#horror reader insert

Otis's fingers dig into the flesh just above your elbow as he drags you the last few steps toward the clearing. You stumble, catching yourself before you go down.

Otis laughs. "Aw, don't fall yet, rabbit." His grip tightens. "Wouldn't want you to miss your chance to escape."

You swallow. You had been trying not to look at him, which had been a mistake.

He steps around in front of you and catches your chin, your breath catching in your throat. "Look at me."

You comply. Can't help it. He's too close. Pale hair, smudged makeup, and that crooked, horrible grin. His eyes move slowly over your face, taking you in. You try to pull away, and his fingers tighten around your jaw.

"Nuh-uh, mama." His smile widens. "You don't get to do that."

He tilts your face toward the moonlight. "Let me get a good look at you."

Your pulse beats hard beneath his fingertips. His thumb shifts against the underside of your jaw. He feels it.

"Scared?"

You nod, looking into his red eyes.

"Yeah?" His brows furrow tauntingly, and he chuckles when you nod again. "Good."

He releases you abruptly, and you take a step backward. He watches intently, ushering you to keep backing up with his hands. You take another step backward, then another. His grin returns.

"Keep goin', rabbit."

You stop. His head tilts.

"What?"

You say nothing.

"You don't wanna?" he says, taking a step closer.

You glance toward the trees. Otis follows your gaze and laughs.

"Oh." He turns his head toward the woods. "You don't like those?"

You shake your head, eyes pleading. His smile only grows.

"You should." He points into the darkness. "'Cause that's where you're headed, mama."

Your stomach drops. Otis steps behind you, but you feel him before you see him. His body is close against your back, one hand settling on your shoulder. You flinch.

He laughs softly beside your ear. "Y'know what I like about this?"

You don't answer, too focused on how his fingers trail up and down your arms.

"I like it when they realize." His hand slides from your shoulder down to your wrist, fingers closing around it. "That there's nowhere to go."

He gives your wrists a little tug, keeping you flush against him.

"Nowhere to hide." He turns one of your hands over, examining it almost idly. "Nobody's comin'."

Your breathing quickens. Otis looks to your hand, then to your face, pulling your arm uncomfortably to make you face him.

"Look at me when I'm talkin' to you."

You look up instantly. His frown is replaced by a soft, manic smile.

"Good, rabbit." He sighs, letting go of your wrist. "You run."

You blink twice, processing his words.

"What?"

He smiles upon hearing your voice. "You heard me."

He leans forward, his breath hot on your cheek.

"Run."

Your legs can't seem to move, and his smile slowly fades as he watches you, frozen in place.

"I said run."

His expression hardens.

"Run, rabbit!" he shouts, taking a step forward.

You instinctively step back, unable to tear your gaze away from his eyes. He follows.

"Y'want me to chase you?" His voice is lower now. "Is that what this is?"

"I-uh..." You stutter out an answer. Unable to, you just shake your head.

"No?" He laughs, but there's no warmth to it. "Then what the hell are you waitin' for?"

Your eyes burn. You hate that he can see that you're about to cry, but he sees it anyway.

His expression changes immediately.

"There you go." He points at your face. "That's what I wanna see."

He reaches out, his thumb catching the tear before it can fall. You recoil, but his hand catches your cheek.

"Don't." The word is quiet, his thumb still pressed against your skin. "Don't waste it."

You stare at him, confusion painted on your face, and he smiles.

"You're gonna need those tears for later, mama." He winks.

Then he nods toward the trees.

"Now, go."

You don't move.

"Go on." His jaw tightens. "Make me want to chase you."

You take one trembling step backward as he watches, his grin returning as one foot falls after the other.

"That's it." Another. "Keep goin'."

That's when you turn and run, hearing Otis shout, "That's my girl!" As the blood pumps in your ears. His laughter follows you into the trees as you run blindly. Branches strike your face, your feet sticking to the leaves. Your lungs burn immediately.

Behind you, beyond the trees, Otis is still standing where he stood before. Then he shouts, "Run!"

You keep going, running deep into the forest, trying to break the line of sight.

"Come on!" His voice is closer now. "Where you goin', rabbit?"

You keep running, hands out to push off trees as you bump into them.

"Help!" The word tears out of you before you can stop it.

