards the girl next to you.

Everyone laughed and agreed, and you finally felt like you were starting to get over this breakup crap. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal. Maybe your Halloween wasn't ruined, after all.

"Hey, what's that dude's deal? The clown," One of the girls across from you whispered.

A chill ran down your spine, all of your careless laughter being ripped out of you, your air being grasped from your lungs.

"What? What's he doing?" You whisper-yelled back.

"He's like, staring at us. No, he's staring at you. Oh my god I think he's staring at you!" She whispered, grinning as if this were funny.

"Wait, now he's getting up. Shit! He's walking over here," Your friend said, causing you to stiffen up.

All of a sudden you felt a tap on your shoulder, causing you to almost jump out of your skin. You whipped around, seeing dirty, black and white fabric. You looked up, seeing the clown staring you in the eyes, a large grin on his face, one that might ordinarily look funny or comforting on a regular clown, but looked rather creepy on this one.

"Um, hi? Can I help you with something?" You politely asked, trying your best to put on a comforting smile.

All of a sudden the clown pulled his hand out from behind his back, shoving a cheap, plastic ring in your face, startling you yet again. The ring was obviously for children, and you didn't want to take it, but the look on the clown's face, the mock eagerness, drew your hand to the ring like a magnet. Before you could grab it, he grabbed your hand, his grip strong, and slipped the ring on your ring finger, as though you were now engaged.

He jumped up, hand over his mouth in surprise. He began jumping up and down in mock excitement. Your friends began to laugh, the girl sitting next to you, now behind you in the booth, shaking your shoulders, mocking you.

"Already over that dick, huh Y/N?" One of the girls across in the seat across from you teased.

"Well, she's engaged now, so she better be!" The girl who was shaking you previously exclaimed.

Your face blushed. You didn't mean to make such a big deal about it. All you wanted to do was be polite, grab the ring, and go on with your Halloween. Now? Your friends were being obnoxiously loud. The guy at the counter was shooting your group, including the clown, dirty looks. And a clown was miming excitement and pretending to giddily giggle, towering over you. Literally towering over you. You hadn't noticed how tall he was, since when he came in he was hunched over carrying his bag.

The clown finished "laughing" and offered you hand, bending over so that his face was in front of yours looking you in the eyes expectantly. You flushed again, this time not out of embarrassment, but because there was a guy, a somewhat hot guy, staring you in the eyes after making you feel more wanted than your now ex-boyfriend had in a while. Fuck, were you falling for a fucking clown? Is this what your life has become, you blushing because a clown, a mime, was probably making fun of you and your friends by maybe flirting with you.

This is so pathetic.

Apparently you were taking to long to grab his hand, given he pretended to sigh in an expectant manner, pulling his hand back just to put it back in front of you in an overexaggerated manner, tapping his foot with impatience.

You giggled, in spite of yourself, and placed your hand in his, looking back at your friends, almost begging them to stop you.

This was the first time you had a genuine smile on your face all night.

Nobody stopped you from standing up, nor did anybody stop him when he lead you back to his table, sitting you down across from his booth at the table. He quickly ran over to the ordering counter and grabbed a flower that was sitting in a vase, running back to slide into the booth across from you. He, very exaggeratedly, offered you the flower, leaning over the table, grinning widely.

Your friends were laughing again, mass "aww"s coming from their table.

Before you could take the flower, which you were actually planning on grabbing, the guy from behind the table stomped over, yanking the flower out of his hand.

"Look, guys, I have been pretty lenient so far. You have been loud and obnoxious, and now you are treating the place like you own it, taking stuff that doesn't belong to you. I think it's time I ask your little group to pay for your food and leave," He sternly said, mainly in the direction of the clown.

The clown who's whole demeaner has switched in the blink of an eye. The clown, who was once giggling and offering you rings and flowers, now had a dark, terrifying look on his face. His eyes looked as though they literally darkened. His playful demeaner turned to a murderous one. It was almost... hot?

"Hey, sir? We don't want any trouble. We've been drinking a bit tonight, so we're a little rowdy. I'll pay for our food, then we'll get out of here, alright?" You said, trying to resolve the situation quickly.

