spicysinnamon

[spicysinnamon]

It happens so quickly. In a flash, Willy snatches up your wrists and pins them above your head, your joints crying out in pain and protest as they stretch, your skin almost sizzling as an invisible magic wraps around your skin. You try to wriggle out of it - Ethereal Chains have rarely stopped you before, but the second you free your wrists, Willy has them entangled in his belt. The edges dig into you without remorse. 

“Good,” he growls. “Live with that fear for a while. You’ll need it after I’m done with you.” 

It stings when he yanks the belt tight around your wrists. You whimper, softly, and gasp when he pries your legs apart. Before you can react, he settles between your thighs, a slight haze of pleasure veiling his eyes from complete comprehension. One of his hands slips under your shirt and skates the length of your torso, squeezing wherever he pleases, callused fingers breezing over your skin. They're taunting, foreboding; you shiver under his touch and pray to your god - him - that he'll be gentle. Just this once.

Willy whips out the same blade he used for your blood pact.

You yelp in shock and instinctively bring your knees to your chest, hands clawing at your bindings in a vain effort to escape. 

"Will you stop that?" Willy snaps. "It's not gonna hurt." The knife dips under your shirt, cold steel pressed to your skin, flat side down. He watches your erratic breathing, basking in the whimpers of your fear and finding himself harder at the sight of your watery eyes. "See?" He leans over you. "It doesn't hurt." 

You feel the sharp edge teasingly tilt against your body, your shock apparent in your gasps and whispered pleas.

"Unless you move," Willy says idly. "Then it'll probably hurt."

The dagger yields, pulling away from your skin to cut away at the fabric of your top with terrifying precision. Your throat runs dry as he inches up the length of your body, threads fraying wildly until he reaches the collar of your shirt. The tip of the knife whispers against your chin, and you twitch.

"Oh, careful," he sneers in a tease. "You'll get yourself hurt, and we wouldn't want that," the flat side tilts your chin upward as sweat drips down your cheeks, fresh tears springing to the surface, "would we?"

"No sir," you whisper through a pathetic whimper. "I don't want to get hurt–!"

It's not Willy pressing down on your neck. No rope or collar or chain squeezing at your throat. No weaponry slicing the pained, taut screech emanating from your person. 

"Don't fuckin' lie to me, y/n."

Willy casually resumes tearing off your sleeves. "You signed that blood pact less than, what, five minutes ago?" He stares into your eyes as he shreds the other sleeve before flicking his wrist to the right, the dagger lodging itself into the wall without his gaze lifting from yours. "Are you that fucking slow?"

You shut your eyes and shake your head, stifling a gasp as he swipes your ruined top off and away.

"Look at me," he orders.

Just as your eyes start to flutter open, Willy snatches a fistful of your hair and gives it a sharp yank. You're nothing but a creature on a leash. A piece of property to be owned, and kept, and maybe, if you're lucky, touched and fondled and toyed with. 

"Fucking LOOK AT ME when I'm talking to you!"

"Yes sir, sorry, I'm sorry!"

"You gonna come clean about that dirty little lie you tried to tell?"

You nod, powerless to keep his nails from digging into your scalp as his grip crawls upward. "I'm sorry, sir. I tried to lie about… not liking some of the pain, because…"

"Because what, y/n?" Willy tugs your face closer to his, your wrists crying out in pain as they pull against their makeshift chain. "Because you don't wanna admit that you're not the innocent, wide-eyed little thing you pretend to be?" His lips dip down to your ear. "Is it embarrassing to admit that you're just a pathetic little painslut who wants to be treated like trash?" He growls against your skin as he speaks. "You want me to throw you around so you can beg me to stop?" His teeth teasingly graze your earlobe, and you could swear you can feel the smirk forming on his face, his breath hot against your neck. "You wanna scream and cry until you can barely breathe, don't you?"

You nod, pride be damned. "Yes sir."

A laugh rumbles in Willy's throat, his lips pressed to your neck so his front teeth can nip at your flesh. "Look at you, finally following directions." His short, bristly beard tickles your face, and you do your goddamned best to swallow the accompanying giggle. "Maybe you're not a lost cause."