His laughter follows, loud.

"There you go!"

You scream again, glancing behind you, unable to catch a glimpse of him.

"Fuck..." you mutter. "Help!"

"Nobody's coming, sweet thing!" His voice is closer now. "Keep screamin'."

You push through more branches, risking another glance over your shoulder. But you see nothing. Only darkness. You turn forward again and keep running.

Otis stops, listening out for your shouts, your footsteps, twigs breaking—any indication as to where you've gone. His grin disappears.

"Rabbit?" he says, pushing through the trees. "Where'd you go?"

Silence follows.

He walks farther, following the trail of footprints in the dirt. Suddenly, they stop.

Otis stares at the ground, his jaw clenching. He looks up.

"C'mon, mama." He huffs. "Thought we was havin' fun."

He kicks through the leaves.

"Where'd you go?"

Silence.

The irritation is unmistakable now. He hates being ignored, hates not knowing. And he especially hates the sudden realization that you're not running anymore.

You don't know how long you've been hiding. Long enough for your breathing to slow, and for the terror in your chest to change into something stranger.

You are crouched behind a fallen log, one hand pressed against your mouth. And you're watching him. Otis, moving through the woods in front of you. Not wandering, but hunting.

He moves differently now, the easy swagger gone. His head keeps twitching toward every little sound, his shoulders tight and tense. Every few steps, he stops completely to listen.

You watch him turn slowly in your direction, your heart leaping into your throat. For one breathless second, you're certain that he's found you.

You press yourself harder against the fallen log, your fingers tightening over your mouth.

Otis stares into the darkness, right at you.

You don't breathe.

His eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer.

Your heart pounds against your ribs.

Then another step.

You can barely contain the strange, breathless excitement building in your chest. He doesn't see you. You know he doesn't, yet he's looking right at you. And somehow that makes it worse—better. You can't decide which.

Otis's head twitches toward a sound somewhere deeper in the woods, and he turns away. A smile threatens the corners of your mouth, but you bite it back.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He should have found you. You should be terrified that he hasn't. Instead, you're watching him. Waiting. Maybe even hoping he'll turn around again.

Otis walks several yards before stopping. He looks around.

"Come on."

His voice carries through the trees.

"Where the fuck are you?"

His shoulders rise with a slow breath, then drop. He kicks at the dirt.

"Thought you was gonna scream."

Your pulse skips as he starts walking again.

"You were doin' so good for me before." He laughs once, a sharp and humourless sound. "Help! Help!" He mimics your voice badly, throwing his head back.

You have to press your fist against your mouth as a tiny laugh threatens to escape.

You watch him pace. He isn't hunting casually anymore. He's searching, his movements quick and twitchy as he pushes branches aside and kicks through the overgrowth of the forest.

The more frustrated he gets, the harder it is not to smile.

You like watching him look for you. Being the reason his patience is wearing thin. You like knowing that he can't figure out where you went. How he longs for you to scream.

Otis suddenly stops. His head turns, straight toward you again.

Your entire body goes rigid. You stare back through the darkness.

His eyes move slowly across the trees, and your heart pounds so loud you're convinced he might hear it.

He starts to walk toward you, and you feel a giddy little rush spread through your chest.

He's getting closer. He's going to find you- you almost want him to. Almost.

Otis stops. He's only a few yards away now. He squints, and you can see his expression changing, a smile curling on his lips.

"You're here."

Your stomach flips.

He doesn't know where, but he knows.

You clamp your hand tighter over your mouth.

Then he laughs quietly. "You're watchin' me, ain't ya?"

His eyes travel across the trees.

"I know you are." He shakes his head, almost amused.

He takes another slow step.

You press yourself farther into the darkness.

Otis lets out another breath through his nose. And somehow, he almost sounds impressed.

"Hell." He looks down at the ground, shaking his head. "You're different, mama."

The words make your stomach flutter.

He looks back up. "Most folks would've run themselves stupid by now."

He gestures toward the woods.

"Screamin', cryin', beggin'."

His gaze sweeps the trees again.

"But not you." He pauses. "You're watchin'."

You swallow.

He seems to enjoy the thought, his shoulders loosening.

"You're clever, mama."

Your pulse jumps at the praise.

He starts walking again. Slowly. Carefully.