Honestly, you were scared of what the clown would do if you didn't.

The man nodded to you, walking back to the counter. You got up, taking a small glance at the clown, noticing him following the man with his eyes. Until you stand up, then his dark gaze shoots to you, locking his eyes on yours. Even as you turn away to go and grab your purse, you can feel his gaze burning in the back of your skull. Yet again, you felt like prey before him.

This time, however, it was almost a good feeling, being his prey. This time, you were almost willing to be hunted.

Again, what the fuck is wrong with me? He shouldn't have this effect on me, should he?

You went over to your friends, grabbing your purse and making your way over to the counter. You could hear them muttering about how creepy the clown now looked, and that they probably shouldn't let you leave with him.

First of all, you thought, how dare they think they can just tell me what I am/am not going to do? If I want to go home with the weird, kind of violent-looking, clown, I fucking will.

You finally find your card, shoving it into the chip reader, glancing up at the guy and giving him an "I'm sorry my friends are shitty and loud and that the stranger clown stole a flower for me" look. The machine beeps, signaling you to take your card away, and you put it back in your purse, turning back you your friends, sparing a glace at the clown. He was still glaring at you, which almost made you hesitate. Almost. You, and everyone else in there, knew that whatever he was thinking while looking at you like that probably wasn't good.

"Ok guys, I think we need to get out of here before that guy throws a fit," You said, just loud enough for the clown to hear you.

Your friends grabbed their purses and coats, scooting out of the booths, and began to file out of the building, muttering their thanks for you paying the bill.

As you walked out of the building, you didn't even glance back. You knew that, eventually, he would catch up with you.

About thirty minutes, three pee breaks, and two "I can't find my phone we need to go back"s, you all finally made it to the two parked cars, one of which being yours, outside of the house party from before. You would have all probably spent more time talking if the late-night, fall breeze hadn't picked up half way on your walk. Everyone but one could fit in your friends car, so you always offered to take yours too. It fit everyone way more comfortably, and you could leave whenever you wanted. Win-Win.

"So who's going with who? Same as earlier, or...?" Your friend asked, glancing between the rest of you.

You began rummaging around in your purse for your car keys, "Um, that works for me. Just need to find my stupid keys."

You rummaged around some more, the lack of keys becoming more and more apparent the harder you tore through the contents of your purse. What the fuck? "I know I put them in here guys, hang on a sec," You said, getting more and more worried by the second.

All of a sudden, you crouch down, dumping the contents of your purse on the ground, looking for these damned keys.

Wallet? Check. Phone? Check. Chapstick? Makeup? Makeup wipes? Check. Literally every. single. fucking. thing. but my keys? Fucking check.

"I- I don't know guys. I don't know where my keys are. I must have dropped them at the diner when getting my card out? I guess? I'll have to go back," You said, shoveling your belonging back into your bag, defeated.

"Do you want us to walk you back? We probably should, it's really dark, and it's Halloween. And you're drunk, so," Your friend, the one with the car, asked, worried.

"No, guys it's fine. It's really not that far if I walk fast. Plus, I have my phone, so if I get nervous or anything happens I can call you guys, and you can pick me up. No sense in all of us going back with class in the morning," You reassured everyone, and yourself, that this would be fine.

Of course you were nervous. It was Halloween, for starters. Everyone around here was drunk or high or both. Drunk and high dudes mixed with a drunk-ish girl, all alone, on some random street in a revealing costume was a disaster waiting to happen. But given there wasn't any room, you would've had to ask someone to either wait out here alone while you were driven to the diner and back, which was a shitty thing to do and equally as dangerous, or asked someone to walk all the way back with you, which was equally as shitty of a choice in your mind. So, your friends waved goodbye to you as they climbed into the car and sped off, leaving you alone.

You began to walk back, stumbling here and there due to the remainder of alcohol in your system and the tall white heels you just had to wear. You would've taken them off and walked barefoot, but who knows what was on the ground of these streets.

As you walked, the chill of the wind forcing goosebumps to raise on your skin, you began to hear a second set of footsteps behind you. You stopped, freezing in your tracks, your heartrate picking up.