In the blink of an eye, a sickeningly quick tear sends shivers up your arms and legs as Willy discards the rest of what little clothing you had left. Surprisingly, the belt binding your wrists follows suit. Branded with a loop of red lines and indents, burning, stinging with relief.

"Go on then," he sits up and stiffly gestures at you with a tilt of his chin. 

You take a deep breath as a familiar, tantalizing heat builds in your core. You see the way he's taking in every inch of your naked body, top to bottom, like you're some amateur sculpture waiting to be broken and remade. The thought makes you dizzy. Hazy. Greedy, almost. Your hips fight to stay still. "Could… um, master? Could you please elaborate what it is you want me to do?"

"Show me how someone like you gets off." The words casually roll off his tongue. "I want to see how someone this weak and desperate touches themselves when they think no one's watching."

[spicysinnamon]

"Please don't do this," you whisper tautly. "Please, I…" You shuffle backwards, arms almost buckling underneath the weight of reality as Willy crawls toward you. "I-I don't…"

"I don't give a damn what you want."

"I mean I… I haven't… It's…"

Oh, this is too good. Your smart mouth got you into sooo much unintentional trouble. Willy lets the grin slowly form, smug and teasing as he pulls out the veil of love to cover up his words. "Oh, oh dear, you poor little thing. Are you scared?" He stalks closer and juts out for your wrist before you can think to move. "Is my timid little cleric still a virgin, is that it?" He clicks his tongue. "And you're how old again?"

"I-I'm 28, sir, I…"

"You're 28 and haven't been fucked yet?" Willy starts to chuckle under his breath, cradling your chin in his hand so you can watch the smile fade to stern annoyance. "This might be less embarrassing for you if you had just kept quiet. I could have made your first time a good one. All gentle and slow and shit like that. But now?" Willy spits in your face. "You'll take everything I give you and thank me for it."

"Yes sir, thank you sir, I'm so sorry sir. Please be… please be gentle– ow!" A sharp sting pulses through your chest as Willy pinches one of your nipples without remorse. "Ow, oww okay, I'm sorry master, I'm so sorry!" 

Willy scowls, disappointment looming overhead. "This is gentle. This," he twists and pulls on the other nipple, "is what self-control looks like.” Your stomach flutters with fire and fear when he glares. “Go ahead. Try me. You’ll be begging for me to be gentle after I show you what ‘rough’ looks like.” 

It's on instinct, you figure. You're hardwired to yelp in pain and beg him to let go. You're programmed to run or hide from the agony blossoming in your chest. You swear it's on instinct when your free hand starts to emit a weak aura of light right before you slap Willy across the face.

Time stops. Slows dramatically to the point where you can make out every shift in his demeanor. His eyes widen in indignation, lips set into an intimidating sneer, but he doesn't lunge for you. He hovers over you, breathing slow and heavy.

[spicysinnamon]

“This is not,” Constance grunts under Willy’s weight, “why I came back, you know.” 

Willy grabs Constance’s hair and yanks her head up, craning her neck so she can lock eyes with herself. Christ, she’s never wanted to break a mirror more than she has now, and Willy sees it in the way she tries to dodge her own gaze in favor of his own. He grins, sadism still plenty intact after all these years. “When have I ever given a damn what you want?” 

Never, of course, and that much should be obvious. Constance grits her teeth as Willy’s hips hit her without remorse, swallowing a moan and hoping her pride doesn’t follow suit. 

“You’re losing your edge.” Constance turns her head only for Willy to thrust her face into the mattress. She grunts softly and doesn’t try to hide the shiteating laugh singing in her throat. “Has your wife really made you this soft?” 

“You shut your fucking mouth,” Willy growls into her ear, his breath hot against her neck.

“Aw, did you fall in love?” 

A loud slap resounds through the bedroom. In the blink of an eye, Constance is on her back, cheek already glowing an enraged red where Willy’s palm made contact. There’s no protecting her ego after that; she moans without restraint, loud enough to the point where Willy claps a hand over her mouth and stares daggers at her. 

“What,” he squeezes her face, “did I just say,” his voice drops to a rough whisper, “about keeping your fucking mouth shut.” 

Ah, there’s the Willy she remembers. Older - much older, certainly - but still the heartless bitch he was decades ago. Her lips turn into a smirk against his hand, a taunting giggle following suit as Willy straddles her, weight on her wet thighs. Even though she can’t speak, her eyes speak volumes. 