"Real clever." He smiles. "You ain't as dumb as you look."

The insult should sting, but instead you smile. It's barely there, just the slightest twitch at the corner of your mouth. But Otis seems to see it- or at least feel it.

"You smilin', ain't you?" His eyes narrow, that crooked grin slowly spreading across his face.

You immediately press your lips together.

Otis laughs.

"Oh, don't do that now." He takes another step. "You think I didn't see it?"

You stay silent.

"You havin' fun?"

Your pulse jumps, your stomach flutters.

"Well, look at you," he says, like he's just discovered something fascinating. He shakes his head, laughing to himself. "Little rabbit's got a mean streak."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

"Don't think I don't like it." He pauses. "I do."

Something warm twists beneath your ribs, and you curse yourself quietly for how much you like hearing him say it.

Otis studies the woods for another moment before slowly turning his head. His attention settles somewhere just beyond you, his expression changed but irritation still twitching beneath his skin.

"You know, mama," he says, his voice carrying easily through the trees, "I was startin' to think you didn't like me."

You swallow, keeping your hand firmly over your mouth.

"All that runnin'..." He gives a quiet laugh. "Then, you go and hide on me."

He takes another step, and you can no longer see him clearly through the trees.

"That's kinda cute."

Your stomach flutters, but you still don't know where he's gone.

A moment ago, you could see the pale blur of his hair between the trunks, but now there is nothing except darkness and the faint rustle of leaves.

You hold your breath, straining to listen, trying to follow the sound of his footsteps, but they seem to come from everywhere all at once.

Then his voice drifts through the trees again.

"You got real brave when you thought I couldn't find ya."

Your fingers curl into the dirt beneath you.

"I like that."

The words are teasing, almost affectionate, and somehow more unsettling than the anger had been.

You hear him moving again, slow and careful. He isn't crashing through the woods anymore. He's taking his sweet time, deliberately making you listen for him, letting you wonder where he is while he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"You know what I think?"

His voice comes from somewhere to your left.

"I think you wanted me to lose you."

Your heart gives a hard, traitorous thump.

"I think you been sittin' comfy this whole time, wantin' me worked up." He laughs. "That's mean, mama."

You can hear the smile in his voice.

"I kinda like mean."

A branch cracks behind you.

You twist around instinctively, but there is nothing there.

"See?" His voice is coming from your right now, your head darting back in that direction. "Look at you."

You press yourself harder against the fallen log, trying to make yourself smaller as the strange excitement building beneath your fear makes it almost impossible to stay still.

You want to see him again, want to know where he is. More than that, you want to know whether he is watching you now.

You glance carefully over your shoulder.

Darkness.

Then you hear him laugh. Almost as though he's right beside you.

"C'mon, clever girl."

Your breath catches, and you turn.

Still nothing there.

You slowly exhale, relief and disappointment arriving together.

Then something catches in your hair.

You gasp as Otis's fist closes around it and yanks you sharply backward, dragging you out from behind the fallen log before you can even turn around.

"Found you, mama."

He sounds delighted. His laughter rumbles beside your ear as you scramble against the leaves, trying to get your hands beneath you. But his grip tightens, and he pulls you toward him with enough force to leave you breathless.

You twist around, and he's there, crouched over you with that awful grin stretched across his face. His pale hair falls messily around his eyes.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You simply look at one another.

Then his eyes narrow.

"You're still smilin'."

Your stomach drops. You hadn't realized, but you were. You try to hide it, but the curve of your mouth had long given you away.

His grin widens as he gives your hair a small tug, just enough to make you look at him again.

"Don't go shy on me now, mama."

Your cheeks burn.

"You're just as fucked up as me."

The words should horrify you, but instead something sparks inside you. You look away, and he catches your chin again, turning your face back toward him.

"No, no." His eyes drag over your face. "I wanna see."

"Wanna see what?" you answer, your voice small from not having talked in a while.

Otis goes still for half a second.

"Wanna see that little look."

"What look?" The words slip out before you can stop them.

His grin becomes enormous.

"The one you got right now." He leans closer. "Like you're wonderin' what I'll do now that I've caught you."

You swallow, and he watches your throat bob.

"You wanna play, don't you, mama?"

Your breath catches, and for one reckless second, you almost say yes. You bite it back, giving him the faintest of smiles.