You whipped around. Nothing but an empty street, the flickering of the streetlamps lighting the way, and a few parked cars.

It's just my nerves. Nobody is following me.

Either way, you picked up your pace, every so often hearing the second set of footsteps following your path. You repeated the pattern of quickly turning around, scanning the street behind you, and continuing your progress to the diner quicker than before.

Before too long, you were practically jogging to the diner, the second set of footsteps following your pace to a tee, jogging with you. You were panicking, your eyes darting around until you finally saw the lights of the small diner pop up in your vision, not 100 feet ahead. Tears almost made their way to your eyes. You didn't give a shit if it was just "nerves", you were really fucking glad to be so close to a crowd again.

All of a sudden, the second set of footsteps stopped, and you heard a loud crash to your right, causing you to jump out of your skin. It sounded as though a large trash can was knocked over or something. Then the sound of glass shattering sounded behind you, causing you to start running towards the diner.

Next thing you knew, you were on the ground, your ankle throbbing in pain, small rocks and pebbles engraved in the palms of your hands and your knees from the fall. Tears pricked your eyes. Stupid. Fucking. Heels.

The sound of metal clanking together sounded ahead of you, causing you to look up from the ground. There he was, shaking his stupid fucking bag to get your attention. Then, seeing that you looked up, he slung his bag over his shoulder, waving and pulling out a small horn from behind his back, honking it in your direction.

Had he been the one following you? He had to be. He was fucking with you instead of helping you now, so it was the only explanation.

You tried to push yourself up off the ground, making your way to a standing-position before you fell back down, the stabbing pain in your ankle causing you to cry out.

You glared at the clown in front of you, "The least you could do is fucking help me, you creep!"

The clown made a point of looking all around him, looking for who you were talking about, before pointing at himself in a "Who? Me?" motion.

"Yes, you, asshole. This isn't funny, I'm really hurt and I can't stand on my own," You said, annoyance overtaking your rage at the situation.

The clown grinned, skipping- yes, skipping- over to you, before putting his horn back in his sack. He put his hand out, waiting for you to grab his hand.

You knew it was a bad idea, having any interaction with this clown, but you couldn't walk, and you certainly couldn't wait here with the clown while your friends drove all the way here to find you, so what other choice did you have? Plus, even though he was creepy, how bad could he actually be? He was just some guy, right?

You grabbed his gloved hand, which was warm and slightly... wet? He pulled you up, forcing you to lean on his shoulder, then started walking in the opposite direction of the diner.

"Hey, wait, I need to go back in the diner. I left my keys there, which is why I was walking in the first place, you know? So if you could help me that way, that would be great," You explained, panic rising in your chest.

You made eye contact, and he slowly began to shake his head no, walking faster, practically dragging you along the pavement at this point.

"Hey! Put me down! I want to go to the diner! I need to go to the diner. Put me down!" You screamed, pushing against the clown, trying to escape his grasp.

He made an overexaggerated sighing motion, shoving you to the ground, causing you to whimper in pain. Your arms, legs, and hands were covered in scrapes, and your ankle was throbbing. You tried to crawl towards the diner, yelling for help.

You heard him walking slowly behind you, rummaging in his bag. You, focused on the diner ahead of you, noticed the man from the front counter walk out the front door of the diner, spotting you. That's when you heard a loud crack, a sharp pain shooting it's way though your skull, and you fell unconscious.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The light was bright, and you had to squint to see anything. Your head was pounding, and you could feel something dripping down your forehead. You tried to move your arms to shield your eyes, but they were tied down with something. Your vision was blurry, so you couldn't make out exactly what. Your legs were tied to the chair you were sitting in, as well. You could move your head, so you looking around the best you could with your vision the way it was.

You could see someone, it must be the clown based off of the black and white clothing, sitting at a table across the room. Or maybe it was a workbench? You couldn't tell. Ahead of you, there were bright lights, like the kind on construction sites, and a tarp covering the floor.

