#Tri COunty Eye

[nolanhattrick]

irl hockey so much cooler than tv hockey. do not know how i'm going to survive without seeing my blorbos in person knowing that they also that and that i can also go and see them do it. illegal. i need to move to toronto or vancouver immediately. fuck. what the fuck. fuck.

[lost-cause240]

[tricountyanimal]

Recognizing Early Signs of Canine Distemper in Dogs

Canine Distemper is a serious and often fatal disease that affects dogs worldwide. Caused by the Canine Distemper Virus (CDV), this highly contagious disease can spread rapidly among unvaccinated dogs, leading to severe health complications. Recognizing the early signs of Canine Distemper Disease is crucial for ensuring prompt veterinary care and improving the chances of recovery.

What is Canine Distemper?

Canine Distemper is a viral disease that affects a dog’s respiratory, gastrointestinal, and nervous systems. The virus is primarily spread through airborne exposure (e.g., sneezing or coughing) and direct contact with infected animals or contaminated objects. Puppies and unvaccinated dogs are especially vulnerable to the disease.

Early Signs of Canine Distemper

Early detection of Canine Distemper can make a significant difference in the outcome for your dog. Here are some of the initial signs to watch for:

Fever: One of the first signs of Canine Distemper is a sudden onset of fever. This initial fever may be mild and go unnoticed, but it can return with greater intensity. Monitoring your dog’s temperature regularly can help detect this early sign.

Eye Discharge: Clear or watery discharge from the eyes is another common early symptom. This discharge can quickly become thick, yellow, and crusty as the disease progresses. Your dog’s eyes may also appear red and swollen.

Nasal Discharge: Similar to the eye discharge, dogs with Canine Distemper may develop a runny nose. This nasal discharge may start as clear but can become thick and pus-like, indicating an infection.

Coughing and Sneezing: The Canine Distemper Virus often affects the respiratory system, leading to coughing, sneezing, and difficulty breathing. These symptoms can be mistaken for kennel cough or other respiratory infections, so it’s important to seek veterinary advice if they persist.

Lethargy: Dogs in the early stages of Canine Distemper often exhibit signs of lethargy and depression. If your dog seems unusually tired, uninterested in activities, or is sleeping more than usual, it could be an early indication of the disease.

Loss of Appetite: A decrease in appetite or refusal to eat is a common early symptom. Dogs with Canine Distemper may also experience weight loss due to their reduced food intake.

Vomiting and Diarrhea: Gastrointestinal symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea can occur in the early stages. These symptoms can lead to dehydration, so it’s important to ensure your dog stays hydrated and seek veterinary care promptly.

Hardening of Paw Pads and Nose: In some cases, dogs with Canine Distemper develop a condition known as hyperkeratosis, which causes the paw pads and nose to harden and thicken. This is a more advanced sign but can occur early in the disease’s progression.

What to Do if You Suspect Canine Distemper

If you notice any of these early signs of Canine Distemper in your dog, it is crucial to seek veterinary care immediately. Early intervention can make a significant difference in the prognosis and treatment outcomes. Tri-County Animal Hospital offers comprehensive diagnostic and treatment services to manage Canine Distemper Disease effectively.

Diagnosing Canine Distemper

Veterinarians diagnose Canine Distemper through a combination of clinical signs, medical history, and laboratory tests. Blood tests, polymerase chain reaction (PCR) tests, and antibody tests are commonly used to confirm the presence of the Canine Distemper Virus. Prompt and accurate diagnosis is essential for initiating appropriate treatment and care.

Preventing Canine Distemper

The best way to protect your dog from Canine Distemper is through vaccination. Puppies should receive their first distemper vaccine at six to eight weeks of age, followed by booster shots every three to four weeks until they are 16 weeks old. Adult dogs should receive regular booster shots as recommended by their veterinarian. Tri-County Animal Hospital can provide guidance on an appropriate vaccination schedule for your dog.

Conclusion

Recognizing the early signs of Canine Distemper in dogs is vital for ensuring timely and effective treatment. If you notice any symptoms such as fever, eye or nasal discharge, coughing, lethargy, loss of appetite, vomiting, diarrhea, or hardening of the paw pads and nose, seek veterinary care immediately. Early diagnosis and intervention, along with preventive measures like vaccination, are key to protecting your dog from this serious disease. For expert care and advice on Canine Distemper, contact Tri-County Animal Hospital today to schedule an appointment.

[foldingfittedsheets]

The dog I think of as My Dog was picked up from the shelter when I was about 16 and he was six months old. He was a cattle dog mix, which at the time was really uncommon in our area.

We were only getting a dog because my mom was worried about home invaders which was a bit insane as we were out in the country and we’d left our German Shepherd down in Arizona with my dad for complicated reasons.

I turned the corner and saw him. Instant connection. He was curled up dozing, all blue and white freckles with red ears and feeties. His clipboard said “SLY” in huge red letters. I called it softly and he opened his eyes, ears perking. He roused to sleepily amble toward me, lick my fingers, then go lay back down.

My mom joined me in dismay, seeing the love dripping off of me. She hadn’t wanted a puppy but it was clear which dog we were going home with.

Sly was a monstrous puppy. Fans of cattle dogs will be unsurprised to learn he was exceedingly clever, mischievous and Bored a Lot. It turned out his name hadn’t been Sly. It was Billy. But I think we all know why a huge red warning had been applied to his kennel. We named him Sly anyway.

My mom doesn’t remember threatening in earnest to bring him back but it happened. Sly loved to chew. He had no interest in fetch or most toys but he adored chewing. I lost headphones, backpack straps, and pillows to his voracious teething. We tried to dissuade him. He just learned to chew when we weren’t looking. Then one day, clever but not smart, he set his teeth to a plugged in cord and electrocuted himself. He was fine, just really startled!

Thus ended the chewing, forever.

He wouldn’t even pick up toys. He was fully convinced having things in his mouth was only a matter of time before they turned on him. He’d run after a ball at dog parks, grab it in the euphoria of the chase, then immediately spit it out.

He was still a lot of dog and my moms rumblings about his poor behavior led me to join 4H with him. My friend Lia was in with her spaniels so I had an in. We did twice weekly training in obedience and showmanship.

That was it. Sly transformed into the best dog. From a bored unmanageable puppy he became a partner, ready to work on whatever we needed to work on. He learned buckets of commands, eager to please. Sit, down, wait, stand, front, back up, shake, roll, heel. The only thing we could never convince him to do was speak. His bark was reserved for Danger.

We went to compete in the county fair together, entering obedience trials and dog show portions.

The instructions are clearly stated before obedience testing. A dog must stay sitting for two minutes when told to stay, and three minutes for laying down. If our dog broke we were not supposed to speak to reissue commands, simply wait quietly.

It was us in a line with five other dogs. He passed the sitting part just fine. The down one was longer and a wretched golden retriever broke. But then his trainer pulled out a ball and started trying to redirect him with it. The other dogs watched with interest but stayed down. Sly started up. He desperately wanted to herd the golden back into place.

With elbows off the ground he froze, realizing his mistake. His head whipped to me. In silence, I swept my arm down in the nonverbal command for down. He dropped obediently and watched me fixedly for the rest of the time. I think he could feel my disappointment.

We failed.

But the judge came up to us afterward as I was petting him and said, “I was so impressed your dog knows nonverbal commands, and that other dog was so distracting! Let’s retest with the next batch.”

I was thrilled and Sly was steadfast, staring unblinkly at me for the full three minutes with utter determination. He won blue ribbons in obedience and got later best in breed since there was no other cattle dogs.

[roanofarcc]

WORTH YOUR WHILE

pairing. Tyler Owens x fem!reader

summary. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom. 

warnings. dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornados, a curse word or two, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info.

word count. 2.9k || masterlist

a/n. hopping on the glen powell bandwagon bc he and daisy absolutely killed it in twisters!! feel free to send me requests for tyler, kate, and javi!

“If you keep looking at him like that your face will get stuck in a scowl, which is really bad for television,” your friend said, leaning into your side. With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull your attention away from the self-titled ‘tornado wrangler’ who had stirred up a fuss in the line for funnel cakes. People buzzed all around him as he signed shirts and took photos, never dropping his smile that you often dreamed about smacking right off of his face. 

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them. 

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair. 

“Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them. 

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.” 

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.” 

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences. 

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night. 

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. 

“Do what?” 

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you. 

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos. 

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds. 

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet. 

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people. 

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!” 

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?” 

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it. 

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes. 

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter. 

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast. 

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing. 

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk. 

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion. 

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run. 

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound. 

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?” 

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up. 

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders. 

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow. 

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey. 

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir. 

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances. 

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces. 

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you. 

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly. 

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap. 

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?” 

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.” 

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.” 

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.” 

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.” 

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home. 

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him. 

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest. 

Bonus! 

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt. 

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased. 

“What I can say,” Tyler said on the other line. “I know when I find something worth my while.” 

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language

masterlist

-

He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.  

At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home. 

But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John. 

Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.

“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt. 

John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself. 

The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain. 

“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”

The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers. 

When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone. 

Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage. 

The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit. 

“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”

The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff. 

Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.

“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty. 

Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that. 

“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak. 

And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back. 

He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”

John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus. 

Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves. 

“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “‘Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”

“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”

The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that. 

John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens. 

The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots. 

You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty. 

Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground. 

A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading. 

You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed. 

“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away. 

The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants. 

A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height. 

Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups. 

The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around. 

The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed. 

You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself. 

Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.

Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes. 

In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves. 

You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench. 

“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before. 

Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again. 

“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood. 

You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath. 

The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.

“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest. 

The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.

When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it. 

John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod. 

“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.  

Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second. 

His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”

Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls. 

Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world. 

You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse. 

“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass. 

John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him. 

“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.

John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground. 

With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall. 

Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.

You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth. 

The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle. 

More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line. 

“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear. 

“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”

Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”

So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life. 

And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave. 

Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.

“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”

You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point. 

John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me. 

He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death. 

Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds. 

There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.

You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words. 

These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.

Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him. 

John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”

Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.

[sugugasm]

୨୧ ˗ˏˋ OTAKU HOT GIRL ! | suguru & satoru x yn “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass.” ꒰ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ! ꒱ this is me being delusional srry, but thinkin ab gojo & geto fucking tall, curvy! reader after she begs them to watch her favorite anime with her . . like ugh rn. also forgive me if this is pure degeneracy. i was bein a horn dog n’ there’s no plot rlly :/ inspired by the one n only stallion ofc, we luv u mama

꒰ 𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 ꒱ : blk fem reader, uses she/her pronouns, usage of pet names like cocksleeve, love, baby, babe, sweetheart, etc. positions included such as doggystyle, double pen, themes such as choking, bratty reader, dom! satoru & suguru, rough sex ??, oral fem recieve, oral male receive, dirty talk, mentions of a size kink, lots n lots of cum, mmm yum so gross — 5.3𝑲 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕

“hurry up, boys! m’ gonna’ be mad if you miss the intro. it ruins the whole experience of watching for the first time!”

“we’re comin’, woman. calm down.”

both satoru and suguru scurry around in your shared kitchen, gathering the rest of whatever horrid snack combinations they could find before jogging lightly to make their way over to you on the couch. with your feet positioned criss-crossed n’ a warm bowl of popcorn sizzling down in your lap, the only thing really missing were the two imbeciles of men you mistakenly decided to roommate with around a year or two ago.

you roll your eyes fondly as satoru and suguru finally plop down on either side of you, their arms laden with an assortment of junk food. satoru’s got a family-sized bag of cool ranch doritos tucked under one arm and a jar of peanut butter in the other hand, while suguru’s juggling a pack of oreos, a can of whipped cream, and what looks suspiciously like . . ew, a jar of pickles. what?

“are y’all for real right now?” you laugh, eyeing their haul with a mix of amusement and disgust. “ we’re about to watch anime, not enter a county fair eating contest.”

“hey, don't knock it til’ you’ve tried it,” satoru grins, ripping open the doritos and the peanut butter simultaneously. his gaze dips briefly to your chest, taking in the way your soft pink lace cami clings to your curves. “besides, we’ve gotta’ fuel up. you said this show is, and i quote, ‘a cultural reset that will redefine our understanding of feminism and body positivity in media.’ i don’t know man, that sounds intense.”

suguru snorts, unscrewing the oreo package. his eyes briefly lingering on the bare expanse of your thighs, the flimsy matching shorts riding high as you curl your legs underneath you. “pretty sure she just meant it’s got a lot of ass shakin’ and women empowerment. still, sounds pretty lovely.”

you chuck a kernel of popcorn at his head, giggling when it bounces off his nose. “excuse you, that’s a very tiny observation of ‘megan - sama : twerk hero for a new generation.’ s’ a journey of a woman’s adventure to self-love and confidence in a world that constantly tries to tear her down. she uses her sexuality as a form of power. she like, challenges the male gaze and double standards with, well . . every clap of her ass.”

satoru blinks at you, a glob of peanut butter sliding off the dorito he’s holding halfway to his mouth. “that . . was surprisingly deep, yn.”

“mmm, that's our girl,” suguru says proudly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. his fingers skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “beautiful, brilliant, and able to find meaning in the most unlikely places. like a twerking anime.”

you elbow him playfully in the ribs, warmth blooming in your chest at the casual praise even as heat prickles across your skin at the contact. “you’re jokin’ but m’ serious,” you whine, “it celebrates a body type that’s so often shamed and or fetishized, like i dunno’ . . she faces some of the worst - but she never gives up, and that self-love is what ultimately gives her the strength to change the world around her in the end . .” you keep gushing, waxing poetic about megan’s badassery and the show’s powerful message. the boys listen attentively, nodding along, but you don't miss the way their gazes keep drifting south, tracing your figure with barely-concealed appreciation.

you hated to go on your fourth tangent of the week right now, but god, representation really did matter. it was practically rare to see your body type in entertainment — let alone that exact body type standing at a whopping 5’10. this was . . like you said, a real cultural reset.

a comfortable silence then settles as they finish taking it in, the low murmur of the anime’s opening theme — otaku hot girl, now filling the room. you sneak a glance at satoru out of the corner of your eye, surprised to find him looking thoughtful rather than skeptical like any other guy your age would.

“i can dig it,” satoru says slowly, popping a peanut butter dorito into his mouth. “more representation of different body types in media, s’ important. and i mean, objectively speaking . . .” he rakes his eyes over your form, lingering on the swell of your hips and ass. “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass. ain't nothin’ wrong with a little extra somethin' to hold onto, y’know?”

you raise a brow, something playfully bold and a little reckless brewing in your chest. “is that so? didn’t know y’liked your girls thick, gojo.”

satoru swallows, adam's apple bobbing as his gaze snaps to yours. “no, yn. i love, my girls thick,” he says, voice pitched low. “well that and, exploring your sexuality n’ confidence in general is jus’ sexy . . as hell.”

“hmmm, i see. getou?” you turn to suguru, head cocked. “any thoughts?”

suguru’s smile is slow and devastating, dark promise in his eyes. “he’s not wrong. m’ sure you know that though. body like . . yours, s’the kinda canvas i could spend hours worshipping. takes an incel to not appreciate it, honestly.”

“oh please. all that bravado, but i can’t you couldn’t handle me even if you tried.” you shimmy your shoulders, drawing attention to the truly tremendous amount of cleavage your cami isn't concealing. “you'd probably bust in your boxers if you so much as touched this ass. thank youuu.”

but even as you say that with all the confidence in the world, you can’t help but to think . . ‘what if?’ what if they could? what if you were talkin’ straight out of your ass right now just to have it be thrown in your face later on? — no, never, couldn’t be.

and later on, as the end credits of the final episode roll, you stretch languidly, you’d forgotten about the thought, feeling pleasantly buzzed from two pretty drinks the three of you had earlier and the easy camaraderie of the night. satoru and suguru have been the perfect viewing companions, cracking jokes and providing commentary that had you in stitches more often than not.

but all in all, underneath the lighthearted banter, you can feel something else tiptoeing - a tension, an electricity that’s been building all night. it’s in the way satoru’s gaze lingers on the curve of your throat as you tip your head back to laugh. it’s in the heat of suguru’s palm on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent circles that inch higher and higher with each passing minute.

“so . .” satoru drawls as the autoplay timer counts down to the next season. “that was . . actually enlightening annnd i just followed megan on instagram. so, when will she be mine?”

“mhmm, told you,” you laugh, feeling loose and languid from the warmth of the alcohol in your veins and the solid press of their bodies on either side of you. “and i dunno, join the club. she’s a fuckin’ queen. knows what she wants and goes for it, she’s inspirational, and an overall bad bitch, duh — i want her too.”

“kinda like someone else we know,” suguru muses, a sly curl to his lips as he turns to face you. his eyes are dark, heated in a way that makes your breath catch. “ain’t that right, yn?”

you swallow, pulse picking up speed as you meet his loaded gaze. “oh? and who might that be?”

“you,” satoru says bluntly, shifting to angle his body towards you as well. the movement brings him close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the firm press of his muscular thigh against yours. “talkin’ all that shit earlier, bout’ how we couldn’t handle you. you think that, babe?”

oh . . so maybe you were wrong.

and they had planned on it proving that to you.

there’s a challenge in his tone, a dare that sends a frisson of anticipation skittering down your spine. you lick your lips, noting with a thrill how both their gazes zero in on the movement, “maybe i did,” you say, pitching your voice low and breathy. “what’re you gonna’ do about it?”

suguru makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, fingers flexing on your knee. “oh, well since you asked . . we can give a little demo - show you exactly what we’re gonna’ do about it. ain’t that right, satoru?”

