Stockholm
If there was any compensation to her current situation, Quinn could think of none.
The scout lay haphazardly on the stone cold floors, wrists adorned with rusting chains. Her body littered with bruises from an earlier scuffle but gold eyes in a defiant glare at the man in front of her. He stood with such pride, a smirk decorating his sinister features.
Clad in delicate fabric of navy and indigo, he strode towards the beaten girl. Long brown hair framed the sharp angles of his face, an odd charm to please the eyes. He was well-dressed monster, a tyrant with hands so fond of killing.
"How the tables have turned." His deep voice slithers along her skin, causing goosebumps to rise at his tone. He looms over her, a tall man hiding her broken frame from the only light in the room. The shadows on his face made him more malevolent, a creature of the night. Maybe he was; he was acclaimed as a night hunter after all.
The male bent down; his gloved fingers grasping her chin. A sharp color of maroon filled her vision, "How does it feel to be sold off by the family you had sacrificed so much for?" He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing around.
She spat at him, the liquid trailing down his cheek, "Only because you've left them with no choice."
He swiped the spit off with his sleeve, a grimace at the sight of the stain on his clothing. "Oh, truly now." He trailed his leather-clad hand along the smooth column of her neck, bending closer to her. He was so close, her heart thundered in her ears. The gods must truly despise her to bring her in this position.
His lips blew hot air along the shell of her ear, casting shivers along her small body. "You fool yourself so well, girl. You cling to the people who did not think twice on selling you to save themselves." He harshly grabbed what little hair she had, tilting her head upwards. Lips peppered her neck with kisses, nibbling at the flesh as if a familiar territory he ventured.
"Demacians and their illusions, you amuse me so much." He rose up to gaze down at her, his other hand snaked to the chains at her wrist. A gloved thumb caressed at the torn skin, toying whimpers out of her. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."
"I'll never let you have your way, Talon." Her words were laced with vindication as she stared up at him. A growing flame behind the amber irises he was so fond of. "Keep telling yourself that but we know who wins in the end."
His lips crashed upon hers, a searing need in his touch. She knew of his kisses, she'd been on the receiving end of them numerous times. Those were more innocent memories, a life less drenched in conflict. Now she wished only to fight against the restraint, struggle against the man her family sold her to.
His blood boiled with a sense of excitement, her stubborn nature so vibrant despite the disarray in her eyes. He want to devour the soul she hid so well.
How tangible was the taste of poison from her? He bit her lip, tugging on the soft flesh in a taunting manner.
He was a monster.
…
The rouge on her lips paints her cheeks as his hand swiped along the make up. It took his assistants so much effort to doll her up. Hands roved along her body, trailing an unwanted heat into her. He hovered over her with his clothes in disarray. A very rare sight of the Noxian tycoon.
She should run, kick his crotch or blind him with her nails. Anything to free his towering frame over her own. He dove down to her clavicle, nibbling on the thin skin along the bone. A lithe body arched towards him, a silent cry passing over her lips.
What had become of her.
Her hands found the warm skin of his shoulders, fingers dragging along to be tangled in his locks. He chuckled against her chest, chapped lips lapping at the sweat slicked skin of her breast. How far had he unclothed her? She shuddered beneath him, the sensation so foreign to her virgin body.
Errant hands rid her of the expensive blouse he had carefully chosen for the night's event. A little more gold wasted did not matter to him, his eyes were focused on a bountiful sight. He toyed with soft peaks, summoning a delightful cry from the woman beneath him. She was so pliant, so naive.
She willed her mouth close, biting her lips to cease the cries from escaping. She did not want to glorify her captor, to bring fruit any more sinful cries from her traitorous mouth. Foolish, she was foolish to accept his whims. Dress up for a concert at the little opera? She had known his plans; foolish Demacian, she waltzed right into his hands.
He lapped at the buds, encasing one into his warm mouth. His hands continued to undo her clothing, sliding the black sheer skirt he had told her to wear. He found warmed skin, dragging his blunt nails along her thighs. A low hum against her breast, appreciating the fabric of the undergarments she wore. She'd have to raise the salary of the maids for their insight.
His searing lips trailed up, leaving soft marks along her skin in their ascent. She watched him, unsure of what to do as her hands slid down his arms. His own shirt had come undone and the male casually tossed it away. She had never seen him bare; golden eyes drank his scar-riddled body. He arched a brow, "Pleased with what you see?"
She turned her gaze elsewhere,yet a harsh blush painted her cheeks crimson. A chuckle erupted from the man above her, taking hold of her chin to guide her eyes back to him. "No need to be bashful, girl. Watch me, crave me, that's what drives us both right now, isn't it?" He crashed his lips against hers, smothering her with his searing kisses. He drank all of her, claimed each moan she emitted. His hands caressed the roundness of her breasts, teasing her nipples in amusement.