Your vision began to clear a bit, and you moved your head to the other side, seeing if you could make out any way out or anything that could help you. There was another tarp covering what could be a doorway, but who knew what was beyond it? You couldn't make any moves yet, whether it was an exit or not. You were in no shape to try and make your escape.

All of a sudden, a gloved hand gripped your chin, whipping your head to your left, towards the maybe-workbench. A sharp pain tore through your skull, causing you to cry out. It sounded more like a croak, however, due to your apparently-dry throat.

You could tell he was enjoying your pain, given his wide, toothy grin and the arousal pooling in his eyes.

He dropped your face, walking in front of you, then crouching down, eye-level with you. He was gripping a blade in one hand, an exacto-knife. He rubbed his hand up and down your bare-thigh, his finger tips brushing against the hem of your small skirt. Shame and arousal rushed through you.

How the fuck were you getting off to this?

He got a serious, dark look on his face, and gripped your waist with one large, gloved hand. The other hand, the one holding the blade, made its way to your thigh. The clown glanced between your face and the bare skin of your thigh. If it were any other situation, you would have thought he were asking for your permission, your consent to cut into you. But you knew better, he was waiting to see your fear. Your terror.

'Wait. Wait. Before you do whatever you are going to do to me, can- can you tell me your name? Why are you doing this to me? Why me?" You asked, tears beginning to run down your cheeks.

The clown nodded, then turned his gaze to your leg, his arm and hand moving before you had a chance to register what was happening. The exacto-knife pierced your flesh, slicing deep-not deep enough to do serious damage, but deep enough to scar- into your thigh. You cried out, trying to squirm away. The clown tightened his grip on your waist, slightly stilling your movements long enough for him to finish carving into your skin. Tears poured down your face, your makeup effectively ruined, not like you cared at this point. Warm blood oozed down the sides of your leg, pooling on the seat of your chair, staining the once-pristine white fabric of your costume.

You must have been taking too long to focus on the wound, given the clown gripped your chin again, forcing you to look at his work.

You hadn't noticed he was carving a phrase into your skin.

It read, "Art the Clown".

"Wh-what? Art the Clown? What does that- Is that you? Are you Art the Clown?" You stumbled over your words, connecting the dots, resulting in an ecstatic Art enthusiastically nodding his head.

Art let go of your waist and face, patting your cheek as though you were a child who had learned something new which was common sense to everyone else. His confidence, no, arrogance, filled you with a mixture of rage and arousal. How dare he treat you like a child? You fought, and you fought hard.

Abruptly, he stood up, excitedly walking back to the table of tools from earlier. He rummaged around, clanking tools around, seemingly searching for something specific.

You looked down at your leg, tears welling in your eyes, and prepared for the worst. What would he do next? Gut me? Slit my throat? He's obviously deranged so who fucking knows?

He pranced back over to you, holding a large pair of shears in one hand, and a what looks like a...whip of sorts... in the other. You had jokingly, or not so jokingly, tried to introduce your now-ex to floggers previously. He wasn't a fan, berating you for even thinking about the idea of whipping him with anything, which is why you played it off as a joke.

Art gripped the hair at the base of your skull, ripping your head backwards, towering over your face. He looked down at you, no longer grinning, and began to caress your face with the whip before dropping it to the floor, and letting your hair go, your head bobbing back down. Your chin hit your chest with a groan. You didn't even have the strength to fight against it anymore.

He walked in front of you, shoving your head out of the way as he grabbed the front of your tight, white shirt. He pulled, forcing a gap between the fabric and your skin. He slid the shears in between the fabric and your chest, beginning to cut through your hand-crafted costume. Your hand-crafted costume which, as you now realize was a fatal flaw, didn't have a bra underneath it. You didn't like the way a bra looked with the fabric, it was too thin, so you added some thin padding to the inside. A brilliant idea at the time, now, however, it was proving to be an oversight, to say the least.

As Art's shears slid through the last bit of your top, he pulled the fabric back, hesitating when he realized you weren't wearing anything underneath. Your head was angled towards his lower half, and you noticed he was fairly...excited. His large length was practically busting through his jumpsuit, the thin material clearly showing his twitching member. He was bigger than your ex had been, you could tell that much. To be honest, he was bigger than anyone you had ever been with. It was enough to make you question, for a split second, whether what he was doing was so bad. That split second of doubt happened to make your thighs rub together, just for a moment.