“damn straight,” satoru growls, a wicked gleam in his eye. “whaddaya’ say, sweet thing? why don’t you go ahead n’ show us what makes you a hot girl, yn?” he finishes.

heart pounding, skin prickling with goosebumps, you lift your chin in clear provocation. “tch, whatever. bring it on then, bitches. show me what you’ve got.”

of course you’d challenge them. why wouldn’t you? you quite literally had the power of god and megan on your side.

twin groans meet your bold words, suguru’s hand tightening convulsively on your leg as satoru’s eyes blaze with intent. “don’t mind if we do,” satoru rasps, voice gone low and gravelly with want. “been fuckin’ gagging for it all night, watchin’ you all curled up and cozy in this tiny ass pajama set, lookin’ good enough to eat . .”

“gonna’ fuckin’ devour you,” suguru vows, already shifting to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. “gonna’ put this bratty little mouth to good use, fuck, been dyin’ to feel these pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

you moan, head tipping back to grant him better access even as your hands come up to fist in satoru’s hair, dragging him down for a filthy, biting kiss. he groans into your mouth, licking past the seam of your lips to tangle his tongue with yours, one large hand palming roughly at your breast through the flimsy lace of your cami.

“fuckin’ tease,” he pants when you break apart for air, fingers already working at the tiny buttons holding the top closed. “prancin’ around in this scrap of nothin’ all night, like a slut. y’knew we wouldn’t be able to stop thinkin’ about you, baby.”

“why don’t you tell me?” you breathe, emboldened by the blatant need in their faces, the desperate flex of their hands on your body. “c’mon, boys, use your words. what’ve you been thinkin’ about doin’ to me all night, huh? how’re you gonna’ shut me up, put me in my place?”

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” suguru swears feelingly, wrenching himself away from your neck to stare at you with wild, hungry eyes. “keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna lose it, i swear.”

“then lose it,” you purr, hooking a leg over his hip and using the leverage to grind yourself against his straining erection. he hisses, hips rocking forward to press the thick line of his cock harder against your aching center. “c’mon, sugu baby, show me how bad you want it. show me exactly what this bratty little tease does to you.”

“fuck, you fuckin’ - get her naked,” suguru snarls to satoru, already fumbling with the tie of your shorts. “fuckin’ get her naked right goddamn now, i can’t - i gotta’ taste her, gotta’ get my mouth on this sweet cunt before i fucking explode . .”

satoru doesn't waste any time, practically ripping your cami open in his haste to get at your bared tits. you cry out sharply as he latches onto one straining nipple, suckling hard and grazing the sensitized bud with his teeth. “oh fuck, oh god, yes!”

your shorts and panties are yanked down your legs, the sudden rush of cool air on your heated flesh making you gasp. and then suguru is shouldering past satoru to find his way between your thighs, pushing them open wide and burying his face in your dripping cunt with a guttural moan of satisfaction, “i call first,” he mumbles into your pussy.

satoru scoffs an agitated, “not fair, but whatever,” and you can’t help but to giggle at the sheer fact that they were quite literally bickering over who was gonna’ eat your pussy first.

“shut the fuck up — ”

“aht, aht! hey, all my munches get along so . . y’all about to argue all day or what?” you mutter, and as if they were being scolded back in their early sourcerer days - they hush, and then, “holy shit!” you whimper, back arching clear off the couch as suguru goes to town, licking and suckling at your clit like a man starved. “o-oh my god, sugu, you’re s’good . .”

“mm, y’like that, sweetheart?” satoru husks, sucking and then pulling off your nipple with a lewd pop. his hand palms roughly at your other breast, plucking at the stiff peak, drawing high, breathy cries from your throat. “like the way he eats this pretty pussy, fucks you with his tongue? gonna’ make you cum so hard you scream, baby, gonna’ make you fucking flood his mouth.”

“y-yes,” you gasp, fisting your hands in both their hair as suguru goes even harder, slipping two fingers into your clenching hole and pumping them in time with the relentless suction of his lips around your throbbing clit. “yes, fuck, m’gonna cum already, gonna’ come on your face sugu, please, fuck, m’ so close . .”

“that's it,” satoru coaxes, pinching your nipple viciously, making you yelp. “give it up, yn, fucking come for us like a good girl, wanna hear you scream . .”

suguru crooks his fingers just right, rubbing mercilessly against the spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids, and you shatter with a raw sob of their names. your cunt clamps down vise-tight on his thrusting digits as you gush around them, release flooding his chin and dripping down his wrist.

he works you through the aftershocks with hitching praises and soft kitten licks, only pulling away when you start twitching from oversensitivity. he rocks back onto his heels, wiping and licking around his mouth with the back of his hand and tongue, eyes hazy and satisfied as he takes in your wrecked, limp form. “fuckin’ gorgeous,” he slurs, words edged with wonder. “shit - look at you, jesus, all fucked out and dripping just from my mouth. i told you i could spend hours between these thighs, baby, i wasnt lyin’.”

“h-hours, huh?” you manage, breath still coming in shuddery gasps. “that mean you’re done with me already, sugu?”

his eyes sharpen, a predatory curl to his lips that sends a bolt of heat straight to your core. “not even close, pretty girl. m’ jus’ gettin’ warmed up.”

“why don’t you let her catch her breath,” satoru suggests, something dark and intent in his gaze as his eyes rove over your naked, trembling body. he palms his cock through his sweats, hissing at the contact. “still gotta put that mouth to work, remember?”

your cunt clenches weakly at the implication, arousal already starting to rekindle in your veins. “gimmie’ a minute to recover and i’ll put it to work all night long,” you promise, licking your lips. “wanna’ choke on it, toru. want you to fuck my throat . . please.”

“jesus, fuck, you’re so nasty,” satoru groans, fisting a hand in your hair and dragging you up for a brief, brutal kiss. “gonna’ wreck you, baby. gonna’ fuckin’ ruin you for anyone else, mark you up inside n’ out until all you can think about is us, all you can feel is us stretching that hungry little pussy wide . .”

“oh please,” you whimper, already halfway there just from their words, their roving hands, the hot press of their bodies caging you in on either side. “god, please, i want it — fuck me stupid, i don’t care.”

“and we will,” suguru vows, fingers dipping back between your legs to circle your slick, twitching entrance. “gonna’ pump you so full of cum, baby, shit, gonna fuckin’ breed this cunt.” you keen high in your throat, the images they’re painting sending heat licking through your veins like wildfire. you want it, want them, with an intensity that’s scarce.

“so what’re you waiting for?” you rasp, disentangling yourself from their groping hands to shimmy off the couch and drop to your knees between their splayed thighs. you rest your palms high on their legs, thumbs teasing at the straining bulges tenting their sweats. “i believe i was promised a face fucking . . and y’know i hate broken promises. don’t make me beg.”

“brat,” satoru husks, eyes practically black with lust as he lifts his hips so you can tug his pants down his thighs. his cock springs free, thick and ruddy and leaking at the tip, and your mouth waters at the sight. “let’s see how cocky you are with your mouth full. won’t be able to sass when you’re chokin’ on dick.”

“choking? you promise, daddy?” you purr, shuffling closer on your knees, hands running teasingly up and down their thighs. suguru makes a strangled noise, hands clenching into fists at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to grab you.

“open,” satoru demands hoarsely. “open that smart fucking mouth. lemme’ feed you.” you part your lips obediently, tongue darting out to swipe at the swollen head of his dick. he jerks like he’s been electrocuted, a guttural moan punching out of his chest as you proceed to lave at his cock like an ice cream cone, all kittenish licks and teasing flicks that have him cursing up a storm above you.

“gonna’ kill me,” he grits out, hips flexing like it's taking everything he has to keep from fucking up into your mouth. “yn, jesus, quit teasing and suck it, shit — suck it baby, please . .” deciding to put him out of his misery, you open wide and sink down, relaxing your throat to take him as deep as you can. he shouts, hands flying to your hair as you set up a steady rhythm, bobbing and sucking and swirling your tongue until he’s leaking a steady stream of precum down your throat.

suguru is panting harshly on your other side, fisting his own cock with short, rough strokes as he watches you work over satoru. “look so fuckin’ pretty with a dick in your mouth,” he praises raspily, thumb collecting the bead of moisture at his tip and reaching down to smear it across your lips where they're stretched wide around satoru. “made to be a fuckin’ eater, weren’t you sweetheart? made for us, made to take what you’re given, aren’t you?”

you whimper around your mouthful, the degradation making your cunt clench up hard. you redouble your efforts, relaxing your throat and sinking down until satoru’s cock is nudging the back of your throat, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

“holy fucking shit,” he wheezes, fingers tightening in your hair to hold you there. “oh my god, oh fuck, your fucking throat, m'gonna come, gonna come right down your slutty little neck . .”

“do it,” suguru growls, hand still fisting his own cock, the wet slap of skin on skin obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room. “feed her that load, man, fucking paint her throat, make her gag.”

satoru cums with a hoarse shout, cock pulsing on your tongue as he empties himself down your throat. you swallow it all, working your tongue along the throbbing underside to draw out every last drop until he's shaking and pushing you off with an overwhelmed grunt. and you pull off with a gasp, lips swollen and spit-slick, chin wet with drool and the remnants of his release. before you can even catch your breath, suguru is grabbing you by the hair and dragging you over to his waiting cock, the head an angry purple and weeping steadily.

“looks like s’ my turn now, hm?” he grits out, tracing the seam of your lips with his cock, smearing the slickness around like obscene lipgloss. “back open, c’mon.”

you let your jaw drop wide once again, and then he’s pushing in, stretching your lips wide around his girth as he feeds you every thick, throbbing inch. he sets a punishing pace from the start, one hand cupped under your chin to feel his cock moving in your throat as the other winds tight in your hair, holding you still for his thrusts.

“oh fuck yeah,” he rasps, eyes fever-bright as he stares down at you, taking in your glazed eyes and drool-slick chin, the vulgar bulge of your throat. “takin’ it like a champ aren’t ya’? so pretty like this, baby. y’like it, like daddy’s cock buried in your throat like this?” you moan around him, looking up at him through your lashes as you hollow your cheeks and suck viciously — vacuum technique doing absolute wonders by the looks of it. he curses, rhythm faltering as his cock throbs warningly against your tongue.

satoru is suddenly there, pressing up against your back, arms banding around your waist as clever fingers find your aching nipples and pluck at them roughly. “your face is so pretty,” he husks in your ear, stubble rasping against your neck as he mouths at your throat. “it’ll look even prettier painted . . c’mon make him cum, you’ve earned it.”

the filthy words combined with the sharp mix of pleasure pain of his fingers on your nipples has you shuddering, cunt clenching down on nothing as a bolt of heat sizzles up your spine. suguru’s is close, you can tell by the way his thrusts are going erratic, his cock pulsing faster against your tongue.

“f-fuck, oh fuck, m’gonna cum,” he warns, high and tight, hips snapping forward once, twice more before he's pulling out abruptly, fisting his cock with desperate strokes. “open your mouth, fuck, stick out your tongue baby, wanna’ see it, fuckin’ shit!”

you obey mindlessly, tipping your face up and extending your tongue, a lewd, pornographic presentation. suguru loses it at the sight, shouting brokenly as his orgasm crashes over him, cock jerking in his grip as he paints your face with ropey streams of pearlescent white.

you moan shakily, back arching as some of his release hits your waiting tongue, the salty-musk taste of him flooding your senses. you feel debauched, utterly wrecked and still desperately turned on, your cunt a throbbing mess of need between your legs.

“holy shit!” suguru pants, slumping back against the couch, chest heaving. he takes in your cum - streaked face, the way you’re panting and squirming, still perched on your knees between them. “you’re a fuckin' vision, you know that? prettiest thing i’ve ever seen, all messy and marked up, fuck.”

“mmm, but she’s not finished though, are you baby?” satoru purrs, fingers drifting down to tease through your soaked folds, making you gasp and buck your hips. “look, she’s still hungry for it, so ready for more like the insatiable little slut you are. tell us what you need, sweetheart. tell us how you want us to wreck this pussy.”

“both of you,” you manage, voice a needy rasp. you reach down to circle your swollen clit, putting on a show for them. “want both you in me, filling me up t-til’ i can’t fuckin’ take it.”

“fuck,” satoru swears emphatically, cock already twitching with renewed interest. “yeah baby, we can do that, no problem. so sorry if we make you cry.”

“we gotta’ get her on the bed,” susguru demands, pulling you up and herding you towards satoru’s room. “need you spread out for us, wanna’ wreck you properly.”

you go willingly, eagerly, practically trembling with anticipation as they usher you into the bedroom, tearing their clothes off as they go. they descend upon you like men starved as soon as your back hits the mattress, hands and mouths roving over every inch of bared skin until you're writhing and keening beneath their attentions.

suguru pushes your thighs open and buries his face between them, groaning at the taste of your arousal. he licks into you like a man dying of thirst, tongue delving deep and curling just right to make you see stars. “fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to circle your entrance with one long finger, gathering the slickness. “absolutely soaked for it, aren't you baby? dripping for our cocks, greedy little pussy desperate to be stuffed full.”

“please,” you whimper, back arching as he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep, pumping them lazily. “oh fuck, g-getou, more, need more!”

“ive got you,” satoru rasps, rolling on a condom and slicking himself up with lube. he shifts up the bed until he’s bracketing your head with his knees, the thick jut of his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. “gonna’ give this filthy mouth something to do while sugu opens up your hungry cunt, yeah? gonna’ fuck your throat while he fingers you sloppy, get you nice and ready for us both.”

you open eagerly for him, relaxing your jaw as he feeds his cock past your lips. he groans at the wet heat of your mouth, at the way you hollow your cheeks and suck, working your tongue along the throbbing underside.

“there you go,” he praises roughly, grabbing a handful of your hair and giving a shallow thrust. “just like that baby, fuck, feel like heaven around my dick . .”

you moan around him as suguru works a third finger into your dripping cunt, scissoring and curling them just right to graze that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. the dual stimulation has you shaking, the obscene sounds of satoru’s cock gliding through the slick clutch of your throat and suguru’s fingers pumping wetly into your pussy filling the room.

“she’s good to go,” suguru declares after a few endless minutes, pulling his fingers free and wiping them clean on the sheets. he slicks himself up, shifting into position between your spread thighs. “gonna’ wreck this pussy, baby, you have no idea how bad i’ve wanted this, wanted you. i think about you while i dream . .”

how could something said be so blended with both degeneracy and sweetness.

he pushes in on one smooth glide, the breath punching from his lungs in a guttural moan as your walls clench down greedily around him. “mm, what a tight fit. shit. gripping me, yn, goddamn.”

you sob brokenly around satoru’s cock as suguru bottoms out, hips flush against yours. he gives you a moment to adjust before he starts moving, rolling his hips in deep, devastating grinds that have you seeing stars.

satoru keeps rocking into your mouth, hands fisted in your hair to hold you in place for his thrusts. you take it eagerly, gagging a little when he hits the back of your throat but relaxing to let him push deeper, until your nose is pressed against his pelvis with every pump of his hips.

“m’ gonna’ cum down your throat again,” satoru grits out after a few minutes of spit-roasting you between them. “gonna’ get you all warmed up, honey.”

you moan helplessly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you struggle to breathe around his considerable girth. just as spots start to dance in your vision, satoru stiffens and curses, hips jerking erratically as he spills into your mouth with a hoarse shout. “there you go baby, breathe for me — agh fuck yes. choke on daddy’s dick, thas’ good girl.” he then pulls out carefully, cradling your jaw as you cough and gasp, chest heaving.

suguru is still working into you from below, the drag of his cock against your fluttering walls almost unbearably good. you’re so fucking full of him, stretched around his thickness, but you still feel so empty, aching for more.

“please,” you rasp, looking up at satoru with wet, pleading eyes. “need your cock inside me too, need both of you fucking me, filling me, please.”

“such a needy little thing,” satoru marvels, eyes dark and hungry on your face. “gonna’ give it to you, baby, don’t worry. want me to stuff that pussy, hm? confuse you on whose is whose,” he laughs.

he slides down your body, shifting to kneel behind suguru between your lewdly spread legs. slicking up his fingers with more lube, he circles your stretched rim where suguru is steadily pumping into you, dipping just the tip of one finger in alongside his thrusting cock.

you keen high in your throat at the added stretch, the slight burn as he works you open further. suguru groans at the increased tightness, at the filthy drag of satoru’s fingers around his pistoning cock as he meticulously stretches you out. “god, look at you,” suguru pants, sounding absolutely wrecked as he stares down at where you're taking them both, hole straining wide and shiny-slick with lube and your own arousal. “pretty, little cunt all desperate for it, practically begging to be stuffed full. you want that, baby? want both of us crammed up in that pussy, wanna’ be our fuckin’ cocksleeve?”

“yes,” you sob, past the point of shame or restraint. “please, fuck, want it, want you both so deep in me, wan’ it to almost hurt . .”