You’re so fucking easy, Willy. 

“She serves a purpose,” Willy spits. “Just like you do.” Cassandra’s the shield, and Constance the sword. Knife, rather, but her sharps are completely out of view, and Willy’s not the kind of person to arm a foe. “And I’m getting the sense that you, Constance, need to be reminded of your place.” 

At his feet. On her knees. Under his body. Any of those would fly with her; in fact, she welcomes them. 

The mirror, however, is not what she wants to see.

“What’s the matter?” He taunts as she dodges her own eyes. “Can the Red Coat Killer not look herself in the eye?” Willy’s smirk drips with malice, voice perfectly tormenting. “Don’t tell me you regret what you’ve done,” he coos. “Poor pathetic little thing.” 

Constance clenches around his dick, relieved to feel the pain as he ‘accidentally on purpose’ hits her cervix. A wave of wicked pleasure swirls in her torso. One of Willy’s hands has dedicated its life to holding her head in place, tautly, finger and bone digging into her scalp and cheek, a bruise already kissing her skin. Her hips try, clumsily, to keep time. She needs this. She’s needed this. 

There’s not a chance in hell she’ll say she missed it, but she’s thought about it. Ten years left to her own devices, ten years waiting to see his name hit society in a blaze of glory. Ten years wanting to see him blossom into the godlike creature she expects him to be, all of it to come crashing down from underneath her feet. 

“I think,” Willy grins, breathing heavily as his eyes threaten to roll back in pleasure, “the only thing more embarrassing than falling in love,” a pleased grunt rips through his throat, “is regret.” 

“We have that in common,” she hisses, breath hitching as she suppresses another moan. “Now either fuck me like you mean it, or let me go. I’ll find someone who–!” Constance cries out, ecstasy rising when she sees how fucking small she looks underneath Willy. How sad and powerless she finally looks. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…hah…” 

“Look at you,” Willy teases and shoves her head down further. Demanding attention on her squirming, writhing body. The sweat on her brow, the drool at the corner of her lips, the fiery antagonistic red in her skin as her eyes weaken. “You’re such a slut for pain. How embarrassing. You can hardly keep your eyes open.” 

Constance can only moan, shamelessly, airy; needy. 

Willy brings his face down to hers, whispering into her ear. “You take my cock better than I remember.” Another thrust against her g-spot. “Cassandra would be a fucking wreck by now.” Another. A second. A third. Constance matches each with a heavy breath, a moan, a mumbled curse. “You can’t keep up with me. You’re gonna fucking break any second.” 

She tries to nod. 

“Open your fucking eyes.” Willy spits. “I want you to see how easily you fall apart.” 

“Yes sir,” she whispers in a haze of pleasure. “Oh fuck, oh god…!” Constance bites her tongue when Willy brushes a finger over her clit, his touch disturbingly light. Tauntingly so, she figures; see how easily she can crumble underneath a feather-soft touch. A veil of hedonism covers her face, expressions contorting into ugly grimaces and pleading twitches. 

“You gonna remember your fucking place?” 

“Yes sir,” she whispers. “Fuck, yes, I-I will, I, you’re, fuck…!” 

“What was it you called me all those years ago?” 

“You’re godlike, sir. More than before, just…! Fuck! Please!” 

Willy revels in the way she wriggles under his touch, drunk on the sadism when she groans, when the tears start to form in her eyes. “Hold it,” he demands. His fingers are relentless against her clit, rubbing harsh circles until she’s thrashing about and begging for release. “You’re not this fucking easy, are you?” 

“N-no, no no, no I’m, I’m not, I…” She starts to unravel in front of her reflection. The pain in her clit is impossible to ignore; he grinds and pinches and has her slack-jawed and hazy-gazed, and she fucking despises it. This isn’t her. She’s not easy. She’s not a slut. And she’s not fucking afraid of Willy Stampler. But right now? She wishes they were fucking in front of a funhouse mirror. Plausible deniability, denied. “I’m not–!” 

“You’re not what, Constance. Not easy? Not a needy slut who can’t live without my cock?” He chuckles darkly into her ear. “Not afraid of what I could do to you?” 