A moment was enough, enough for him to notice anyways. Your eyes met his, arousal pooling and swirling in his gaze. He dropped the shears to the ground with a small clang, rushing forward to rip the rest of your top off your arms and shoulders. His gloves were rough as they rubbed against your bare skin. Your breasts shook with the force of his movements, causing him to hesitate once again, seemingly enthralled with the way they moved.

He threw your top, or what remained of it, to the ground, leaning over to grab the whip. He stood back up, caressing your arms, your chest, and your thighs with the tasseled-material. You noticed that it wasn't just a whip. On the ends of each tassel were small, metal bits. Not sharp, but would sting, and probably bruise, if hit with them. As he brushed against the gashes on your thigh, you whimpered, subconsciously moving your body as far away from Art as possible. Which wasn't far enough.

Art, in a flash, drew his hand back and struck your chest, causing you to cry out. The whip alone stung, leaving red lines all over your chest, but the metal bits hurt. They were freezing, and significantly harder than the material of the whip, which seemed to be made of a slightly-thick fabric. Not leather, like you would ordinarily see, but still similarly painful. It almost looked handmade.

You were quickly torn from your thoughts as Art whipped you again, this time hitting your bare stomach.

"Fuck! Fuck you, you piece of shit!" You yelled, impulsively.

He tilted his head, putting his hand in front of his "O" shaped mouth, as if to say he was surprised or confused by your language. He then looked stern, waggling his finger in front of your face, teasing you.

He pulled back again, causing you to flinch. But nothing came. No sharp sting, no crack of the whip hitting your skin. Nothing. Nothing except a cold, wet tongue meeting your thigh. The wound Art had left over had began to bleed again, probably from a stray tassel hitting the bare flesh of your thigh, and Art was... lapping it up. Like a dog.

He met your gaze, his previously-stern expression turned to that of a submissive puppy, lapping up milk from its mother. It was pathetic. It was sick. He was slurping on your blood covered thigh, and it made you...aroused?

Seeing the man who was once so terrifying, so dominating, immediately become so submissive, so needy, was a switch you hadn't seen coming. Your body didn't know what to think. The thought of someone drinking blood made you nauseous, but the thought of someone needing you so much that they would drop to their knees in front of you, forgetting everything they were doing just to have a piece of you. Well, it was exciting. You could feel your face and chest growing hotter, your thighs clamping together. You couldn't break eye contact with him.

Your arms strained, attempting to fight the restraints. His tongue slowly licked its way towards your upper thigh, getting closer and closer to the hem of your skirt, which laid right below your core. Your hips bucked slightly.

Why were you getting off to this? Why was this so, fucking, hot?

All of a sudden, Art stopped, standing up and pretending to laugh at you. Hysterically. As if your pathetic display of neediness was the most laughable thing in the world. Fuck, maybe it was.

"Fuck you! You're getting off to this more than I am, you sick fuck! I mean, look at your tiny little hard on ripping through your pants before you make fun of me!" You yelled at him, glancing down at the hardening length on his thigh, which happened to be anything but "tiny" or "little".

He stopped laughing, glaring at you, before stomping over. He gripped your chin with his hand, tightly. You whimpered in pain.

Ok, good to know. Don't make fun of him.

He looked you up and down, hesitating on your bright-red chest, little welts beginning to form. He grinned, not in his big exaggerated way, but in a subtle, sly way. As though he just got an idea or had a realization of some sort.

He gently lets go of your chin, slowly crouching down in front of you his hands gliding from your thighs to your calves, where your legs were taped to the chair legs.

He glanced up at you before ripping the tape of your left leg, peeling it off your leg in one quick motion.

It stung like a bitch, but the one thing you noticed was how strong Art must be. You tried your hardest and couldn't get the many, many layers of tape to even budge, and he ripped it apart like it was nothing.

Before you knew it, a ripping sound and a sharp sting came from your right leg.

What is he doing? Is he letting me go?