“holy shit,” satoru swears feelingly, pulling his fingers free and lining his cock up alongside suguru’s. the blunt pressure against your already stuffed hole has you nearly hyperventilating, squirming down onto them eagerly. “okay, baby, deep breaths. gonna’ put both of us in, yeah?” you nod, and he pushes in hard, forcing his cockhead in alongside suguru’s with a devastating stretch. you wail brokenly, back bowing as you’re split open on their straining cocks, the burn of it so intense it borders on both pleasure and pain. but then suguru is rolling his hips and satoru is grinding into you and oh, oh it’s fucking perfect, the drag of them against your walls, the way they throb and pulse in tandem inside you.

“fuck,” suguru wheezes, sweat rolling down his temples. “o-oh fuck, fuck, fuck!.”

“m’ not gonna last,” satoru warns, voice absolutely shattered as he starts to move, drawing out only to slam back in, forcibly creating space for himself in your overstuffed channel. “yn, o-ooh, pussy’s stranglin’ me, baby — m’gonna cum.”

“do it,” you demand breathlessly, rolling your hips up to meet their thrusts, taking them impossibly deeper. “cum in me . . claim m-me.” with twin shouts they comply, snapping their hips forward one, two, three more times before they’re cumming hard, cocks pulsing in tandem as they empty themselves into you. you moan brokenly at the feel of it, of their release flooding your cunt, marking you up from the inside out.

they collapse against you as they come down, chests heaving and skin slick with sweat. you whimper as their softening cocks slip free of your abused hole, a river of come slipping out after them to soak the sheets.

“holy f-fuck,” satoru rasps after a long moment, pressing a reverent kiss to your shoulder. “that was fucking crazy . .”

“and incredible,” suguru adds, sounding just as dazed. “yn, baby, fuck. we wrecked you, jesus.”

“mmm, you did,” you agree, feeling utterly boneless and fucked-out in the best way. “absolutely ruined me for anyone else, jus’ like you promised.”

“good,” satoru growls, something fiercely possessive in his gaze as it rakes over your limp, satisfied form. “because this pussy? this filthy, perfect pussy? it belongs to us now. you belong to us now . . .”

you glance briefly at the tv, dick drunk and pleasure high. part of you thinks you should probably pay your respects to the anime that facilitated this unexpected but very welcome turn of events, but the rest of you is preoccupied with trying not to black out as satoru and suguru keep their attention on you.

megan-sama, you think muzzily, just before suguru starts to nip at your shoulder again, bless your ratchet heart. you the real mvp.

and then coherency flees completely as your boys descend on you once more, cutting off anything resembling higher thought.

the last fleeting thing you remember is a deep, unshakable gratitude for your beautifully crafted body and the incredible dudes about to spend the foreseeable future worshipping it.

thick thighs save lives, indeed.

there’s only one you.

we love you meg.

[multch]

Thoughts.

Art the clown x reader [18+]

CW: actually smut \ afab masterbation

Your boss admires your dedication to staying back late to finish off repairing most nights. What he doesn't know is affiliation with the ‘Miles County Killer’.

Who knew sewing pays in a good view…

You whipped back as the bloody black and white suit whacked you in the face. If art was anything- it certainly wasn't subtle. The smell was revolting but what did you expect? Daisies? Of course he’d smell like a dead animal, he’s a murderer for Christ's sake! Still, you would've appreciated it if he at least let you set down the jacket you had to repair first- or had the decency to cover up a little instead of walking around the studio with everything out on display.

Tonight marks the 3rd year since you had first encountered this killer clown. You worked at a humble costume shop- Often very late to scramble enough of a paycheck to pay rent, utilities, whatever, ect.

On the strange night you two met, he had walked in- completely skipping past you- and searched for some sewing supplies. He went so far as to have even checked out the staff room you had accidentally left unlocked. Regardless, he eventually waddled up to your counter and dinged the bell on your desk several times. He had waved his hands around like a maniac trying to make sense until you realised he was gesturing towards the sewing needle in your hand. If he wasn’t so charming, maybe you would’ve called the police on him right then and there.

Maybe you should’ve...

Since then, you always patched up his ripped and tattered clown costume and he would repay you by helping out around the shop when you worked late. Repairing shelves, moving boxes and pestering you incessantly while doing so. 

It was a shock when you had first discovered his more malicious side. The ”Miles county killer” plastered on every television screen for miles. You couldn’t tell what had scared you more; Art’s heinous acts or the simple fact that he seemed to spare you.

But why?

The question haunted you. Your moral compass never seemed too correct however you understood the evil that seemed to possess him was devilish. What you couldn’t understand was what a being so sinful could've thought about a seamstress that made him show not only mercy, but companionship…

Honk! Honk!

Art could’ve killed you with how well he’d scare you. They didn’t call him the ‘Terrifier’ for nothing you thought. You were just minding your business- lost in thought- until Art practically made you jump out of your skin from his infuriating infatuation with his stupid little hand horn.

He had crept right up behind you and placed himself close enough to feel the cold air escape his lungs. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice but his horn was practically touching your ear. The sound it let out was more than enough to make your eyes widen. It had startled you so much you fell backwards on your stool. Luckily for you though, Art was there to catch you.

His skin was smooth and frigid. His hands having responded by grasping your waist with his rough hands- You were accidentally pressed right up against his naked chest. 

His touch felt electric. The contrast between your human heat and his icy exposure was a feeling like no other. He helped you back up onto your seat but by then it was too late. Fuck.

Seeing him naked was one thing but feeling his bare touch was another. Your minor interest in him had easily turned into obsession over the course of the last few years. A mysterious stranger showing up out of the blue. Saturated in blood. Torn up and often mutilated.  How couldn't you be intrigued?

It felt like there was no one else in the world he treated like you.

You felt special.

Protected, even.

You tried your best to resume your repair but by the time you reached the hole by the gusset of his suit, you had lost it.

*

Maybe excusing yourself to “go to the bathroom” might’ve been a bit overkill but there was no way you wouldn’t melt in the heat that you felt just simply looking at him. His playful taunts. The way he bats his eyelashes at you. Even his disgusting black smile!

These ‘normal’ acts of his felt misconstrued into one big flirty mess. 

Despite your efforts, you were clearly just too horny to stop. Every time you think about him in this moment, you couldn’t help but remember how he’s outside right now in nothing but a mask and his flimsy little top hat. In times like this, you couldn’t help but shake your fist in the air at Art’s infamous refusal to wear anything under his suit.

(You tried to convince him once by buying him a pair of boxers, but in retaliation he had ripped out the crotch and walked out- giving you the full view of his “pencil”)

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking but deciding to work one out sounded great right now.

You lent up against the red tile wall of the staff bathroom. It was cold. Perfect.

Slowly fondling yourself, your hands snake around your skin. One climbing up your stomach to slip under your bra. The other sneaking down the waistband of your shorts.

God, he made you so wet from just one touch. You slid in one finger first- wincing back at your contraction around so little. It made you only more hungry for what your eyes had feasted on so often yet you had never been given the chance to taste it yourself.

Seeing it made you understand why this clown always went commando because he really was hiding away a whole balloon animal. It was BIG.

Imagining it made your mouth feel empty..

You slip in another 2 fingers. Thrusting into yourself enough to make you press hard against the wall behind you. You were so cold but inside was a warmth you wanted him to feel so badly.

Your eyes squeezed down hard. You wanted to see him. His face. His body, as he thrusted into you.

You wanted him to trap you beneath his form with his inhuman strength.

To be scared he'd rip you in half if you ran away was a major turn on for you -the idea of becoming less than a victim of his by becoming a slave for his enjoyment.

Imagining it made your pussy throb, feeling empty despite your aggressive movement…

You tried to muffle your moans but the more you indulged in your fantasy, the more you struggled to show some self restraint.

A fourth finger, then a fifth.

Pounding harder and faster into your core, you thought back to all the toys you brought reimagining them as his girth. 

Art was more than a friend to you. You ached for him nightly. You felt him in your core. You've dreamt of his touch and woken up in a hot, sticky sweat because of him.

You wanted to be honest with him but only Hell knows what he'd do to you if he didn't feel the same.

The possibilities made you salivate. Being his victim would be an indulgent death for sure..

You feel yourself very quickly feeling your release build as an air of tension fills the room. It's sickly sweet.

Rubbing your pretty little pussy until it's puffy and squirting when he's in the room outside was your tipping point.

You let out one final wince before your knees give out- causing you to crouch down on the frozen tile floor. 

You can't help but imagine it's him holding you after a scene of absolute passion.

*

It's only been 10 minutes since you had excused yourself but once you had made your way back out, Art was nowhere to be seen.

You're embarrassed to say the least but you decide to push forward with your plans for tonight. 

You turn around to close the bathroom door behind you only to find a familiar face greeting you instead.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- All while still being fully naked.

Oh god no…

[pathologicalreid]

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Concurrent Resurgence

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. And now, reborn and unhinged; bound to that creature they call the Miles County Clown, you'd witness first-hand just how far your depravity could go.

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. Just like any regular woman, you screamed and cried and ran from the miles county killer, in a state of frenzy and terror up until the very end.

Your life hung on the precipice as you lay upon the ground, torn open from the midsection and gasping on wet breaths, watching that demonic clown hunker down low, leaning over your friend Vicky as he devoured her face.

You remembered the world becoming dimmer and dimmer, wondering when you'd be devoured next, hoping to God you'd die first so that you didn't have to feel the excruciating pain Vicky had.

Your wish had been granted mercifully, the sound of police sirens and shouting fading out as you heard the final cacophony of a gunshot, and then your world turned black.

Lying as a bloodied corpse in the morgue, you didn't expect to open yours eyes ever again, life beating steadily throughout you even as something dark and heavy like lead anchored you boundlessly to miles county.

You came to the conclusion that you and Art miraculously died at the same time, yours from your injuries while his was from a gunshot to the head. You both breathed your last breath, and now you were both alive.

It was as though his dying soul had latched onto your corpse, a shard of it replenishing what should have been dead and burdening you with rot, decay and evil.

Art had tried to kill you on many occasions since then. He was pleasantly surprised at seeing you whole again, grinning and waving jovially, eager to murder you all over again, only..

You couldn't die, it was as though you were both the oxygen and the blood that keeps one another alive; if one dies, so does the other.

It took some back and forth, cat and mouse antics to learn this. He'd try and catch you, gripping you by the hair with a mallet in the other hand, bringing it down in a devastating blow. You think he realised something had changed when you caught his wrist with an incredible strength you never used to possess and forced his head through a break wall.

Art had given you something, and he cursed you because he knew he could never get it back.

You were two halves of the same coin, polar opposites and yet vastly similar now. Humanity remained within you, somewhere, but your emotions became dim, your morals deathly low, and evil began festering.

You became violent. Explosive, uncharacteristically wrathful. It didn't feel wrong, either. It felt good, and the effort it took not to absolutely maim someone was immeasurable.

Still, humanity lingered in certain things you did, and especially the way you processed emotions, even if they were as muddled as dirty water.

You and Arts lives were intertwined now, and although he had eventually gotten over the fact that he couldn't kill you, you saw him more often than you liked, your meetings often tedious and full of hate.

For the most part, him seeing you often resulted in the biggest, most dramatic eye roll you had ever witnessed, his middle finger sticking right up at you. He didn't find you fun anymore; you were as immortal as him, and that meant you were untouchable, as was he.

You don't know if it was coincidence or some sort of fucked up connection that made you cross paths so often. It made sense, considering a part of him lived within you.

And just like always, Art was there to make everything worse.

For the longest time you tried avidly to enter civilisation again, whether that be from trying to get a decent job, to going to parties and attempting to make friends, or even just simple things like getting your hair done and a manicure.

Half of you wanted your humanity to be in complete control again, enjoying the freedom of joy and life. The other half began condemning regular humans, wanting to be forcefully ostracised from society and it's confinement.

Parties didn't help. On your list of things that did help, partying was the absolute rock bottom. Your alcohol tolerance was still horrifically low, and your ire and hate for the people around you jumped tenfold.

So, all that would really happen is you'd try as politely as possible to make friends at a party, get rejected, and savagely smash their heads into nearby picture frames. Or whatever happened to decorate the wall.

You'd then drink, alone, and become devastatingly drunk. And of course each and every time, Art would find a spare minute or two to observe you once you made your horrible walk of shame home, appearing from the darkness just to point and laugh at you and buckle over.

With your newfound strength and wrath, this often led to fights with you being the instigator.

Bottle in hand, you smashed it into the clowns face viciously, watching his expression turn to one of dramatic shock as he fell backwards from the force, your drunk self falling with him.

You were so intoxicated that once you hit his body you could hardly stand back up. Head laid against his shoulder awkwardly, you groaned and tried to ground yourself with a hand against his chest, collapsing with your feeble attempts.

You winced as your face made contact with the floor all of a sudden, Art having pushed you off roughly with a grimace.

Art knew he couldn't kill you, but he could break your ribs for good measure, grinning at the sickening crack of his boot ramming into your side. It caused you to vomit and go unconscious.

You woke up the next day in broad daylight, laying in the piss stained alleyway littered with rats. Chunks of your vomit and dirt spelling out 'Whore' across your forehead.

Since then, you and Art had toned down your rivalry somewhat, no longer fighting like cat and dog every other night, viciously finding ways to carve each other up.

You avoided each other for the most part. On occasion Art would seek you out just to be an asshole, slicing your cheek with a scalpel just after you'd finished doing your makeup, which infuriated you. Or after having your hair freshly done, he'd smear questionable substances all over it.

You had gotten so angry at that, that you'd went to his rotten workplace and tore half of it down before he managed to stop you.

Art - having realised the repercussions of having an enemy that he could not kill, that would be around with him forever and that would ruin his artisan-level work - certainly toned down his pestering.

You didn't see sight of him for a month after that. Let the asshole cry and lick his wounds, you had thought joyfully.

And now, he breaks into your home like it was his own, eating from your fridge and using your shower. You detested it at the beginning, throwing fully fledged tantrums at the fact that no matter what, you could not kill him. And hurting him too badly would in turn hurt you.

It was something you came to accept. After almost a year of fighting and stubbornness, you both began to yield, realising a stalemate when you saw one.

Art no longer smeared literal shit in your hair and you no longer broke his weapons. Seemed fair.

On the two year mark, Art frequented your home even more. Probably because it had everything he needed, and it had gotten to the point that you didn't even bat an eye at him. You'd still fight, where he'd end up laughing and mocking you and you'd end up furiously screaming at him, but it never really escalated from there.

Physical confrontation did happen rarely, but nothing..drastic. That shard of him within you had made you struggle to control your anger even after two years.

And then other times you sat silently on your settee, blanket drawn up to your chin as you watched a horror film alone. Just like every night, Art would come in and ignore you, but sometimes he'd be curious as to what you were doing, and flop down beside you far too casually.

You'd spare him a neutral glance, carelessly throwing the end of your large blanket at him. He'd excitedly accept it. He viewed it as one of your ritualistic customs when watching something you deemed as scary. Him accepting the blanket meant he was curious to know just what this 'terrifying' movie was about.

"Okay so, they can't find the key to unchain themselves to escape, so that guy has to saw his leg off.", you elaborated quickly, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't your favourite film but it was on TV at the moment. Art folded his arms, watching patiently as the story proceeded. Your attention eventually faltered as a text message came through.

You responded promptly before putting your phone down. Then, another came through, and another, and you'd giggle to yourself quietly, typing. Art lolled his head back and to the side, watchful. You never really used that device anymore, he wondered what it was that gripped you so much.

He didn't have to wonder much longer as he ripped your phone from your hands and darted up, standing to his full height as he swiftly perused the text messages.

You jumped up after him, reaching a hand up to grab at him only for him to lift the phone above his head, gaze staring up to read them.

"Give me my phone now! I swear to God Art I'll fucking--", the rest of your complaining fell on deaf ears. Art rolled his eyes, all you ever did was pull tantrums and shout. And you never shut up, prattling on about one thing or another, screaming profanities and empty threats that Art didn't even deign to laugh at anymore, that's how common they were.

Eyes scanning the messages, a grin began to grow on his face, until full fledged laughter erupted silently. You seethed at him, clawing at his hands to try and grab it. Art eventually gave in, rolling his eyes at your continued threats, putting a hand against your shoulder and roughly shoving you away, phone thrown into your lap as you fell against the settee.

Before he left, Art turned back with his horn held between his legs obscenely, stroking it with a surprised face, eyebrows high and lips forming an 'o' shape.

You glared at him, but couldn't deny the way your cheeks reddened as his stroking got faster and his eyes rolled back in mock euphoria. You folded your arms and shrugged; you had nothing to say to that. Yes you were sexting some random guy and yes you wanted some dick.

Art tipped his hat with a dead expression, his mimicry representing a gentlemanly 'farewell and adieu', and his expression reading 'desperate whore'.

Before he finally departed, Art held up a scissors in one hand and a pliers in the other. He snipped them sassily, threateningly, grinning all the while.

"Yeah, well, if he's shit you're more than welcome to use them on him." You assured, and you meant it too. This guy seemed a little odd anyway, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Art seemed pleasantly happy with that, giving you a thumbs up with his back turned as he left the house in his Santa getup.

It was probably because you were overly horny, but...

No, you shook your head. Now is not the time to think of him like that. Honestly, you were getting more depraved every week.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You don't know what you were expecting, but it was.. anticlimactic.

You had become so sinful since your rebirth, average sex no longer doing it for you. The first guy was okay, an asshole, but okay. You tried so hard to be pleasant and normal but frustration and an unhinged desire coursed through you desperately.

It wasn't as though his dick wasn't to your liking, he was just so average and fucking human that you didn't even manage to get to the part that you desperately craved, your disgust evident.