"Maybe."

Otis stares at you, then laughs; a surprised, almost delighted sound.

"Maybe?" He shakes his head. "Bullshit. Don't give me maybe."

His fingers tighten in your hair, his eyes studying your face, searching for something.

"You were brave enough to hide from me," he pauses, "watch me, smile when I caught you."

He leans closer.

"But now, you're shy?"

You say nothing.

He gives your hair another tug, a small noise escaping your lips involuntarily.

"C'mon." His voice drops into a teasing murmur. "Tell me."

You look up into his eyes, the fear still there—you can't pretend it isn't. But it's tangled up with something else now. Something that lights a fire in the depths of your stomach. You squirm beneath his grasp.

"Tell me you liked it," he says, almost breathless.

You swallow.

"Didn't you, rabbit?"

Your lips part, but no answer comes. Surprisingly, he waits.

"Maybe you're not the rabbit after all."

His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.

"Maybe you're just pretendin'."

Your pulse jumps.

He sees that, too.

"Maybe you wanted me to catch you."

You hesitate.

Otis smiles.

"There's your maybe again."

He gives your chin a gentle tap.

"I'll get a yes outta you eventually, mama."

Then he straightens, looking down at you with that same wild grin.

"And when I do..."

He pauses deliberately.

"...we'll see who's really playin' who."

He wastes no time in pulling the white t-shirt over his head, and you’re thankful to see it gone. It was bad enough that he’d been wearing it for all that time, regardless of the blood stains. You avert your eyes as he strips off his jeans as well.

“Nice tighty-whities,” you mutter.

Simon snorts. “Sorry for putting practicality over fashion.”

“Says the guy putting on a girl’s cardigan to fight monsters.”

“Touché.”

You turn to face the wall, pulling your own shirt over your head, checking your torso quickly for any traces of blood. Finding none, you pull the new t-shirt on.

Out of the corner of your eye, you realize Simon still isn’t making an effort to get dressed. Instead, he’s checking himself out in the mirror, and you can’t tell if he’s goofing off or actually looking for any stains to wash off of his skin.

“You have some blood on your back,” you tell him. “Can’t tell if it’s Sam’s or yours, but better safe than sorry.”

Simon looks in the mirror, tilting his head to catch a glimpse, and furrows his brows. “I don’t see it. Help me out?”

You grab a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them under the sink. “Turn around.”

He does so, and you find the blood in question and wipe it off.

He jumps under the touch. “You couldn’t have used warm water?” he asks, difficult as always.

“I could let this sink run for five minutes and it’d be warm at best,” you reply. “You think this place has the budget for hot water?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so.”

There’s a pause, and you’re still standing behind him, your eyes scanning over the pale expanse of his back, taking in each freckle. His shoulders were pretty nice, actually.

“You know you’ve gotta change your pants, too,” he says.

“Oh, right,” you say, cheeks burning. You go back to the pile of your things. When you look up, he’s watching you. “Am I allowed a little privacy?” you ask.

He smiles. “You could go into the stall.”

You roll your eyes. “Or you could turn around and not be a pervert.”

“Hey, you already saw me in my underwear,” he points out.

You scowl at him, then hook your thumbs into the waist of your pants and pull them down in a quick, fluid motion. You toe off your shoes to take them off entirely, leaving them on the tiled floor. “Happy?” you ask.

His smile fades. “What happened to your thigh?”

You look down and see the injury he’s referring to. Honestly, you’d been so caught up in everything going on, you’d barely noticed the shallow gash in your skin, but now that it was brought to the forefront of your mind, the dull ache began to settle.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “I guess one of those psychos grazed me.”

Simon takes another wad of paper towels. “May I?” he asks.

You nod, and he dampens them under the faucet. “Come put your leg up to the sink.”

You do as he says, wincing at the first contact he makes with it.

“Sorry,” he practically whispers. “I don’t have anything to bandage it up with, but the least we can do is get it clean, okay?”

“Okay.”

His face is close to your bare leg, making goosebumps rise where his nose and lips brush the skin. He’s gentle with you, one hand holding your leg steady while the other dabs at the wound tenderly, and you watch as the red mess slowly begins to clear up, leaving the wound still open but no longer bleeding.