You couldn't tell what was going on in the mind of the man thing in front of you. Did he trust you wouldn't run? Did he think that even if you did, you wouldn't stand a chance? Or did he want you to run? Or was there something else that wasn't crossing your mind?

He quickly gave you an answer, ripping off your little skirt, pulling it, and your thin, white, lace panties, down your legs in a swift motion. You were completely naked, save for your angel halo and, surprisingly, your wings. God's angel, dripping in need for a demon. What a sight.

He spread your legs apart as far as he could in the chair, before pushing them up, flush to your chest. He repositioned until he was able to hold your legs together with one hand by the backs of your knees, scooting your ass forward on the rough chair. Your thighs burned with the stretch, but all of your pain was drowned out by Art's rough, gloved finger shoving it's way into your core.

"Fuck!" You groaned, the mixture of pleasure and pain from the rough texture of the glove and his long, slender finger hitting a spot in you that you had never been able to reach on your own.

You could feel the sweat from your hairline begin to drip down your face, the rough wooden chair digging into your bare ass, his rough gloves gripping you, inside and out.

Your head tipped back as he forcefully shoved yet another long, gloved finger inside you. It went in smoother this time, your wet arousal acting as lubricant. You cry out, clenching around his fingers, and look down to see him mocking you, pretending to silently moan, his eyes rolling back in his head, bucking his hips. Somehow, it turned you on even more.

All of a sudden, his mouth was on you, licking and suckling on your clit, his fingers moving at an ungodly pace. Your hips bucked, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, tears filling your eyes. Your legs burned from the stretch, and the cuts in your thigh stung from the sweat coating your body. You could feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, your core tightening. Moans began pouring out of your mouth.

"I'm going to- I'm going to cum! Fuck!" You moaned, seeing stars as you felt yourself gush around his fingers, coating his chin in your arousal. He pulls his fingers out of you, moving both his hands to cup your thighs, holding you still as he continues to lap up your cum. His tongue inserts itself into you, his mouth sucking up your dripping arousal, overstimulating you.

Tears began to run down your cheeks, the once-nice feeling of his tongue lapping against your folds becoming painful.

"Stop, fuck, please! Please stop it hurts!" You whimpered, trying, and failing, to pull your body away from his.

He paused, glaring up at you before tearing his mouth away from your dripping core. He let go of your legs, letting them fall roughly, your feet painfully hitting the floor and the rough angle of the chair pinching your thighs, causing you to whimper.

He abruptly stood. You couldn't comprehend the look on his face, the look in his eyes. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of pale skin where white makeup used to be. It was almost intimate, like you were seeing a part of him that was truly him, that nobody had ever seen before.

Or, at least had never lived to see before.

He abruptly turned, calmly walking out of the room, through a plastic sheet that had covered an opening you hadn't seen before. You realized that you weren't tied up anymore. This was your chance to escape.

What if it's a trap?

But what if he's letting me go?

You decided to risk it, standing on wobbly legs, arousal and sweat coating your thighs. Blood coated and stained your leg from where it had dripped, your head still pounded from before.

Overall, you were worse for wear.

You were still slightly tipsy, completely naked, and were hurt. You needed to get out of here. You needed to get to a phone, to call the police or one of your friends.

You looked around, thinking of all the possible ways you could escape.

You could go out the way Art did, but that would almost guarantee you would run into him. Not ideal.

You could leave through the other exit that was covered with another tarp, but like you thought before, who knew if it was the exit? It could lead even further into the building. But it could also be an exit.

It was your best shot.

You started to stumble your way to the maybe-exit, your legs heavy and sore. Your head began to really pound, the arousal and adrenaline beginning to wear off. The cuts on your thigh began to bleed again, the stretch of the skin as you walked opening the wounds again. They stung, bad, bringing tears to your eyes.

You made it to the tarp, ripping it back to see what looks like a garage of some kind, filled with cars. That filled you with hope, if there were cars, that meant that there had to be some sort of opening, right? How else would they be able to get them in here?

You sped up, fueled with hope. The only sounds you could hear were your feet slapping against the cold concrete floor. You glanced around as you ran, trying to find either somewhere to escape or a phone to use.