Anyway, he seemed to think you had a bad attitude - you did - which led to arguing. You were not backing down and neither was he.

Raised voices turned into insults, both of you storming out of your bedroom and down the stairs as you reigned your anger in and told him to get out.

You could see Art from the front door, he must've came home at some point, focus taken from the TV as he watched you both scream at each other, boots propped up on your fucking coffee table which you told him not to do so many times-

And then your cheek was turning as this assholes hand met the side of your face.

You could feel your teeth clenching. Your face remained stoic, eyes burning with fury. You could see Art chuckling cruelly in the background, shoulders moving silently, incredibly invested in how this is going to play out.

It was only then did the asshole seem to notice a flash of black and white in the background, turning with an ugly scowl to the clown who now suddenly stood with a large smile, hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

He faltered, mild confusion and anger still evident in his scowl. An angry finger pointed in the clowns direction. "Who the fuck is that? You got a queue lining up after me, honey?" He spat the vile words at you, acidic and full of disgust.

You didn't have a chance to respond, lips quirking in mild amusement and eyes smouldered like a fiery, dark pit. The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at the demonic clown, before gazing back down at you with his lips snarling enough to bare his teeth.

"I knew there was something off about you, you fucking slut. Too proud to put out and, let's be honest," the man gave you a slow, disgusting once over, "not much to look at."

Something in you snapped, but all that came out was a gentle, breathy laugh, your eyes shining and dancing with a peculiar emotion. You wonder what it reflected. Judging by the way Art tilted his head from afar, assessing, before beginning to chuckle to himself even more, it must've been something ominous.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole? Want me to come over there and give you something to really laugh at?!" The man roared at Art from across the room, utterly furious, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

Art began pointing and laughing now, wide eyed and crazed as he nodded vigorously as though to say 'please do!'

Before he could, you gripped his arm gently; your expression depicted a mocking sense of disappointment. "I've ruined your night, and wasted all of your precious time." You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat for him, indignant at yourself. "And like you said, I'm really not looking my best, am I? I apologize.", you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes squinted almost cutely.

The man paused at your admittance, evidently not used to any woman ever agreeing with him. He relaxed somewhat, nodding to himself as though to say yes, you are the problem, not him.

Arts dark eyes bored into your form, entranced, unsmiling, deadly.

"I'll make it up to you."

Your smile spread eerily wide, slow and deliberate and full of glee, frozen on your face. There was something ominous about you, mouth spread so far it looked as though you were doing a poor imitation of how a human should smile. It was too wide, too happy, unnatural. Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen.

The man appeared shocked and faltered, squinting at you as though to decipher what's going on. It felt like his eyes deceived him, searching desperately. Did he hear wrong? Did he miss something? Turning back towards the clown for some semblance of an answer, he seemed to have vanished. There was no trace of him ever being there, and there was no sound.

All was too silent, too calm, and it made his nerves stand on end, unsure, horrifically uncertain about everything he had just witnessed. He needed to leave.

The man tensed, back stepping at the sudden eeriness. It was so quiet, in fact, that part of his mind doubted that he had ever spoken to someone in the first place. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this. Without another thought, he turned and made his way to the front door.

If not that, then the knife embedded in his back surely did.

His keys suddenly dropped to the floor from his hand. The sound was loud, and would probably shock anyone out of a daydream.

Though, a second later, the horrific cry that surely tore his vocal chords was loud enough to make it evidently clear that this was all very real.

The life that had been temporarily drained from the house now sprung to life viciously, all at once.

Gripping a fistful of his hair, you dragged him roughly through your living room, kicking him so hard in the chest he convulsed, air struggling to enter his wheezing lungs. Blood covered his chin, eyes wide and unable to comprehend these sudden events; Questions swirled in his horrified orbs.

Lips curling in disgust, you jumped on top of him and began violently beating him. The man struggled hard, trying to buck you off of him and attack you back but to no avail. You were as immovable as a wall, face stoic and nonchalant as the man flailed back and forth, desperate to escape.

His eyes were wide, terrified, blood pouring down his face. In a flash, you held his fist tightly, catching it before it could make contact with you. You began to chuckle, mirth dancing in your irises, squeezing so hard you could feel the bone snapping.

It wasn't normal, this level of power, but it felt so beautifully natural to you, something dark and radiantly evil crying out in glory at your actions, delightfully satisfied.

He roared in pain, tears involuntarily streaming down his face, hand mangled and deranged looking as he cradled it to his chest. He shuddered violently, eyes wild in horror. "What the fuck are you?!"

"Me?", you thought aloud softly, bloody hand to your chin contemplatively as you stared up at Art, who was so suddenly by your side that it made the man flinch and choke on his breath in fright.

"I'm a..slut, right? That's the word you used?" You looked at the man for confirmation, who shook his head swiftly in regret, face contorting miserably as he realized his grave error. He began to sob.

You gazed up at Art, who was clenching his hands rhythmically again, laughter shaking his shoulders. There was more than satisfaction at watching this asshole get beaten; almost a hidden connection of evil sparking between you both. He was corrupting you, but you yourself made these choices. You, avidly, enjoyed this outcome.

"Is that right, Art? He said slut, didn't he?", you hummed in thought, scratching your head for an answer. Your crimson hands dyed your hair a terrifying red as you curled a lock thoughtfully between your fingers.

Art nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the way your blue orbs became corrupted, like sediment contaminating a clear pool. They shined as black as his now.

"It's funny," you began with a dreamy sigh, eyelashes fluttering back down at the miserable sight below you. The whites of your eyes appeared disturbingly bloodshot. "For being such a slut, I haven't managed to get a good look at you yet. We didn't get too far earlier, did we?"

The man below you was hyper ventilating now, shaking his head furiously, knowing and fearing where this was going. His mangled hand joined the other in what looked like to be a feeble prayer, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-Im sorry! Youre not a slut, you're--youre stunning and I'm so, so fucking sorry--"

Your act dropped then, eyes dead and void. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air for this man; There was no way out, and no amount of pleading would change that. You lifted your knife carelessly in the air, twirling the weapon hauntingly. The look the man gave you would stay in your memory for a while, it was full of pure, unadulterated terror.

You brought the knife down, slicing in his groin. The man screamed so loud you thought his vocal chords had torn. Blood pooled around you, soaked you, bathed you in a pretty crimson to match your nails.

Art was a hysterical mess, hunched over and pointing and laughing, miming a condescending, fake sobbing at the pathetic man. He held a sinister mirth in his eyes, absolutely buckled.

Grotesquely, you dug your hands into the gaping wound you had made in the man's genitals, rummaging around with the sounds of squelching blood permeating the air. Finding what you were looking for, you held it up high between your finger and thumb, expression holding that all too familiar disappointment.

Your lips quirked, "Not such a big man now, are you?"

Art was rife with laughter and joyfulness, and before you knew it, your giggling turned into cackling, blood smeared all over yourself as you held your stomach, tears falling down your cheeks in sick, dark satisfaction.

You hadn't laughed this hard in years, hadn't felt this liberated and happy in a while. Everytime you calmed down, giggles becoming quiet, Art would hold up the castrated organ absurdly, wiggling it like an ugly worm with a look of surprise on his face, eyebrows high and mouth open, and you'd be on the floor cackling madly once again.

It must've been a grotesque sight, you on your knees upon the floor, blood sinking so deeply into your clothes you wondered if it would come out, wiping tears of laughter away only to smudge deep streaks of red across your cheeks. You looked like an animal, rabid and violent.

Art gazed down at your crazed form with a smirk of satisfaction, chaos swirling in his eyes. It was as though he had been waiting for that part of him to corrupt you, for your anger to explode, for your unhinged desires to manifest.

After some time, everything fell peacefully quiet. It was comfortable, and dare you say amicable. Your breathing was the only sound in the room, slowing down as you gazed down at the way your feet were absolutely soaked red.

Leaning back on your hands, you caught sight of the demonic clown with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. He seemed serene, no longer smiling but definitely not frowning either. His black eyes perused the coating of blood on the floor, making their way up to study you deliberately.

His stare was intense, and you couldn't stop your cheeks from lifting upwards into a smile. Pushing yourself to a stand, you grimaced at the mutilated body on the floor and shivered in disgust.

You nudged at the corpse with your foot, cringing. "Maybe mortal men just aren't for me, anymore. "Though," you began as an afterthought, "even if I had a boyfriend, you'd probably kill him anyway." You sighed, fully acknowledging this.

You weren't even aggravated by that fact anymore. It would've really angered you once, but what's the point? You and Art seemed bound together forever, by the looks of it. You couldn't imagine him sitting idly with another person in the house. But then again, neither would you.

Art deliberated, gazing upwards in brief thought, before shrugging too. Yeah, probably. Just to get under your skin, mostly. And maybe an inkling of something else. He finally nodded, eyes staring down at you from his nose, like an old librarian with their glasses on the end of their nose. Snobbish. He had a reputation to up hold, you know. His nonchalant expression read 'well, you're not wrong.'

You scoffed, though offered a small smile nonetheless. He was amusing. For a silent clown, he was awfully verbal with his theatrical ways.

But now you began to think solemnly; What you just did - the killing, the maiming, the castrating - was vile. It was unforgivable, sickening. Your human half knows this, and something is conflicted within you. It felt like two halves of yourself were at war.

Even still, you felt joy. And you know that's wrong, and it's absolutely maniacal. But what's even more astounding is right here, on a late Saturday evening, you and that stupid clown stood with an air of tranquillity and comfort, together. If this was two years ago, you'd be within inches of maiming each other.

Like a domesticated couple, Art got to work on disposing of the body, dragging it with ease to your back door, before disappearing. It left a streak of smudged red on your tiles. You got to work cleaning, rolling your sleeves up as you hunted for something to make your floor shine again. It took a while, but he was gone for some time anyway.

By the time everything was relatively tidy, it was past midnight. The stain on the floor had disappeared thankfully, and you felt refreshed after a hot bath, changing into comfortable pyjamas and fluffy socks.

You sat in your bed, blankets pulled comfortingly up to your stomach. Your bedroom was filled with dim lights, and they had their necessary effect of making you feel content.

You had chosen a random film to watch on tv. It didn't really matter which one because your thoughts were otherwise occupied. It played serenely in the background, but something was bothering you.

A part of you felt slightly deflated. You were still undeniably frustrated and borderline desperate to have this desire quelled within you, and now that you had a moment to yourself, it barrelled to the forefront of your mind.

It was a ridiculous feeling, but you couldn't help that you were so pent up. Maybe you were ovulating. That did tend to make your hormones go haywire.

Even still, you hadn't long killed a man. It would be wrong to..indulge after that, wouldn't it? You pursed your lips in thought, two sides of yourself fighting menacingly. You couldn't tell if your good was being corrupted, or if Arts evil that had tainted you had brought out repressed, dark feelings that most humans surely kept hidden.

You didn't feel guilty, which was peculiar. Your nature before meeting Art often held a lot of empathy. You could feel yourself shifting, but you could never pinpoint the change until it had already been demonstrated. From the way Art pierced his black eyes into you, you bet he could see the transformation easily.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the background noise of the TV suddenly became incredibly interesting to your brain. You paused, peering at the TV as the sounds of quiet gasps and sloppy kissing filled your room.

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

Even just the sounds had your pulse increasing ever so slightly. In your desperate state of mind, it was easy to imagine how that messy kissing felt, tangled up in somebody else, remembering the feel of bolts of arousal shooting down your body in tingles as it became more passionate, more eager.

You were in a trance, frozen as you watched and drank up every detail. Male hands gliding down a womanly figure, cupping her heavy breasts and listening to the shaky inhales and exhales she made, back arching into his hands needily.

You felt a hot warmth bloom in your abdomen, a pulse beating steadily between your thighs. How were you so affected by this? You weren't even just mildly turned on, you were in a state of full blown arousal, a stickiness oozing between your legs. You felt like some of that was from earlier, mostly from the anticipation of sex rather than the futile attempts that asshole made on you.

The image now depicted the man positioning the woman on her hands and knees, readying her. You gripped your blanket, wanting so badly to be touched like that again and actually enjoy it.

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, hyper analysing every detail you could take in. The world around you faded.

The actor on screen gripped the woman's hips roughly, situating himself behind her. He gave her no time to prepare before sinking in slowly, and you watched the way her lips spread open in a quiet moan, brows furrowed and chest rising and falling rapidly.

A wave of heat flashed through you, making you warm enough that you had to kick the blanket off your person. What film was this? It was incredibly pornographic, not that you were complaining..

Your bottoms were next to go, tossed haphazardly to the floor; you were sweltering. Granted, the room was far too warm anyway, but what you were witnessing on screen had you in a completely different state of over heating.

All you had on now was a pair of black, silky underwear and an oversized top. You felt dishevelled, and sighed as the scene ended far too quickly for your liking and the TV adverts started to play.

You watched on in boredom as Christmas adverts began popping up colourfully with the sound of bells ringing. You felt mildly irritated, your arousal fizzling considerably, but still prominent. You were left with the sticky reminder between your thighs, head lolling back against your bedframe.

Your head rolled to the left, eyes staring down your nose at the sight of your bedside drawer. Specifically, the one that held a lot of intimate objects. You felt a little cautious using the vibrator because knowing Art, he'd curiously come up to see what the noise was; he seemed to have acute hearing.

But if you went under the blankets, vibrator hidden between your thighs, there's no way he'd hear that. Your door was firmly shut and the buzzing was incredibly muffled under your duvet. You'd be quiet and keep it on the first setting.

You were astounded once again at just how wound up and sensitive you are, vibrator delicately touching your clit as your phone displayed a pornographic video.

The cock on the screen was a good size, and as you watched it's girth spread the woman's puffy labia, a sudden desperation gnawed through you. You pressed the vibrator onto your clit more directly, the bottom of your t shirt caught between your lips as your tits jutted out prettily on display, nipples pert.

You bit down on the fabric to quell your whines of delight, breathing sharp and fast through your nose as the vibrating against your clit became over whelming, body alight with a white hot fire that spanned from your abdomen down to your toes.

Your sodden hole clenched needily, you wanted to be filled but you needed a man to do that. You wanted to receive a worthy dick that would split you in half just like the woman on your small screen.

The scene changed abruptly, and what was shown next had your hips bucking desperately into the vibrator, teeth now clenching the fabric hard as your breathing became heavy through your nose, pleasure intensifying.

The man had the woman on her knees, his member shoved ruthlessly into her mouth as he gripped a fistful of her hair and used her like a toy. Saliva decorated her mouth, and you watched with rapt attention as the mans heavy balls slapped her chin; it all seemed degrading, but..

A moan escaped you, muffled, and your back arched as you moved a hand between your thighs and touched the outside of your entrance; you were absurdly wet, sinking straight through your underwear and smearing your inner thighs.

You so desperately wanted to grab the dildo from your draw and push it deep within yourself, hard, but you refrained. Your climax was approaching anyway, and you could hardly stop yourself from whining at the thought of being the woman on the screen, sucking a hard dick as you made a messy pool of wetness below you, begging to be split apart.

From there, it was a hasty descent into blinding pleasure, your wariness dimming as low moans escaped your lips. Your eyes were shut now, permanent soft frown creasing your eyebrows as you were so close to your peak, cresting at the very precipice--

A loud bang resounded in your room, loud enough to drag you out of your delirious stupor. Your eyes shot open in annoyance, wondering if you had kicked your remote control off of the bed, but then your blood turned to ice in your veins.

In fact, you sat so absurdly shocked that all movements ceased, eyes wide and unblinking at the now ajar door of your bedroom which you definitely, without doubt, unequivocally, had shut earlier.

You blinked rapidly, vibrator dropping from your hand. It buzzed obscenely on the bed with a sheen of lubrication covering the tip, but you hardly registered it.

The door was less than halfway ajar, your dark hallway the only thing you could see, and..

A hand flew to your mouth in utter mortification, cheeks flaming crimson. You felt dizzy with a multitude of emotions.

A messy, hand written note was celotaped to your door. In jagged, capital letters spelled 'Art was here'. With a crude, childish winky face drawn beside it.

Your breathing increased suddenly, limbs shaking with not only the almost-orgasm you were about to receive, but also the unusual fluttering of your stomach in nervous humiliation and something else.

You felt severely perplexed, biting your nails as you tried to reminisce, tried to pinpoint when and how he had opened the door without you knowing and celotaped that preposterous note to your door. How was that even possible?

Clearly, Art wanted to grab your attention just as you were about to orgasm, most likely banging your wall from the hallway, hard. It sounded like a picture frame had fallen.

That made sense. At the very least, one thing did. But what about the rest, how was he able to furtively open your door, noiselessly, undoubtedly watching you?

You bolted up straighter, eyes darting around anxiously. Oh my God, he hadn't just intuitively known you were touching yourself, he must've heard something. Were you loud? You couldn't remember, you were so dazed.

Your mind created pictures of your thoughts, envisioning him opening your door just a crack and--

Your hands covered your face. You were so embarrassed. Had he been watching you? He surely had. And alongside this humiliation, why did you feel a flutter of nervous excitement roll through you? Were you so depraved?

Your hands kneaded your blanket, gripping handfuls and releasing rhythmically. Holy God, Art had made you feel many things over the years.

Hatred, annoyance, recent joy and laughter, fear, anxiety, you could go on and on, but this?