She’s seen his power. Ever since murdering that man, Constance has watched him through the doodler’s own eyes. Willy knew magic she’d never imagined. Killed without remorse just as she imagined, but with weaponry and tricks she didn’t expect. A hardened sense of pride. A manipulative cadence always in his voice. The air about him is enough to have everyone cower in fear. Everyone but her, she figured. 

And she was wrong. 

Willy became more than the god she expected him to be. She fears him. Can’t trust him. Walks a fine line between life and death as they work together to achieve his one and only goal. Constance lives in a state of awe and horror, and she fucking loves it. 

“Please, sir, can I, I’m–!” 

“Aw, are you close?” Willy bites at her neck, nibbles at her ear, grips her with an obscene amount of strength in just the way she likes and more than she expects– “That’s too bad.” 

With a feigned frown, Willy harshly pulls out of her. 

“Fuck!” She shouts and starts to whine, moaning in complaint. “Wh, why are you, what the fuck, Willy?!” 

Willy grabs her by the shoulders, skin damp and hot as he forces her onto her ass, his hand now at her throat. She stares at him, his reflection, the way he’s lording over her because he knows full fucking well that he’s more than she expected. 

“You said you wanted to chase after a god,” he says in a low, threatening voice. “Keep up.” 

“Yes sir,” she whispers. Constance nods and watches the way her joints seem to stiffen under his touch. The way she almost twitches away when he tortures her with an uncharacteristic kiss to the back of her head. “I understand.” 

“Have you figured out how things’re gonna work around here?” 

“I follow your instructions and offer minimal advice.” 

“And?” 

Constance breathes. Smiles. Starts to giggle. Laughs. “You’re gonna do this to me at least nine more times, aren’t you?” 

Willy smirks. “You doubted me for ten years. You have a debt to repay.” 

Of course she sees the cuff in his hand. A single brace with words she can’t quite make out, because he knows to tilt it out of sight. Show only what you can’t avoid. He’s learning. He’s learned. He’s terrifying. 

She fucking loves it. 

The metal’s welcomingly cold against her wrist. 

“You’ve seen these before?” 

“I have.” 

Willy chuckles. “Then you know the jist of it.” 

Constance falls back into his chest, rolling her eyes behind closed lids and living for the way he could choke her dead right now. “I know mine’s different.” 

“Well yeah, no shit.” Willy twists and cracks his neck, stretching casually just as any other god would. “I don’t need to ask you to stick to plans.” 

“You just need to make sure I don’t come.” 

“You already know your place,” he murmurs against the back of her head. “This is just a little reminder.” 

“Yes sir.” Constance swallows an excited smile and flops onto her side, her naked body bouncing in what she assumes to be Cassandra’s side of the bed. She hates that she loves how that feels. “Do you deny your wife as much as you do me?” 

Willy chuckles under his breath, collecting his clothes and scowling when he sees the tear Constance put in his collar. “Oh no, Cassandra comes every time.” 

“You want me to be jealous.” 

“Must be one of the few things you can feel.” Willy slips a different shirt on, eyeing the messy scattered remnants of Constance’s outfit. “The shrinks sure seem to think so.” 

Constance shakes her head and pulls a pillow over her chest. It smells nothing like Willy. Good. Cassandra can have her questions. “The same people also think I hung myself out of guilt.” 

Willy shakes his head, recalling her full letter word for word, and already feels an indignant rage rising to his chest. 

Can’t say I’m not disappointed. How embarrassing. 

Constance Sullivan 

“Anyone ever figure out who that note was for?” She asks through a lazy smirk. “Aside from you, of course.” 

“Killing yourself to make a point is easily the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Well, thanks to your doodler friend, I’m back. Both of us win.” 

They make eye contact, Willy threateningly, Constance tauntingly. The same dynamic way back when, but real. The fear is real for her. The power is real for him. He can do this. He can be the unkillable god he knows he is. 

“Don’t expect me to keep you around after this is done,” Willy sneers, but the edge is missing. 

“I fully expect you to kill me. And you’ll be happy to know,” she grins, “I’m just as excited as I am scared.” 

Willy watches her for a moment, briefly entertains the idea of her by his side, and scoffs through a smirk. 

“Good.” 

She might not feel jealousy, but she finally feels fear, and it’s fucking delicious. 

[spicysinnamon]

18+ / minors DNI

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