Then you saw it, the wall at the far end of the building was actually a garage door. You only noticed it because it rattled as the wind hit it.

You booked it, running towards the large tin door. Closer and closer you got, closer and closer to salvation. Your legs burned, really burned, your feet sore, your body covered in sweat, grime, and blood.

50 feet away, 40 feet away, 30 feet away. Closer and closer to escape. To fresh air. To your future.

20 feet away, 10 feet away. Almost there. You were actually going to make it.

5 feet away. You made it, your hands slapping against the thin metal door, causing it to shake. You got on your knees, seeing if you could lift up the door, even slightly. Your fingers pried against the metal, slowly opening it, inch by inch, until it was open enough for you to be able to squeeze through. You laid on your stomach, the freezing cold concrete scraping against your breasts as you began to drag yourself through the door to the other side.

You head was through, the cold outside air refreshing. A breath of fresh air, literally. You tried to pull yourself through further, but your wings were caught on the lip of the door, which was just too short for you to be able to fit them through. Your arms flailed behind you, trying to reach the clasp on your back. You had needed help to put them on before you left, given you hadn't been able to reach. Now, you were ripping at the wings, trying to force them off. Hours, days, spend on making these wings, all for you to destroy them in minutes.

Just another thing Art the Clown had taken from you that night.

You, and the ground all around you, were covered with feathers, but the frame of the wings was still too big for you to fit through the door.

You began to cry, tears and snot pouring down your face. You decided to wiggle back through the door and flip onto your back, you might be able to fit more that way.

Flipped onto your back, you began to slip through the door once more. This time, you were able to pull yourself further, your chest completely out of the door into the open. The cool breeze blowing over your face, your chest, reminding you just how vulnerable you were.

You began to pull yourself further, pushing against the ground beside you, the gravel from the ground outside the building digging into your back, into your palms, stinging. You were almost free.

Until you felt hands on your ankles, rough, gloved hands.

"NO! No, please, please let me go! I just want to go home!" You cried, tears pouring from your eyes, attempting to kick your feet away from the clown you knew was gripping them. He held fast, beginning to pull you back. You flailed, shoving against the ground. It was no use, he was pulling you closer and closer, ripping freedom out of your hands like it was nothing. As he pulled you past your chest, you head the only thing left outside the building, you gripped the door above you, the metal slicing into your palms.

As he pulled you all the way inside, tearing your hands away from the door, you felt warm blood running down your hands, your wrists, your arms.

You gave up. You gave up fighting, you gave up trying to escape. You laid there, your arms outstretched above you, blood pooling from the deep gashes in your hands, dripping from your thigh and now from the scratches in your back from the gravel outside. You were grimy, dirty, sweaty. You were a wreck, and you had given up. You had given in to whatever the man, the demon, in front of you wanted to do to you.

You looked up at him, blinking away the tears that blurred your vision. He was looking down at you, towering above you. He looked...disappointed. Disappointed that you decided to escape? That you didn't make it? You couldn't tell. You didn't care. He walked around to your head, nudging you with his boot, waiting for something.

You just stared up at him, completely drained. You had had fun for a moment, before everything became so... real. So terrifying. For a moment, you had thought he would let you go. That you would be able to go home, see your friends, your family.

You were so, so wrong.

Art crouched down, tilting his head as he looked at you, seemingly in thought.

He fixed his makeup, you thought.

He stood up, looking bored with you, like you were a toy that was broken or that he had outgrown.

He leaned over you, pulling something out of somewhere, maybe his pants? Or from behind his back? You couldn't tell.

Next thing you knew, there was a loud bang and a flash. Then nothing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note- THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU MADE IT TO THE END!!!! This took so much longer to finish than I wanted it to, and is, as of now, my longest ever One-Shot! I went a little out of my comfort zone with this one, and yes, you did die at the end. Sorry babes</3

I was also going to add a cannibalism ending, but decided against it since this is supposed to be a smut fic... if you want that tho, please let me know (he literally eats you after you die, and talks about how delicious you and your blood is... yes I'm a freak, I know).

love <3,