This was something new. And yeah, maybe he only did it to get under your skin. What better way to mortify a woman than catching her red handed, touching herself, and calling her out on it?

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

You bit your lip in contemplation, arms wrapped around yourself comfortingly. At some point over the past two years, brief thoughts of the demonic clown had entered your mind, fleeting sexual thoughts that left as quickly as they came.

Because, well, you were evidently desperate at this point. And he had a certain charm about him, once you got passed the ire you once held for him. And he was a man, or in a man's body, anyway.

Your mind swirled with questions, dirty thoughts, and unending embarrassment each time you realised he probably saw everything that you did.

And he probably saw the way your teeth gnawed into your shirt to silence yourself, heavy breasts poking out beneath, fully exposed, expression one of unbridled, desperate pleasure.

Your heart beat felt like it was in your ears, anxiety high. The door remained open for a reason. He wanted you to come out, and then wanted to absolutely humiliate you.

You got along a lot better now, as evidenced earlier, but that didn't mean that he'd stop messing with you.

Begrudgingly, you knew that even with your enhanced abilities and strength, you were no match for him. If he wanted to truly be hidden, he would. If he wanted to truly be swift and unseen in his movements, he would be.

You often found your bizarre abilities only worked when you were angry, or felt some sort of negative emotion.

Otherwise, you were just a regular human, having no control over that shard of terror that lingered within you from your rebirth.

Steeling your nerves, you took slow steps towards the door. You were still clad in your long t shirt and fluffy socks, and schooled your expression into one of stern stoicism.

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

Gripping the door handle, you stepped fully into the darkness of the hallway, enveloped. Standing still for a few moments, you realised he obviously wasn't outside your door, waiting to terrify you.

Swallowing nervously, you made your way downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked like they always did, but it sounded absolutely deafening to you as it signalled your descent.

Out of everything that he had ever done to you - from killing you, to breaking your bones, stabbing you and everything else - this made you feel the most vulnerable.

Your living room was pitch black, not a single light illuminating the area. You held your breath, listening as intently as you could.

Silence.

Your throat felt too dry to call out to him. You knew your voice would shake, your words would stammer. It would make the situation even more shameful, so you remained quiet.

Your eyes surveyed the living room in darkness, honing in on any unnatural shadow that seemed a little too eerie; he wasn't here. That frightened you more than if he had taken this moment to jump out at you.

Uneasy frustration welled up within you. Not only had your pleasure been ripped away from you, your legs uncomfortably sticky, but now you felt incredibly exposed.

Inhaling deeply, you glared holes into your kitchen door. Two things could happen here: Either he was in there waiting to scare the hell out of you, or he wasn't in there at all, making you more on edge.

You pushed the door open, trailing inside with faux confidence, switching the lights on.

Nobody was here.

If anything, the kitchen was still surprisingly how you left it earlier - clean. Eyebrows drawing together into a scowl, you grabbed a glass of water, chair screeching as you took a seat.

Art must've pulled that trick on you and then promptly left, entering the night to no doubt destroy another victims life.

Brushing your dishevelled hair out of your face, you sat back against the chair defeatedly. Well, your emotions aren't going to change what's already happened, and you'd have to face that asshole at some point.

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

Glancing at the clock, you couldn't believe that it was already 3am. Your eyes felt heavy, your limbs felt weary and you were burnt out.

Peering around the kitchen, you realised that you must've left your phone upstairs.

That's fine, you needed to sleep anyway. Pushing yourself to a stand, you trudged sleepily up the shadowed stairs, rubbing at your burning eyes with the back of your hand.

You felt content at the moment to sleep off the crazy events of the day and worry about them tomorrow. Your door was open, just as you had left it, and the comforting glow of your warm lights that emitted from inside welcomed you with open arms.

Stepping into the safety of your room felt relieving, and as you turned back to close the bedroom door firmly, you came face to terrifying face with a chest.

You froze, mind pausing in fright at the sudden, tall body that blocked your doorway. You blinked rapidly, face displaying astonishment, and snapped your head up at the perpetrator, wide eyed.

What stared back down at you made caution well up inside you. Art stood tall, appearing out of thin air clad in his absurd Santa costume. It suited him, and the bulky material only served to make his structure appear even bigger, more menacing.

Your eyes fluttered up at him with uncertainty, darting rapidly between his face and his chest as you struggled to maintain his intense eye contact.

The clowns face was all sharp contours, edged smile of amusement plastered to his face as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed languidly across his chest, widening his overall structure considerably. Has he always been this big?

He watched you with a wide, salacious grin, eyes alight and unwavering, and from the glint in his eye you knew what was about to come.

You swallowed, feeling your mask of neutrality betraying you as your body heated up, displaying a pink hue to your complexion. You didn't know what to say, how to act. Art could see this, the way you'd open your mouth only to close it, eyes darting around nervously.

You were usually so full of complaints, insults and incredibly argumentative when he had 'crossed the line', as you so often called it. As he so often did. Since your rebirth, you were all fire and wrath, near enough ripping his head off for something as simple as leaving a bloody mess on your floors or your door handles, if he didn't clean it anyway.

Of course, Art had begrudgingly agreed with you long ago to cease the truly harsh fighting, but that didn't mean that you didn't bicker, in a sense. He liked your ire, the way your teeth would grind together in anger, the way you'd go into an absolute fit if he threatened to childishly mess with your makeup and clothes, or anything you held valuable, really.

It was funny, and he knew you secretly got a kick out of it. Once the cat and dog game was over, you'd snap back to being a sweet, little human. It was interesting, and so amusing.

But this? Art peered down at you deliberately, perusing your flushed exterior with a smug, self satisfied grin.

He had been looking for new ways to get you to crack. So far, everything annoying he did was met with your aggressive screeches, and that was fine. But he needed something juicy, needed something that would really bother you, rile you up.

For a while, he struggled to find anything. He couldn't go too far with his schemes - you were both bound together, after all, so that would be met with futility.

He truly enjoyed bothering you, that was true, but his methods got boring. What could he possibly do that would make you think twice, or go silent? What would really shock you, make you revert back into your humanity, so full of emotion?

As a point of reiteration, he could have done many crude, evil and horrific things, but he couldn't because of your peculiar connection. So, he had to settle for something that was..bearable to you, but also astounding.

He came across this opportunity by pure chance. He knew what you got up to behind closed doors, you were a needy thing, but he didn't really think twice about it. He kept the knowledge of it quiet, however, just in case he ever needed to utilise it for fun.

It didn't interest him, initially. He enjoyed inflicting pain, mentally and physically, so the fact that you would so often touch yourself to induce pleasure wasn't particularly within his territory of fixations. He had other things that kept him occupied.

However, hearing your laboured breathing and quiet little moans had piqued his interest on this particular day. He had no reason for that, other than the simple fact that he wanted to spy on you. It was an urge that came by on a whim; it meant nothing, it is nothing, but Art often acted spontaneously on how he felt in the moment.

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

And a light bulb certainly lit up within his mind - this was the perfect way to humiliate you.

He had watched the way you gnawed at your t-shirt to keep quiet, pretty pert tits on display as you brought yourself closer and closer to completion. Art had grinned wickedly at the scene, hands fisting and shaking in excitement at the thought of never letting you live this down.

But, upon watching further, witnessing the way your head lolled back pleasurably, back arching and legs splayed wide in pure need, he couldn't deny the barely restrained desire to storm in and tease you until you were wracked with sobs.

Art had frowned in puzzlement at that feeling - it was incredibly rare for him - but his smile soon returned, shrugging as he accepted his feelings. If anything, this would only serve to embarrass you even more, he thought.

And now, dark eyes trained on your rapidly warming face, Art was enraptured by the amount of emotion that seemed to demonstrate itself. Your expressions changed quickly, and the details were minuscule, but he could see you entering a vicious cycle of bewilderment, embarrassment, anger and self consciousness.

It was as though your brain didn't know whether to lash out or guard itself. It was entertaining.

The silence hung heavily. Arts position remained the same, leaned casually against the doorframe, and yours remained as rigid and tense as ever. Your mind felt muddled. With a slow breath, your expression fell flat. Even still, you couldn't look him in the eye, and instead glared heavily at his chest.

"Stop it.", you began with a quiet, indignant scowl, chastising him. Your eyebrows drew together, so incredibly uncertain. His eyes bored holes into you and it was making you squirm. You were too stubborn to turn away.

Even still, you'd admit defeat temporarily. You didn't have the energy to battle him right now. With a huff, you turned on your heel and made your way to the bed, exasperatedly throwing your arms up into the air.

"Fine, stay there and stare all night for all I care; I'm tired." But you did care, didn't you? It gnawed at you.

Barely making it to the bed, you stopped abruptly at the sound of fingers snapping at you once, twice, seeking your attention. With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turned to look at him, expression thunderous. "Art, I'm not in the mood for this, and-- is that my phone?"

You barely breathed the question in masked panic, eyes wide once more as your phone dangled teasingly from his fingertips, wide grin stretching impossibly further.

The clown shrugged softly as though to say 'maybe', shoulders beginning to move rapidly, rising and falling in laughter as he held a hand to his mouth in faux astonishment at whatever was showing on your phone.

He feigned a look of bashfulness, fanning his face for a moment, eyes fluttering, before pointing and laughing at you some more. Your face twitched in it's attempt to remain calm and neutral, but Art could see right through you.

Covering his eyes obscenely at whatever was on the screen, but still very clearly peeking through the gaps in his fingers, Art swiftly turned the phone around so you could have a look.

That's when your mouth went dry and heat began to pinken your face even more. On the screen displayed the porn you were looking at earlier. You must've forgotten to close the tab, leaving the video running.

The volume had been turned up far too loud, the sounds of slurping and moaning vibrating through your skull deafeningly. A woman on screen had her hair gripped hard in a fistful, the man above her sliding his thick length between her lips. The sounds were filthy, and so so loud. You gripped the sides of your face loosely in devastation.

This time, you stormed up to him furiously, lunging and making a grab for your phone. "Stop it!", you repeated, shrieking this time.

You missed the phone entirely as he lifted it higher. You seethed, teeth clenched in frustration as the sounds continued, except now they had increased exponentially. From the way the screen turned down at you, you could see the man lifting the woman's thighs over his shoulders before he--

You shook your head furiously, shame blooming deep within your chest as you roughly slapped a hand against his chest for leverage, trodding onto his boots on your tiptoes to try and make another grab for your phone.

The attempt was futile, art was so tall and his arms were so long that you could never reach it. Your body was pressed up against his own, stretching high to make even minor progress in retrieving your phone. You could feel your anger boiling, scowling as you reared an arm back and aimed a punch for his sternum.

Everything happened incredibly fast after that. Before you could make contact, your forearm was gripped hard, your body was spun and your arm was wrenched behind your back.

You yelped, back pressed firmly to his front. You jerked side to side rapidly, releasing a cry of frustration in your attempt to get out of his iron grip, but to no avail.

"Let me go right now!" You attempted to sound demanding and aggressive, but it came out whiny, your voice shaking. You could feel the clowns body vibrating with laughter behind you, hand so tight around your arm you couldn't move at all.

On any other day, when you and Art would undoubtedly get into situations like this due to his pestering, you had a far better chance of escaping because you were often angry.

But today, you felt..more vulnerable than anything. You felt so puny, so small and human and fragile. It was a dirty trick on his part, and it prevented your usual unnatural strength from bursting forth.

Well, even with that strength, you don't think you could truly win against Art anyway.

Tossing back and forth regardless, you huffed and cursed at him repeatedly, knees slightly bent from the way he held you tightly and put pressure on you.

"You're a fucking asshole!", you seethed, practically feeling the mirth roll off of him in waves at your predicament.

A strong hand wrapped it's way around your delicate jaw, holding firmly but not painfully. Your head was pushed upwards almost playfully, fingertips tickling the underside of your face.

You met your own scowling expression in the body length mirror that decorated your wardrobe doors. It was as long as the doors and just as wide, giving you a clear view of Arts smirking face hovering above you.

You took in your dishevelled complexion, hair a wild mess, face lightly perspiring and your long pyjama t shirt barely reaching just above your knee.

You were hunched slightly due to being immobilised, and the hand that cradled your jaw looked absolutely massive. It was big enough to crush your skull if he wanted to, big enough to easily smother your mouth and nose without actively trying to.

Your scowl had lessened considerably at this point, that vulnerable expression returning once more. From this view, you hadn't realised just how tall he was compared to you. He was lithe, but wearing that Santa costume made him fill out a little, appear wider.

On a normal day his size would swallow your stature whole, casting a shadow over you, but in that costume?

He looked huge.

The stark realisation of this, paired with the absurdly intimate way he had your back flush to his chest and his calloused hand wrapped around your jaw with a salacious smirk, forcing you to stare at him in the mirror - you couldn't help but flush.

You found that you couldn't look away, your head attempting to move only to have his grip tighten, his grin sharpening. He loomed above you like an evil blight, eyes dark and calculating.

The sounds of the video continued in the background, a particularly loud cry having drawn you out of your thoughts, and it caused you to flutter your eyes to the floor and away from his charcoal irises.

You couldn't deny the heat that began to flourish within you.

It only increased tenfold at the feeling of a firm hand slowly gliding it's way from your jaw, descending directly to your waist, then further to your hip, squeezing.

Your eyes widened, head snapping back up at the mirror in bewilderment. You were met with the sight of his rough hand caressing you, smiling all the while.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You spat rapidly in disbelief, words shaken and sounding far weaker than you would've liked.

He had never done this to you before. Art liked to cause pain, not..

Not this. Not any semblance of pleasure, of intimacy. Your lips opened in a quiet gasp, body tingling as the heat of his hand drew circles along your hipbone before delving lower.

You jerked in his grasp, flushing heavily at the sight of his hand gliding lower and lower until his fingers played with the hem of your t shirt.

"D-dont you dare!", you squeezed your thighs together, body squirming against him with struggle. He had long since released your numb arm, and instead opted for wrapping a long arm around your waist, your head resting against his chest as his daring hand gripped the fabric of your t shirt and teasingly went to lift it, only to stop, awaiting your reaction.

His shoulders began to move with glee, chest vibrating. Your reactions were priceless as you squirmed and attempted to back away from his hand, only to back further into his body.

This infuriated you, your flushed complexion displaying panic and bashfulness.

Those mischievous fingers danced along your thigh, lifting the fabric once again, higher this time, before dropping it. His expression held one of mock surprise, lips downturned neutrally and eyes wide, eyebrows lifted.

"Don't-- don't do that! I mean it!", you whined miserably, heat encompassing your body. It caused him to pause, eyes snapping from your almost exposed thighs to your pleading gaze.

That sharp, predatory grin returned. The heat of his hand squeezed your thigh and slipped under the fabric, tickling the edge of your underwear, fingers playing with the intricate, laced detail.

Your breath shuddered, eyes wide, and you unconsciously moved a hand to grip at his wrist. Whether to push him away or pull him in, you didn't know anymore; you felt overwhelmed, and the way your chest rose and fell rapidly portrayed that.

Art snickered, unwrapping himself from your body and taking a step back, his boots thumping. With a playful roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock surrender, as though to reassure you that it was all a harmless joke, and attempted to smile softly, innocently. It made him appear all the more sinister.

You spun around on your heel, taking a step back yourself as you scrutinised his display of surrender. It was uncharacteristic. Despite that, Art shook his hands exasperatedly in the air, sighing as though to say 'it was a joke, don't you believe me?'

You shook your head slowly, lost for words. You couldn't speak, throat dry and mind racing. You wanted to run away.

Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, before rolling them back to you dramatically, grin plastered on his face. At your retreat, he experimentally took a step forward, rather comical if not for the situation, and chuckled at your jittery self.

You furrowed your brows, not falling victim to this act anymore. You were going to kick his ass tomorrow, but for now you needed to retreat into the safety of your blanket, tail between your legs. "Get out.", you pointed towards the door sternly.

Arts eyes followed your finger to the door, before blinking over to you once more. His gaze swept over your form, head tilting in thought. He began to smirk.

Before you could react, Art leapt forward three steps, making you yelp and scramble backwards, narrowly missing falling over the edge of your bed as you backed your way towards the wall.

The clown snickered again, standing up tall and no longer doing that comical hunched appearance when he lunged at you. Now, he stood to his full height, back straight and stature big, before his boots thudded along your floor as he slowly advanced in a predatory fashion.

"I swear to God if you come near me--", you pressed yourself against the wall, watching his looming figure get taller and taller.

Your neck craned upwards, stare defiant as he hovered above. Heavy hands suddenly planted themselves violently either side of your head, crowding you in.

You flinched, blinking rapidly at the way he leaned down to become eye level with you. Your cheeks were pink again, eyes darting across his face for an answer to his weird behavior. What the hell was going on?

He was alluring, you thought, and it made thoughts race in your mind. Was he going to suddenly hurt you? Was he truly just playing? Was he actively flirting with you in his sick type of way? You had never fell this silent in front of him before. You needed to gain equal ground against this asshole.

"That's enough. What, are you interested in me now?", you scoffed, daring to lean forward into his space, face so close to his you could feel his silent breath; it was a front, you felt jittery even now, but you wouldn't allow him to mess with you any longer.

Art grinned, not at all reacting to your faux bout of confidence. He shrugged half-heartedly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It left you dumbstruck. What he did next made heat spread so unbelievably throughout your body.

You were so flustered your head felt heavy, and it only increased tenfold as your wrist was gripped in his big hand, fingers limp and relaxed, before he brought the digits you had touched yourself with to his lips and slid them in slow.