“There, that should be better,” he says. “When we find the others, maybe they’ll have something to patch you up with.”

“Thanks.”

You place both feet back on the ground, standing before Simon, both partially undressed (him more than you) and trying to hide the feelings of terror in both of your chests.

“Do you think Deena and Sam are gonna make up?” you ask. “Oh, I think they’re probably fucking as we speak,” he replies.

You give him a light smack to the back of his head. “You’ve got such a dirty mind.”

“I’m serious! Kate and Josh are probably doing it, too. The whole last-night-on-earth thing gets people horny, don’t you know?”

“Oh, so we’re all gonna be killed by some freaks, so we should be banging?” you ask.

“Are you asking in general, or about us?”

You pause. “Both.”

His cheeks flush pink, and you swear it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him embarrassed. “In general, yeah, I think it’s human instinct to seek out some pleasure before the end. As for us, well...If you’re down, I’m down.”

You stare at him for a second. “Really?”

“Only if you want to, I mean—”

You grab him by the shoulders and kiss him, effectively cutting off his rambling.

In no time, he’s pushed your back against the cool, tiled wall of the bathroom, kissing you back fevertently. You thread your fingers through his blond curls, and he sighs against your lips.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and he brings a hand between your legs, fingers running over your underwear teasing, making you shiver. 

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Yes,” you reply.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says, unable to meet your eye. “But I have a pretty good idea of what to do.”

“Me either,” you tell him. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

He nods and pulls you in for another kiss, this time rubbing you through your panties. You whine softly into his mouth.

“Does that feel good?”

“Try doing it a little gentler—oh, yes, like that…”

You can feel his hard cock against your belly as he reaches his hand down the front of your underwear. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine.”

Carefully, he finds your hole and presses one finger inside, making you clench nervously at first.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Try to relax for me,” he all but coos in your ear, and you do so.

He lets his finger slowly curl and uncurl inside you, stretching you out.

“Do you want to…?” you ask.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says, knowing exactly what you were going to ask.

“Well, if you get me pregnant, we’ll probably be dead before it’s even got arms and legs.”

He chuckles, and you appreciate that he’s able to find humor in the fucked up things, just like you.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He yanks down his underwear, and while you’d teased him about it before, the tight, white fabric didn’t leave much to the imagination. Simon wraps his arms around your waist and hoists you up, bringing you over to the sink and sitting you down on the brim of it.

“There’s no way this thing is gonna hold us,” you say.

“If we break it, we’ll be dead before they make us pay for the damages,” he replies, and you laugh.

He makes quick work of pulling your panties down, and they fall to the floor as he parts your knees. “Please tell me if I hurt you,” he says. “I want it to feel good.”

You nod. “I promise.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing his hips forward. He misses the first time, sort of poking the head of his cock into the crease of your thigh, and you both chuckle awkwardly at the mishap. The second time, he gets closer, but his cock slides upward and between your folds, making your legs jerk in surprise.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The third time, he succeeds, and the initial stretch of his head entering you makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Should I stay still for a sec? Let you adjust?”

You nod, and so he does.

“You can move now.”

Slowly, he rocks his hips forward, and you manage to take more of him. Without you asking, he waits again, letting you get used to the feeling.

Your nails dig into his back. “You can go, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Simon, I’m sure,” you reply.

“Alright, I’m just double-checking!”

He fucks you carefully, his own movements a bit robotic at first, but when you pull him close to lock your lips together once again, he falls into a rhythm, and your ass hurts from sitting on the stupid sink, but he feels so good, his hot breath tickling your neck as he fucks you.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I’m already—”

“It’s fine, don’t apologize. You can come, just try to pull out,” you say.

He nods, and you can see him scrunching up his face, trying to gain some control and keep from cumming. It doesn’t make him last much longer, and he pulls out just in time, and you scoot to the side in a hurry, his come landing in the basin of the sink.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I can try to finger you again, or something.”

You laugh. “Simon, it’s fine. Some dudes would have come just from seeing me in my underwear. It’s fine.”

He nods, and his forehead is slightly sweaty, hair sticking to it, and his cheeks are flushed.

“I feel bad if you die and I didn’t give you an orgasm,” he says.

“Well then let’s both try our hardest not to die, and you can give me one another time. Deal?”

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.