She was putty in his hands, soft cries muffled by his lips. He was greedy, this Talon. He bit her lip, tugging the soft flesh to bring her out of the haze. It cleared her thoughts, and she saw the monster above her. He tugged once more before releasing his hold on the Demacian.
"Now, scout, tell me. " His hand caressed the soft fabric of her undergarment, "how it feels."
She shuddered beneath him, both in fear and in anticipation.
…
He drove her crazy.
Pressed against the wall, she cried out in surprise. He had pushed her against the wall to avoid the rain of bullets that Sara Fortune had aimed at them. Insolent woman had never gotten her share of the bargain, it didn't perturb him. With the finesse of his former life, Talon made quick work of the armed intruder.
His footmen had stormed into the room a little too late and profusely apologized at their shortcoming. The tycoon had backhanded the man in fury, incompetent fools. They quickly dragged the cadaver away, ogling at the sight of the breasts the woman had. He had no time to salivate at a corpse and dragged the Demacian to his room.
Frustration coursed in his veins, a rival had entered his home and nearly killed him. It infuriated him, the thought of being the victim in his stronghold. He chugged the leftover whiskey from morning, before he assessed himself.
Blood decorated his expensive clothing, tainting him in the familiar color of an assassin. He undid his tie and threw his coat at the carpet, ignoring the possible stains on the expensive floor mat. His crimson-hazed gaze went to his only companion in the room. She was stunned where he left her by the door. Afraid? She should be, he was in a high.
No, no, this would not do. He stalked towards her, his metal-heeled shoes clacking on the hardwood flooring. She backed away from him, looking for openings to run away but she knew she could never outrun him. He knew the layout of the mansion far too much, she had done it before.
Calloused fingers grabbed her wrist and flipped her around, pinning her against the hard oak of the walls. A soft please escaped her lips, his head leaning on her shoulder. She pushed against him but he wrapped his arms around her, pushing them further against the wall.
"Talon."
"Hush." His hands slinked under the fabric of her clothing. She gasped at their intrusion but said nothing more. She feared for him, the madness at his high. Lips pressed against her nape as hands found the familiar fabric of her undergarments,
"No one can have you." He muttered against her skin while his fingers made quick work of the lace ribbons of her skirt.
He was mad.
Mad with agony.
Mad with blood.
Mad with her.
…
She stood outside his bedroom door, the golden knob in front of her. She was hesitant; asking the question over and over in her head. His cries were loud, traveling along the hallways towards her room. These night terrors were more frequent now. He hardly had the healthy pallor nor the smug aura that he used to have.
His cries were unending, troubling her in the dead of night. What should she do? Her small hands reached for the metal object as another wave of cries escape the confinement of his room. He was a monster. Why was she sympathizing with such a man?
She pressed her forehead against the mahogany barrier, berating with herself at the gains this little trip could bring her. None. She found no merit to see to him but she could not leave him to bare the night alone. He pulled her to his whim so easily, it was already ingrained into her. A second nature, a hard earned trait.
With little else to spare as excuses, she gripped the knob and entered his room. The bed was a mess of sheets and screams from a broken man. Her padded steps never roused him from his sleep, as he tangled deeper in his blankets. Her eyes found him, a man drenched in murder and regret. Wayward hands clawed at his arms, drops of crimson on the pristine white cloth.
She reached out to him, "Ta-"
It was quick, as he usually was. His hands wrapped themselves around her neck, turning the tables around. Delirious and smothered in his sin, he pulled her down to his bed. She panicked, small hands clasped around his own as he slowly wrung the life out of her. Trapped and scared was she, like a prey to a hunter.
"Talon." She choked out the name, it was so familiar on her lips now. She rubbed the skin of his wrist, just like how he did when they first met.
It was enough to rouse the man from the nightmares. His hold slackened, his eyes finally seeing reason. The tycoon was stunned, sepia eyes focused on the woman beneath him. What had he done? He cupped her cheek as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He had almost killed her.
"Quinn." His voice was hoarse, chock full of emotion.
Slowly, he lowered himself, cradling her body against his. He was a broken selfish man.
He had only her.
She wrapped her own arms around him, pressing a soft kiss upon his temple. What was this emotion that constantly calls her to him? She could never tell, never was an adept at the right words. She let out a soft sigh, letting the oblivion around lull them to a dreamless sleep.
Author's Note:
Edit: Ironed out the typos.
I got bored and I am at a writer's block for the next chapter of Tainted Wings. I just really need to get the groove back before I can write. Anyways, here's an output I got from being bored.
I've actually been wanting to write Yandere!Talon. I also wanted to experiment a smutty story with psychological elements like how individuals incur Stockholm/Helsinki Syndrome and the Lima Syndrome.
Maybe some of you will find this as an excuse to write smut, probably. I actually had smut written somewhere in my laptop but I hope this is all right. A song actually got me to writing this (as well as watching Mukuro): Le Bien Qui Fait Mal (The Good Thing That Hurts) by Mozart l'Opéra Rock.
Let me know how you felt with this drabble! Thanks for reading.