You shuddered, inhaling sharply at this display of intimacy. His grip was slack on your wrist, seeming to omit to the fact that you could escape if you really wanted to.

But you didn't want to. The thought didn't even cross your mind, and his eyes narrowed in a knowing sense of smugness at that.

Arousal swelled in your lower belly, pooling between your thighs as Arts tongue danced between the seam of your fingers, the ticklish feeling sending tingles through your nerves.

Art peered down at you, mouth full of your fingers, his grin turning nasty as he bit them lightly. Despite the clear threat that he could rip them out of the socket, your eyes remained lidded, pupils blown wide and hand lax as you let him caress you with his tongue and teeth. Crowded so close together against the wall, he could hear your heart beat thumping.

Dropping your wrist from his grip, Art reached down, bending at the knees to hook two hands below your thighs. You cried out as you were lifted high, legs resting in his grip.

He did this with ease, as though you were weightless. Sitting down on the bed, he adjusted you so you could sit on his lap, facing away from him. You could see yourselves in the mirror.

Art hooked his legs between your knees and spread them open. You wiggled against his hold, embarrassed at your exposure. Your black, lacy underwear was displayed, t shirt bunching up at your hips. You couldn't bring yourself to snap at him to stop fucking with you because..

Well, you were eager, far more eager than you thought. Had you always harboured this feeling towards the clown?

You were crimson faced, lips quivering as you tried to make your expression as neutral as possible; He had you on his lap like he was actually Santa, and you were the one telling him what you wanted for Christmas.

The thought had you lowering your head in bashfulness. No innocent Santa would have you spread and bared like this one.

The expression Art made in the mirror was one of mock surprise, eyebrows high and mouth forming like a circle. Before you could even ponder about it, a large hand was brought down to your inner thigh, fingers inching their way further in, caressing the sensitive area before cupping your clothed sex.

You held your breath, staring stubbornly back at him in the mirror. His hand was warm, and you couldn't help but shudder at the feel of his hand trailing upwards slowly, dancing over your clitoris briefly, then your mound, and up to the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers dipped below the waistband, gauging your reaction, but you refused to give one. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, you felt his hand descend, lower and lower, fingers gliding over your silken lips before delicately resting over your hole.

You flushed darkly, gritting your teeth as Art made an even more astounded expression, shaking his head slowly as though to admonish you for the mess between your legs. His fingertips rubbed circles in the lubrication oozing out of you, dipping in slightly but never far enough.

A small sound escaped your throat, barely audible, but loud enough for him. A slow, smug smirk stretched his face wide, and you could only huff defiantly. "I-- That's not because of you! I was like this before you rudely interrupted, remember?" You pouted.

Art rolled his eyes, nodding his head in quick succession with a look of mock belief at your words. He knew you were lying and so did you. Then, with a sly grin, two fingers glided upwards towards your slippery clit.

You gasped that time, quiet but still embarrassingly deafening to yourself, gripping the fabric of his forearm tightly.

A tingling sensation flooded your system, your body shifting and legs widening. He continued to massage the area, direct and blissful. You bit your lip, unwilling to let him see how much you enjoyed this.

Art chuckled, shaking his head at you with a nasty grin, eyebrows low and cynical. His dark eyes swirled chaotically, full of challenge and amusement and something else.

Hand descending further into your soaked underwear, two fingers dipped into your slit, thoroughly lubricating his calloused fingers.

Art paused, winking at you in the mirror. You attempted to glare back at him in the reflection, but you lacked the effort, and instead your eyebrows were drawn together softly, lips parting as two fingers slid into you to the knuckles, delving deep and curling sinfully against your greedy walls.

"Oh!", you moaned, hips lifting instinctively. Art began to thrust his fingers into you deep and hard, listening to the lewd squelching and how it seemed to fluster you terribly.

The feeling was intense; you hadn't been properly touched in so long, so to feel his thick, rough fingers curling rhythmically within your hot core, it made your nerve endings sing and your hips buck.

You gripped his arm hard, gasping, body fully resting against his own, head lolled back against his shoulder. Arts shoulders shook with laughter, terribly amused by the sight of you falling apart, but he wanted more from you. He wanted to break you, he wanted to make an unintelligible mess of you.

You were so prideful, you'd never live this down.

A fist gripped your hair roughly, tangling the locks before his fingers began to pummel into you expeditiously. It was too much, too fast, and you couldn't help but kick your legs uselessly, crying out.

"Ah, ahh-- Stop it, too much--", you whined, panting as the sounds of your wetness became loud, thighs drenched. You could see in the mirror the way his hand moved ferociously, molding the fabric of your underwear.

Your pleas made him speed up, thrusting so hard and so fast you wailed, thrashing upon his lap and dampening the fabric of his costume.

This was what you wanted, you thought heatedly. You wanted someone to render you immobile, shatter your mind. The view of his sinister smirk boring holes into you was alluring, head forced backwards with the grip in your hair. It made heat prickle along your spine.

Your hips began to move with his fingers, desperately seeking more, any semblance of pride vanishing as you chased your high. Your constant grinding made you feel the thick, long length pressing up against your ass, and you couldn't help but moan wantonly, pushing yourself into it with need.

His hand was drenched in your fluids, and it made him snicker. If this was you now, imagine you later when he forced you to take his cock.

Suddenly, your underwear was torn off of you, exposing the image of his large hand going in and out, curling, and thrusting deeply. The visual was arousing, your eyes half mast and dilated.

His palm lifted suddenly and jerked back down with a quick, firm slap. You jolted, wincing at the sting it caused, but before you had a chance to return back to contentedness, it struck again.

Those sinful digits eased their way out of you, smoothing up the length of your puffy labia, cupping it soothingly. You sighed, panting lightly, body relaxed and pliant.

His hand was hot and it made you feel content.

This time, it was sharper, and you gasped, scrambling to sit up but being forced to remain where you were as an iron grip wrapped it's way around your midsection.

Again, that firm hand slapped your sensitive folds, and you whined miserably at the pain and pleasure it caused.

Your lips were beginning to darken red from his assault, and yet you were still undeniably wet from his ministrations.

Your legs began quivering from the overstimulation, and you drew them together, trapping his hand. He seemed to let you, tilting his head with a quirk of his lips.

"S-stop tormenting me. Can't take it, not today. Please, just..", you paused, gnawing at your lip; you didn't want to admit to him what you really needed.

Art blinked rapidly, almost innocently down at you. He held a cupped hand to his ear, his other hand waving for you to continue, as though to usher you to speak the words he knows you're going to struggle to admit.

You pouted petulantly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears from frustration and the light stinging of your folds. Your peak had been building, only to be abruptly halted.

"No," you groaned weakly, "don't make me say it, you asshole." Your words lacked any real ire, and instead sounded exhausted. You were so pent up, so desperate at this point. As soon as the offence left your lips, two fingers began circling around your clit, refusing to touch directly. Art all but smiled at you patiently, face splitting with glee.

You sighed softly at the soothing pleasure, head lolling back against his shoulder. It felt so good, and you tried to buck your hips to make his fingers slip over your clit, but to no avail.

This caused you to release a frustrated whimper, feebly bucking your hips again, but this time Art stopped his stroking altogether, fingers hovering above the area you needed them most.

"No, I-I'm sorry!", you rushed out insincerely, desperate for his touch. You could feel tears dancing along your lash line, threatening to spill pathetically.

"Don't stop. I.. I need this so badly. Please.", you relented, biting your lip nervously, eyes fluttering to the floor in shame. You felt that familiar vibration; he was laughing at you.

Even still, the clown did deliberate. On one hand, he could continue tormenting you. That would be fun, and it was the initial plan, but even he couldn't deny his mortal desires. He had a strong threshold for such matters; he wasn't often interested enough.

If anything, he never paid enough attention to whether it was a man or a woman that he was maiming. That only goes to prove how disinterested he was in the whole affair of carnality.

This situation was unique, however. He was bound to a human he had once killed, who had just as miraculously as him managed to rise from the dead, and was stuck with you for ever. And, you are a woman. He couldn't damage you terribly, and he couldn't kill you. What better way to make you submit to him than by fucking your prideful, spiteful, hot-headed little self into the bed?

You were so easy to aggravate, spitting venomous insults and screeching in anger at him. That was all well and good, but he wanted to see the look on your face when he pummelled you dumb.

If death was out of the question, then immobilising you with his own body would have to do.

Gripping your waist tightly, Art maneuvered your body with ease, spinning you in his lap until both your thighs sat either side of him. A hand held your lower back firmly against his body, standing up halfway to tug down the bottoms of his Santa costume. They fell to his knees, and he promptly sat back down, grinning.

You hovered over his thick length, flushing red in anticipation. Hands finding leverage upon his shoulders, you let your wet lips rest against the tip, shivering as you did.

He felt big. You hadn't really managed to look at it, but from the feeling you knew he was going to split you open.

He seemed to be barely touching you, grinning cheekily as he awaited your next move. His cooperation made you uneasy, you wondered what he had planned.

The thought disappeared swiftly as you bared your hips down onto him, letting the tip nudge past your swollen lips, sinking in an inch or two.

You inhaled sharply, feeling the beginning of his girth and pausing in your descent. "I-I haven't done this in a while and you feel--mmm-," you bit your lip, sinking down a further inch, your insides pulsating and stinging.

You squeezed him tightly, walls rippling and attempting to mold to his shape. You gasped again, lips parting in surprise as you lowered slowly, delicately, his size stretching you.

You gripped his shoulders, fabric bunching up in your hands. Your thighs were shaking from the effort it took to descend patiently. Even with how wet you were, his hot length dragged against your insides, another inch being enveloped in your tight heat.

"Nng, its--so big", you breathed shakily, eyes glistening again. Art observed your pained expression in awe, smirking and winking at your compliment.

Two hands held your hips tightly, fingers digging in to the delicate flesh. You sighed delightedly at the contact, not at all preparing yourself for the sinister spark in the clowns eyes, before he slammed your hips down into his forcefully, tearing through you and settling within you to the hilt.

You cried out woefully, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as a pained sob was wrought from you. He could feel you shaking against him, panting against his ear, and couldn't help but chuckle nastily at your pain.

"W-wait, I need to adjust--", you began softly, voice quivering, but was given no time as Art lifted you up to the tip then dropped you back down. Your soft ass slapped against his lap, a horrible pain mixing with pleasure inside of you.

"It hurts! You're too big--!", you whined pitifully, tears dripping from your eyelashes. You gripped around his neck hard, body contorting in pain, shallow breaths hitting his ear.

Art knew this. You were so tight he had to grit his teeth, but he revelled in the concoction of pleasure and pain that wracked your body. You were too weak to fight him, trying to lift yourself off of him only to collapse back down, crying out as he filled you again. He could feel your tears soaking into his costume, and it made his cock fill with blood.

You were so full, the stinging sensation unbearable, and as he lifted you again, dragging your sodden hole off of him, he thrust up into you, letting your hips drop as he met you halfway and slid in.

A surprised moan was torn from your lips, a boiling heat enveloping your body as pleasure tingled and spread throughout your nerves. Art enjoyed your pitiful, pained cries, but he knew that the pain began to melt away as your breathing went from shallow, pained pants to breathy exhales.

The stinging became a dull sensation in the background, your insides igniting blissfully as those strong hands lifted you up once more, sliding all the way out before filling you up rhythmically.

"Mmm, Oh-", you moaned breathily, lips permanently parted. You no longer contorted your body awkwardly and instead began to melt against him, curling about his form needily.

Your hips began to take control, moving up and down his rock hard length, eyes closed against his shoulder as he emptied you and filled you over and over, thrusting up to meet your downward motions hard, filling you deep.

"Yes--Oh--", you couldn't stop the noises tumbling out. He wasn't even doing much, merely meeting your thrusts, but he was so big and long and thick and mouthwatering-

"Need more", you whined weakly, nuzzling your face against his neck, the fur of his Santa costume tickling your nose. "Please.", you added softly, thighs shaking so badly you didn't have the energy to lift yourself up fully.

Instead, you lifted your hips half heartedly, attempting to at least try, feeling that over whelming pleasure every time he thrusted upwards into you.

Each downward pull made you needy, and each thrust had you seeing stars. You could feel the grin on his face beside your cheek, body moving with silent chuckles. You were so responsive, feeling those big hands trail from your hips and down to your soft globes, pulling the cheeks apart.

You could feel your hole opening, feel his rigid length sinking in even deeper. You realised that he could probably see himself driving into you from the mirror reflection, your sopping core on full display as it sucked him in greedily.

You peered over your shoulder curiously, lidded eyes honing in on the mirror. The erotic visual had you writhing in his grasp, gnawing at your lip as he stared right back at you, lifting a hand to wiggle his fingers at you.

It was weirdly humiliating, but before you could turn away to nuzzle back into his neck and hide, his hand was brought down sharply in a loud slap upon one of your round cheeks.

You gasped, lips parting as your gaze remained frozen on his slowly retreating hand, waiting with bated breath, before it bared down upon your jiggling flesh again, and again, and again.

Your body jerked each time, a gasp escaping upon each impact, but your eyes couldn't leave the sight behind you, infinitely aroused at how displayed you were, at how massive he looked below you.

Art soothed the red handprints on your cheek with a gentle rub, looking at you in the mirror with mock concern, lips pouting out at you as though you were the cutest little thing.

You couldn't handle the embarrassment any longer, and turned back around to wrap your arms around his neck, thighs giving out below you. Two hands returned to your ass again, before gliding up into you faster this time, one thrust after another, drawing longer moans out of you.

The increase in pace made you writhe upon his lap, mewling in delight. You let yourself be manhandled, swiftly reaching down to grip two hands at the bottom of your t shirt and rip it over your head.

Your breasts bounced free, nipples teased against his body with each thrust, igniting a white hot sensation directly to your clitoris. You moaned a lot deeper this time, mouth below his ear, gasping and mumbling pleas.

Art reached a fist into your locks and wrenched your head back, hearing you wince and watching the sultry way you bit your lip at his rough actions.

You finally made eye contact with him, face to face, your complexion a dark pink. You put up no fight against his hold, even as he wrapped his fist tighter and pulled your head back hard. Your neck was bared, and you watched those charcoal eyes drop smoulderingly to your jiggling breasts.

His teeth attached themselves to your neck, biting and caressing the column of your throat, before finding an appropriate area and sinking his teeth in hard.

You cried out noisily, the sound pleasurable but stunted by pain, sounding more like a yelp. The harder he bit, the faster he fucked you, and you were soon delirious on the pain and pleasure, feeling his teeth latch on harder and harder until warm liquid oozed from the puncture of your skin.

Tears dripped from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as you hiccupped and sobbed, your neck pulsating painfully. You didn't fight him, so caught up in the way he split you open.

The demonic clown paused, drawing back from your bruised and swollen neck, eyes flickering from the blood trickling down to your collar bone, and all the way up to your sparkling eyes, tears streaking your cheeks.

You winced, hair still wrenched back, moaning weakly at the pain, your breathing turning shallow again.

A hand cradled your jaw, thumb wiping a stray tear, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the warm palm, comforting and big. It wasn't often he got to see your tears. The sight made him want to make you cry more, spill those fat droplets from your eyes.

Art tilted his head a fraction, inquisitive at your display of affection. You seemed to latch onto him, needing to be touched, gripping at him and melting against him. It was a far cry from your usual self.

His fingers moved down to the puncture wounds on your neck, pressing onto the tender flesh and making more tears spring from your eyes. It felt bruised and the skin was beginning to rise.

Blood dripped down your neck, and he used two fingers to swipe a clean line up your neck, coating his fingertips in the red substance.

Your eyes honed in on his crimson fingers, alight with need. Art tilted his head the other way, deciphering, and burned his gaze through your intimate display as you gripped at his hand and brought his fingers to your lips.

You suckled the tips, cleaning the crimson off of him, before taking his fingers into the back of your mouth, lathering them slowly.

Your own fingers dipped into the wound, wetting the digits red, before you hesitantly brought them towards his lips. His thrusting slowed, eyebrows lifting minimally, a shard of surprise running through him at your carnality. Your blood was alluring enough to halt his ministrations.

Finally, that dangerous mouth opened, slowly enveloping your smaller digits, tongue curling around them sinfully.

Your stare was unwavering, blinking from his mouth to his eyes before settling on those wretched depths. They swallowed you whole, scrutinizing your own visage. His smiling had long since ceased, a stern neutrality overcoming him even as you drew your fingers back and wrapped your arms around his neck to press your bloodied lips onto his.

The urge overcame you, tongues battling against one another messily. The remnants of your blood mixed between your lips, a soft moan of delight escaping you.

You never thought you'd be kissing this maniac. It sent heat coursing through you, borderline delirious from the feel of being so wrapped up in a being that was so dangerous.

Your passion resumed, hips lifting enough to feel the drag of his dick in your tight heat, before gliding back down with a light slap of your ass against his lap.

You were so wet it began to lather your inner thighs, dripping down your legs and coating his balls.

Your desire began to reignite, no longer a simmering heat and instead increasing to a boiling wave that overcame you. You grinded your hips, breaking your lips apart to gasp at his depth.

Art became watchful of your eager display, letting you pleasure yourself with his body. You leaned back, arms around his neck and extended straight so that you still had some leverage, and moaned wantonly as your position changed and his cock began to stimulate that lovable spot deep within you.

"Oh fuck--mmm--", your head lolled back, tits bouncing rhythmically as you increased your pace. You could barely hold your moans in now, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his length hitting you just right.

Art recognized the increase in your pitch and the way your body moved desperately upon his, and grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, gripping handfuls of your jiggling ass and beginning to meet your movements with his own, fucking up into you hard.

"Yes, right there, oh my god-", your legs were no longer folded below you, resting back on your knees. You had swiftly moved them, sitting fully into his lap now with your legs extended either side of his waist. This added even more depth to his movements. You could no longer grind your body against his, simply taking whatever he gave you.

"It's so deep, oh-" you began to quiver, needing so much more,  but all he could do was smirk down at you amicably, as calm as ever, watching you fall apart as each thrust directly pummelled into that spot.

You felt like ripping your hair out in frustration, body squirming upon his own in distress. Each thrust was like a shot of an addictive drug, filing you up and making you feel so high, but you needed that unrepressed carnality that you craved.

Shaking your head with a pinched expression of dismay, you leaned forward to wrap your arms fully around his neck once again, head resting on his shoulder as you whimpered.

His rigid length bruised against your cervix, hands on your hips and holding you down just to get that inch deeper. You were shaking, exhaling little 'ohh's into his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't care anymore; Need it harder", you whined pathetically, warming his neck with your hot breath; you were starting to crack. "Please fuck me. Need you so bad. Making me feel so fucking good-Oh--"

Your waist was gripped in a bruising force, lifting your body up and down like a pliant doll, fucking you vigorously. Your sweet admittance sent a thrill through his body, so he supposed out of the kindness of his heart, he could cease his teasing. For now.

Art gave you a lascivious smirk, eyes twinkling mysteriously. With a slight shrug and a nod, he seemed to silently agree with himself that it was time to get serious.

The world around you blurred as you were thrown onto the bed, hips forced into position. Your body bared itself on hands and knees and you tentatively peered upwards towards the mirror, fists clenching into the quilt in anticipation.

You watched the large, looming clown settle behind you, swallowing your body whole. With a playful wave at your watchful gaze, Art thrust forward and buried himself within you.

Your breath escaped your lungs in a silent gasp, body lurching forward from the force as he held you in place and began fucking you deep and fast.

He didn't tease you this time. Everything that had happened previously had been leading up to this moment, and it was mind shattering.

Repetitive 'uh's and 'ohh's sprung from you at each thrust, his cock splitting you open well and good just like you've craved for so long. He felt massive in this position, your velvety insides hot and tighter.

Gliding out until the tip, he'd push back in smoothly, coated in your arousal. It drove you wild, the lewd smacking of skin and wet squelching that increased more and more as he drove in faster, harder.

Your knuckles were white from how hard you gripped the bedding, unintelligible praises falling from your lips at the way he made you feel.

" 'm so full, oh my god-", you cried almost lovingly at the sublime feeling of him tearing through your snug heat, near enough bruising your cervix.

With a cynical pout down at you, mockingly awed by your kind praises of his ample size, Art reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, wrenching your body backwards so your back bowed enticingly. It made your ass look rounder, made it jiggle and ripple more against his unrelenting thrusts. It hypnotized him, his cock rock hard.

Your upper body was suspended by the hand in your hair, and you could now clearly see how ravaged you looked in the mirror. The looming Santa behind you dwarfed your figure, all jagged smile and wiggling eyebrows at your pleasured expression.

Your tits bounced prettily in the reflection, witnessing the way his normally piercing gaze faltered and darted down to the erotic scene, before darting back up to your face. His smirk appeared lascivious at being caught, and he gave a comical, light shrug.

For some reason, an infernal fire roared within you at that; This creature was evidently attracted to your feminine form. It made you moan louder, reaching forward to play with your round globes teasingly, jiggling them with your incessant fondling, biting your lip at him in the mirror.

You were becoming feral for him.

Art cocked an eyebrow, head tilted in rampant interest at your display. That same jagged smile returned, and almost as a reward, he leaned forward and circled two calloused fingers over your sensitive clit.

Your reaction was instantaneous, legs shaking and body jerking at the intense pleasure. It made you nearly collapse forward if not for the grip in your hair, his cock still relentlessly spearing you.

"Fuck, just like that, ohh--", you cried blissfully, shuddering. Arts expression appeared sternly concentrated on your exclamations and the way your body sucked him in greedily. His thunderous expression was terrifying, but it only served to increase the heat within you tenfold, your body pliant and melting into his ministrations.

He shattered your equanimity, your mind turning to mush and only thinking of his thick hands and his fat cock-

Your thighs were violently quivering, struggling to not collapse. Your moans increased in pitch, high and breathless and weak.

" 'M so close, your cock feels so fucking good and I'm going to cum, im--ohh!"

Your body was roughly dropped, a violent hand forcing you into the bed. Your ass remained high while your cheek laid itself upon the blankets, face contorting in mindless, pleasurable relief as those murderous hands gripped at your hips and began fucking into you so expeditiously you wailed.

His heavy balls slapped your clit with each filling thrust, teasing the bundle of nerves to the point your knees began to quake, on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck, fuck!", you shrieked in repetitive succession, breathing erratically as his thick, long, veiny cock fucked you so good that you just burst-

Your knees did collapse this time, but firm hands kept your hips situated perfectly to receive his godly pistoning. With a high, keening noise you didn't know you could ever make, so desperate and whorish, your pussy contracted and gushed.

Your thighs were soaked and dripping, your bedding ruined. You could feel the way his grip tightened bruisingly on your hips at the feeling of your insides pulsating steadily, milking him, demanding he fill you up like you craved.

Your self consciousness and any semblance of pride were shattered into a million pieces at the mind numbing euphoria you felt. It enveloped your entire body in a blanket and made you feel like you were floating. Your insides fluttered intensely making your breathing erratic and short.

Your face was forced even further into the bed as you reached two arms back, planting a hand on either side of your round cheeks.

With a flushed, fucked out visage staring back at Art from the way your face was turned on its side, you spread your enticing cheeks apart, moaning. "Need you to fucking fill me, need you to fuck me so full please please-"

Art couldn't deny the intense arousal that shot through his body and engorged his cock unnaturally further. Your dainty fingers spread your cheeks so far apart he could see the way your hole split around his length, the muscles parting forcefully at his intrusion. Your virgin, tight puckered hole caught his attention the most, and he moved a thumb to rub the area tenderly, a promise that he'd make you scream yourself hoarse the day he managed to fit his cock into that narrow passage.

You'd cry, he'd make sure of it, and the thought and the visual in front of him was enough to have him seizing your hips so strongly that they would bruise, fucking you brutally and hearing your sobs of pain and pleasure, before his hips stuttered once, twice against your cervix and a flood of hot, ropey squirts painted your insides.

He filled you so deeply it made your body think it needed to pee, if only to expel the amount of cum within you. It was unnatural, but he wasn't a mortal. If anything, the absurd amount made you melt dreamily into the bed, thoroughly fucked and bred and satiated for the time being.

You felt the clown retrieve himself, sliding out with a lewd squelch. Your hole gaped and quivered, his cum oozing out of you messily and coating your thighs. You moaned pleasantly at the feeling of two fingers scooping out the sloppy mess, coating his fingers with it before pushing them into your mouth. You accepted the gift, a noise of delight escaping you.

It made you want to suck his cock and have him fill your mouth until you choked. The thought was arousing, clitoris pulsating lightly as you reached down and rubbed it in lazy circles.

His body moved behind you, two hands gripping your ass cheeks before a hot, long tongue nudged your fingers aside and lapped at your clit. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips back into his ministrations, feeling that heat invade your abdomen again, signalling another orgasm.

"Oh God, fuck, your tongue feels so-feels so--", you cried out as two fingers sunk into you to the knuckles, pushing the sloppy cum back into your hole dirtily, all the while his tongue lapped at and lathered your clitoris, licking broad, rough stripes up the bundle of nerves until you were a whining mess.

"Fuck, fuuuck, don't know if I want your tongue or your cock more, mmm-"

Art chuckled into your sodden pussy, eyebrows low and sinister. You were shameless, your pleasure ridden brain void of anything else other than the need to be fucked dumb.

A high pitched cry of pleasure tore him out of his condescending thoughts about you, his mouth drenched in your splattering orgasm. His fingers curled within you, brutally fondling that area that had you outright weeping into the pillows.

Little 'too much!'s and 'stop!'s were cried out to him desperately, your body convulsing as though you were possessed. Wiping his mouth, Art sat back and admired his work.

You were panting, pleading in a high pitched, pathetic tone. Your body was overwhelmed, tired and bruised, and Art sat back on his knees and thought for a moment, hand to his chin.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in brief contemplation, and then he shrugged, situating himself behind you again.

You whimpered at the feeling of him forcing his sturdy cock into your puffy walls once more. The sound you made was strangled and weak, drool dripping down your chin shamelessly, body losing function of itself. You were crying openly, brought deeper and deeper into a submissive sort of headspace.

He grinned sharply, his cock hardening at the sight of your pathetic state. He bet he could make your body lose all inhibition and piss itself. You'd be so ashamed, and he'd make you lick the liquid off of his cock; a good girl for Santa.

He began to fuck you, patting your messy hair adoringly. You whimpered and wailed, pleading for more, pleading for less. But he found that he wasn't finished with you just yet. You wanted this, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

With a comforting stroke of your hair, Art smiled mockingly down at you, pouting his lips out at your cuteness. He couldn't go back on his word; he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root.

Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Epilogue

You had fallen unconscious. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you to the point that you begged him to stop, crying so much that you couldn't breathe. Art adored your tears, awed and fascinated by them. The only reprieve you were given was your exhausted, slumped body falling soundly asleep. It was exquisitely blissful, but too much to bear.

You awoke with a weak groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position. You were naked in the blankets, but Art seemed to have the decency to clean you up slightly, your inner thighs dry and not at all the mess that they were a few hours prior. That was oddly sweet of him. And unexpected.

You wrapped a dressing gown around your body, wincing as you stood on shaky legs. Your insides felt battered and bruised, your hips dark with fingerprints. Making your way downstairs, your eyes were sleepy and lidded as you switched the kettle on to make yourself a coffee.

You had a moment of peace to yourself, or so you thought.

In came strolling that demonic clown, looking as fresh as a daisy and wide awake as he bounced preppily over to you, plonking his cup down beside yours in a silent request that he, too, wanted something hot to drink. Preferably hot chocolate.

He no longer adorned his Santa costume, instead dressed as he usually was in that monochromatic suit, face paint as immaculate as ever. He smiled down at you dazzlingly, or as brightly as a demonic entity could, patting your head like you were a golden retriever before grabbing the hot chocolate that you had barely stirred with your spoon and taking a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.

You eyed him warily, exhausted, and felt a small amount of embarrassment flourish within you at how normal he was acting and how drained you felt and looked and..

Not to mention the memories of last night either. You promptly locked them away in a box and threw away the key for now.

You reached up to grab a box of cereal from the shelf and sighed. You couldn't be bothered to eat right now, even though your stomach was grumbling noisily.

What you didn't expect was for a white hand to flash in your peripheral, grabbing it for you, before gripping your hips and spinning you to face him.

The pressure on your hips made you visibly wince, and Arts expression turned to one of shock, mouth an 'o' and eyebrows high. You frowned weakly at him before pushing his hands off of you with barely any effort behind it.

"Hurts." You pouted up at him, shaking your head lightly. You felt so weak, you really needed to replenish yourself and eat something.

Art cooed down at you, pinching your cheek lightly. You scowled now and moved away from him, thoroughly drained. He could sense that your usual fire had been doused at the moment, and held a finger up to represent a lightbulb moment.

Before you could contemplate it, you were picked up bridally and sped into the living room, making you squeal and giggle breathily. Art dumped you onto the settee, turning the TV on and putting on a horror film.

He jumped beside you, blanket covering both yours and his legs, and you couldn't help but smile dreamily at him.

He fucked you good and hard last night, and now wants to watch one of your favourite horror movies? What a gentleman. Art deadpanned at your bizarre expression, clicking his fingers in front of your eyes to snap you out of it. You only smiled wider, eyes crinkling.

"You know, you're sooo sweet when you want to be."

Art comically guffawed at your admittance, shaking his head swiftly to deny such a thing, lifting a finger to the side of his head and twirling it in a clockwise motion to signify you were crazy for ever thinking something like that.

The overly dramatic, rare expression had you giggling again, soft and sweet. Art rolled his eyes at you, waving you off as though to say 'yeah, okay, don't get used to it'.

Seeing this as a prime opportunity to tease, you were swiftly silenced as a slice of cake was shoved into your mouth. You don't know..where he got that, but he was a clown, after all, and it tasted edible.

Sighing contentedly, you chewed the sweet treat slowly, watching as the scene on TV displayed a possessed woman in the shower, scorching water melting her skin as she carved her mouth apart with glass.

You loved this movie, and Art seemed intrigued, cackling silently beside you. Wrapped up in the blanket, you leaned against him comfortably, and he seemed unperturbed by it, eyes honed in on the screen.

You don't know why he was being so gentle with you. Art never did things unless he wanted to, and that was enough of an answer for you; he simply wanted to act this way right now. Even still, it made you feel warm, and you supposed living eternally together wouldn't be so bad.

Well, that was until you fell asleep, awoken by the chill of having your thighs spread apart and cake smeared all over your puffy, abused folds.

"Art! What the hell are you doing?! I told you I'm in pain--"

Art chuckled evilly, leaning down to lick a gentle stripe up your icing covered lips, savouring the sweet taste.

Your breath hitched, but you still held your hands against his shoulders, faced etched with nervousness. "P-please don't. Can't..can't handle it right now."

Art tilted his head a fraction, staring up at you in awe. You had retracted to that submissive headspace again, and he found that he relished it. Repressing a cheeky grin, Art held his hands up placatingly, schooling his expression to one of neutrality, or rather barely masked amusement, and used his finger to draw an imaginary X over his heart.

"You mean you won't..be too much? Really? I'm having a hard time trusting you, you're literally grinning at me right now..." You huffed, expression incredibly wary.

Art covered his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth clenched as he grinned and laughed. Even still, he coughed once, face falling flat to prove he was.. moderately serious about being gentle with you.

In truth, he just wanted to eat your juicy pussy and hear you moan his name again. He bet he could get you to ask him nicely to fuck you.

For added effect, Art splayed his wide hands on your thighs and tickled the skin with either thumb, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh. Again, you had that dopey, dreamy expression on your face, and he began to think he really did damage your mind last night.

"Fine, just..be gentle, okay? I'm in no mood to quarrel today."

Art shrugged lightly. He kind of felt the same. It was refreshing hearing your soft voice instead of your screeching one of anger, or seeing your fluttering eyes at him rather than your stone cold ones.

Who knew that fucking you silly would make you so tame, so pliant. It was rather funny. Guess it proves that all you needed was a bit of dick to calm you down.

And Art was feeling surprisingly generous today. With a quirk of his lips, he settled between your thighs and placed them onto his shoulders.

Tongue darting out to lick up from your hole to your clitoris, he lathered the nub gently, lowering his lips to suckle it.

You gasped softly, widening your legs for him and biting your lip. The pleasure was instant, a heat boiling in your abdomen and fluttering down to your toes.

He was good at playing the part of devoted and gentle, and gripped at your hand delicately, lacing his fingers with your own in an intimate display. He watched you blush a pretty pink, mouth parting in awe at his uncharacteristic tenderness.

As you stared into his smouldering eyes, he smothered your clit beautifully, making you moan and buck your hips up into him.

He knew the moment your moans turned deep and sultry as he prodded a finger at your entrance, that you'd soon be backtracing your words and pleading with pouty lips that he fuck you gently.

There was an undeniable connection between you both; you were bound, after all, and even he wasn't immune to the effects of it. He'd still aggravate you, and absolutely wreak havoc on your wanting body, but he also rather enjoyed the peaceful tenderness of these moments, save for your breathy moans and the sounds of someone dying on the TV.

It made him feel peculiarly content. With a smirk into your sodden folds, Art thrust a finger into you deeply, standing between borderline pleasurable and 'too much', as you had said.

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

Within a few minutes, you were a mess down there, soaked and sticky with cake. He remained true to his word, not at all being rough, and instead holding you delicately in warm hands as he sucked and licked at your glistening folds.

"Art, it's the best part of the movie- Ah--"

He rolled his eyes at you, though did spare a single glance at the screen when he heard the sound of a chainsaw.

In no time, you were panting and reaching your peak, soft cry breathed into the air as his fingers curled and pumped into you, tongue massaging your clit. You gushed down his wrist, quivering.

Art smiled innocently up at your flustered self, imitating dabbing his mouth clean with a napkin. He jumped up and sprung beside you once more, pulling you into his sturdy lap and leaning back comfortably.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, fully focused.

You shifted, wiggling to get comfortable and felt his hard dick pressing against you. You bit your lip and glanced at him guiltily - you had just proclaimed that you were in pain today, and now you were having thoughts of him fucking you?

You settled back against him, flushed and buzzing with arousal. The film was almost over. Art grinned behind you, eyes ablaze with mischief. He knew what you wanted, but like you said, he was missing the best part of the movie.

Maybe if you're lucky, he'll fuck you later. But for now, you'd sit tiredly spent against his chest, chuckling at the brutal massacres on screen. More cake miraculously appeared, which always helped. It was pressed against your lips forcefully and you were more than happy to take it, humming in delight.

"Who'd have thought that you killing me all those years ago would evolve into this.", you smirked at him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're actually really cute. No idea how I never noticed it before." Your girlish expression lit up your face, eyes sparkling.

Art looked exasperated at your comment and shrugged. He smiled cheekily, pointing at himself as if to bashfully say "who, me?"

Your giggles rung throughout your home, his silent laughter making your body move. You felt a sense of contentment - a partner in crime to maim people with and to fuck you dumb.

Your eyes swirled black, corrupt and tainted, and promptly shut sleepily.

What could be better than this?

i need him so bad. this is pure smut. i made an epilogue to add fluffy things but it turned into smut 💀

also this isn't related to sporadic contingency at all, its just a standalone fic x

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time We Went To The County Fair”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: pure fluff, frenemies dynamic, emetophobics be cautious (no one actually gets sick it’s just mentioned), Sukuna is trying so hard to be nice

Word Count: 2.89k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Sukuna always tries to give off the vibe that he’s too big and bad for anything. Everything is beneath him, everyone is merely a nuisance, and this Ferris wheel in particular is just too bland and boring for his tastes.

He acts like you held a gun to his head and forced him to come with you to the fair, but you really didn’t; if anything he forced you to let him tag along. You just happened to see a flyer in the mailbox and brought up that you were planning to go and he could tag along if he wanted to, the last thing you expected was for him to immediately start lacing up his boots and stuff his wallet into the pocket of his ripped black jeans, asking you a nonchalant “You ready?” not even a minute after you suggested it.

And now here you are, a decent train ride later and you’re at the top of the Ferris wheel sitting across from each other, looking down at the colorful lights of food stalls and amusement rides below you. You wanted to go on the Ferris wheel first since the sun is beginning to set, the sky turning shades of pink and orange as a gentle breeze chills the evening air.

Sukuna’s gruff and uninterested voice breaks the peaceful silence, “You could’ve looked out the window at home for free.”

You’re scooted to the edge of your little cart, elbows perched on the rusty metal railing and your cheek rested on your palm, looking longingly between the colorful lights of the roller coasters down below and the changing hues of the sky, “The view’s not this pretty at home.”

All he can respond with is a hum, his arms stretched out across the railing behind him as he leans his back against the hard metal wall of the gently swinging cart. From the corner of your eye you’d swear you could see him watching you, but when you shift your gaze towards him his head has already turned to look down towards the carnival beneath you.

He outstretches his arm and points toward one of the rides, colorful lights spotted around the outside of its spaceship style design begin to transform into streams of light as the ride starts to spin and twirl around, “We’re doing that one next, too fuckin’ boring just sitting around.”

You turn your body towards him and give him a sarcastic grin, “What if all the spinning makes me sick?”

He scoffs, gently kicking your leg across from him with his combat boot, “If you throw up I’m pretending that I don’t know you.”

“Boo.” You roll your eyes at him and look back towards the fair as the Ferris wheel begins to spin. You reach your arm out of the cart and point at a ride in the distance, a large boat shaped contraption swinging back and forth before turning completely upside down, the passengers' screams echoing through the open air, “Would you go on that one?”

He gives you a sly grin, “Only if you go on it too, you didn't drag me along just to watch, did you?”

“I didn’t drag you here, you might as well have begged to come with me.”

“Oh fuckin’ please,” He leans towards you, propping his elbows on his knees and looking up at you, “You gave me those ‘lil puppy dog eyes when you showed me the flyer.” He mimics a dramatic pout, making you groan and press your sneaker onto his chest to push him away.

“You’re unbearable.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The metal steps creak below both of your feet as you and Sukuna step into the spaceship ride; the walls are round and covered in separate metal panels for each person to stand with their back against, and in the middle of the ride there’s a booth for the operator with large buttons and levers. You and Sukuna find two open panels on the wall and stand in front of them as the doors to the ride slide shut, leaving you both and everyone else blocked off from the festivities going on outside.

The operator looks bored as they flip a switch above their head, the lights dying off before you hear the clicking sound of buttons being pushed, rainbow lights streaming along the ceiling in swirling patterns above your head. Blaring loud techno music starts to blast from massive speakers in the operator’s booth as you feel your balance start to waver. Within seconds everyone’s backs are slammed into the wall, fits of giggles and startled screams surrounding you in the ride.

You turn your head to look at Sukuna and he’s already grinning at you, he tries to yell something to you but the music is far too loud to hear him. You open your mouth to yell “What?!” but instead a yelp is ripped from your chest as your entire body slides up the wall. He points up towards you and laughs, you try to kick him in the shoulder but the pressure of the ride spinning is keeping you effectively plastered to the wall, hardly able to move at all.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is somehow barely affected by it; deciding that it’s time to show off as he plants his palms onto the wall behind him and bends his knees to be completely off the ground. He stumbles back slightly on his first attempt to push himself up, but by the second try he’s crouching completely upright on the wall.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You scream out to him, but he can hardly hear you over the loud music and playful screams of everyone on the ride.

He’s got a massive grin plastered on his face as he stands to his full height so casually, as if the pressure of gravity just doesn’t affect him, taking a broad step over your stiff body to stand with his large combat boots on either side of your hips. He takes a knee over you, wrapping one of his hands around the back of your neck and the other behind the small of your back, leaning forward and yelling into your ear.

“You’re coming with me.”

It feels like you’re going to fly back into the wall as he pulls you into his arms, his strong grip keeping your body flush against his as you try to raise your arms enough to wrap them around his neck.

“You’re insane! Put me down!”

You can feel his breathy laughter on the crook of your neck as he lifts you up to stand with him on the wall, his hands never loosening their protective grip on you even as your feet plant themselves on the wall. He’s holding you so close, you’re not sure if your head is spinning more from him or the carnival ride. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, your head pressed flush against his broad chest and tilted up towards the flickering lights adorning the ceiling.

“Not so bad, see?” You can hear the grin in his voice, his lips brushing against your ear while he speaks to you, “Not gonna drop you, calm down.”

Can he feel how fast my heart is beating?

The pressure in your head starts to feel relieved, but at the cost of your balance as you stumble forward. Sukuna completely wraps his arm around your waist and lifts you off your feet, taking long strides backwards off the wall and back onto the floor as the ride slows to a gradual stop.

“Hey!” The operator is screaming over the music as the large doors slide back open, “You two! Off!”

Sukuna chuckles into your ear as he drops you onto your feet, “Oops.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I can’t take you anywhere-“

“Ugh, how was I supposed to know that guy would be such a pussy?”

“Sukuna!” You slap his arm, “You’re gonna get us kicked out!”

He just huffs and rolls his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest as you both walk side by side through the fair. You knew he was nothing but trouble, and you feel a little stupid for assuming he wouldn’t drag you down into his bullshit with him, but you’re stuck with him now; at least until your lease is up. Maybe you shouldn’t invite him out with you anywhere after this, but when you glance up at his stupid grumpy expression you get butterflies.

With a face like that it’s no wonder he gets away with anything.

He’s so… annoying. That’s what you like to tell yourself; it’s annoying that you can’t stay mad at him, that he gives you that smirk that makes your heart race, that he held you like that on the carnival ride. He drives you insane in all the best and worst ways, either waking you up in the middle of the night by being loud and obnoxious coming home drunk from a concert, or making you go crazy wishing he was home with you while he was out with his friends.

“Are you even fuckin’ listening?” He snaps you out of your trance.

“No.” You huff, breaking your gaze from his. Did you doze off while staring at him?

“Brat,” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you towards a pop up stall, the stall walls lined with balloons and stuffed animals, “You beat me in this and I’ll… behave for the next one.”

You scoff at him, “No you won’t.”

A small smile creeps onto the corners of his lips, “… Yeah you’re right.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, but he sidesteps in front of you, leaning down to match your height, “Tell you what, let’s make a bet.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

He smirks, “Winner picks out a tattoo for the loser.”

You laugh right in his face, “Absolutely fucking not!”

“What?” He gives you an exaggerated pout, “You don’t trust me?”

You cross your arms and glare up at him, “You would make me get some kind of gang tattoo.” You say sarcastically.

He mutters under his breath, “Shit, am I that predictable?”

“Sukuna!” You kick him in the shin.

“Fine, fine. Piercing.”

You look over at the plastic machine guns mounted onto the edge of the stall, noting a toppled over “out of order” sign next to the red gun. Maybe it’s a bad idea to humor him, but you know damn well he’d pick that red gun over the baby pink ones surrounding it, you might be able to play dirty if he hasn’t noticed the sign that fell over.

A grin paints your lips as you look back at him, “You’re on.”

His head cocks to the side slightly, “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised, but definitely not disappointed, “Shit, that was easy.”

He strides over to the stall, planting himself right in front of the red gun, exactly where you want him. You suppress your smile as much as you can as you walk up beside him, wrapping your finger around the trigger of the pink gun next to him. He’s looking down at you so cocky as the game attendant counts down for you both to start.

“Three!”

“You know…” He leans down towards you to speak into your ear.

“Two!”

“I know a guy who does eyelid piercings.” He states smugly.

“One!”

Like clockwork, you start peppering through the balloons while his gun immediately jams.

His brows furrow in frustration and you look towards him, giving him a mischievous smirk, “You’ll have to give me his number.”

As the game comes to a fast end, you learn that Sukuna is such a sore loser, grumbling about how that was “fucking rigged” and that you’re “a dirty little cheater,” but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face if you tried. You doubt he’ll hold up his end of the bet, and you’re not really that concerned about it to be honest, that frustrated look on his face is more than enough of a prize.

“Yeah yeah,” You giggle, “I’m just the worst huh? I’m gonna run to the bathroom, how about you win me something while I’m gone?”

He shoots a glare down at you, “No promises.”

“Oh yeah, because you fucking suck at these games, right?” Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth in a futile attempt to keep a straight face, you just can’t help but smile, it’s a nice change of pace for you to be the one getting on his nerves for once.

“Such a fuckin’ brat.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Something about Sukuna is suspicious when you meet him back at the games. His grin has returned once again and he’s holding one of his hands behind his back. His eyes light up when they catch yours, taking long strides to meet with you.

He leans down to be eye level with you, keeping his hand tucked away behind him, “Close your eyes.”

“You didn’t…” You look up to his eyes but his gaze flickers away from you.

“Shut up. Close your eyes and give me your hand.”

You let out a sigh, shutting your eyes and holding your hand out in front of you. Your brows furrow in confusion as something cold and squishy lands in your palm, “What the fuck…?”

“You know how you said you wanted a pet?”

You open your eyes and are greeted with… a goldfish. A little tied off plastic baggie dripping condensation onto your skin as the tiny fish swims in panicked circles, “Sukuna!”

“What?” He stands up straight, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “I thought you’d like it.”

“When I said I wanted a pet I meant, like, a dog!”

He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, “Well you won’t let me get a cane corso, so-“

“Because they’re a hundred and fifty pounds.” You mutter over him.

“Say hello to Brat Junior.”

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He’s definitely not kidding if the grin on his face is saying anything, he takes a step forward and pokes the bag, watching the fish squirm inside, “He’s got your attitude.”

“Oh my god,” You rub your temple with your free hand, “We need to go get a fish tank.”

“We’ve got bowls at the house.”

“No! We are not mistreating this fish, asshole.”

“Don’t call him fish, he has a name.” He declares sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

You mutter curses under your breath, “Brat Junior needs a tank. A real tank, with a filter.” You pull Sukuna by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him along behind you, “There’s a pet store around the corner, let’s go before they close. And you’re paying.”

“Hey, why am I paying for this shit? It’s your pet.”

“It was your stupid idea!”

You both leave the loud chaos of the fair, walking along the quiet sidewalks to the pet store. The skies have gone dark now, the moon making itself at home above you as you cradle your beloved Brat Junior in both of your palms, trying to keep the water in his bag from swaying too much.

You and Sukuna bicker the whole walk there until you make it to the sliding glass doors of the pet store, quiet music playing through the speakers as you walk across the shiny white floors to the fish section. You both split up so he can pick up a tank while you sort through food, but shortly after he walked away he’s already making his way back to you.

“We’re gonna have to flush Brat Junior.” He says plainly.

You defensively clutch the fish close to your chest, “Absolutely not!”

He rests his elbow on one of the shelves lining the wall, leaning his side against it, “Then you’re paying for half of the fish tank.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, “You broke now?”

“Lady at the counter said he’ll get,” He straightens his fingers on each hand, placing them together like a prayer before parting them about a foot away from each other, “This big.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I wish I was joking, the tank is $600.”

You blow a raspberry, slumping your back against the wall and looking down at the goldfish in your palms. You’re silent for a moment, but then you let out a reluctant sigh, “I’ll pay half, but you’re carrying it on the train ride home.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You hold your apartment door open, watching Sukuna maneuver the giant 40 gallon fish tank through the small doorway, “Got it?”

He grunts in annoyance, “A little help would be nice.”

“Ooh, about that,” You hold the little plastic baggie up in your palm, “My hands are full with the baby.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, carrying the fish tank into the tiny apartment, “Should’ve fuckin’ flushed him.”

You let out a mock gasp, cupping the goldfish in both of your hands and holding it up to your face, cooing at it, “Did you hear that? Your father doesn’t love you.”

Sukuna placed the tank onto a long empty table against the wall before flopping on his back onto the couch. His eyes flicker between you and the fish for a moment, a faint smile creeping onto his lips.

“I knew you’d like that little fucker.”

A/N: Fun fact did u know that those fair fish grow to be 12 inches long? Unfortunately this fic is based on true events of when my boyfriend and I won TWO OF THEM at the fair and had to spend $600 on a fish tank for them (rip my wallet). Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[dearieshima]

“THE DOLL… ITS ALIVE!”

✦SUMMARY

╰┈➤ Your boyfriend, as clumsy as he is, foolishly wins you a doll at the county fair that will forever change your life. #KINKTOBER2024

"Take it," he growled. "Take, every, last, inch!" His hips slammed into yours with every pronounced word of his command. "Gonna pump this pussy full. Flood your womb with my seed."

✦ C.W

╰┈➤ dubcon/noncon, murder, character death(?), groping, trueform!sukuna, double penetration, plushie humping, mental illness, face riding, aphrodisiac, brief cum eating, slight voyeurism, degradation, praise, missionary, 7k+ words, yuuji is aged up to 20+years, slight yuuji x reader, hair yanking, is this cheating?, rough sex, unprotected sex

If you could travel back in time, to that fateful night when your fingers first brushed against its soft, cursed fabric, would you change a thing?

It was October 5th. The sky had bruised into twilight, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted chestnuts, damp earth, and the faint trace of winter creeping in. Yuuji, your boyfriend of six years, had been excited about the fall fair, dragging you there with promises of funnel cakes and dizzying rides. His enthusiasm had been infectious, and despite the chill creeping into your bones, you’d followed him willingly, smiling even as the cold bite of evening settled into your skin.

You had just stumbled out of The Gravitron, disoriented from the spinning madness, your body instinctively finding its way into his as you tried to steady yourself. His arm slid around your waist, a familiar warmth, but somehow, your eyes managed to focus on one singular object.

It was a plushie, nestled amongst a sea of cheap carnival prizes. It was a humorous parody of Sukuna Ryomen, The King of Curses, reduced in the form of a rounded plushie. It was small and unassuming, its plump shape clothed by his robes. His beady red eyes gleamed under the booth lights.

The legend of Sukuna Ryomen was no light-hearted tale. He was a god of destruction, a bringer of chaos, feared and revered. Some said he could twist reality itself and turn the world inside out with a flick of his finger. But here he was, reduced to a toy, the weight of his name no more than the weight of stuffing inside its fat body.

It shouldn’t have been so easy to win it. But it was. Yuuji, smiling like a fool, had thrown the basketball without a care in the world. The booth attendant handed it over, his frown contrasting Yuuji's grin, beaming as he turned to press the plushie into your hands.

The second your fingers closed around it, the world shifted. The fair’s noise faded, the laughter of children, the creak of rides, the announcer’s barks, all muted as if the world tilted and you were thrown into another realm.

A chill crept down your spine, despite the comforting warmth of Yuuji beside you. His presence felt distant, as though the cold night air had placed a barrier between you. It wrapped around you, thick and suffocating, but no one else seemed to notice.

Yuuji glanced over, noticing your faltering smile and the goosebumps rising on your bare arms. You were wearing a sleeveless black dress, and the night had begun to cool. Without a word, he slipped off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, its weight grounding you as if you were beginning to float.

"Come on, you need to eat something. It'll warm you up," he said, gently steering you toward the concession stand, the warm scent of fried food greeting you.

The smell of powdered sugar and warm dough made your stomach growl, and within a few minutes later, you both sat at a small, secluded table. You had forgotten you had pocketed the Sukuna plushie into your back pocket as you sunk into the worn bench. It gave a small dying breath.

Yuuji sat beside you, his smile softened. "Did you have fun today?"

"Yeah," you murmured, snuggling into him. "Tonight was amazing."

He chuckled, draping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you closer, his body radiating warmth. "I’m glad," he said, resting his chin on the top of your head. "You’ve got quiet back there. Are you okay? Still cold?"

"Just a little," you admitted, tucking yourself tighter against him, your right ear against his throat, feeling the low rumble of his voice, warm from talking and the corndogs he’d eaten.

His thumb traced gentle circles on your arm. "Are you sure?" he asked softly. Then, cautiously, "is it... your mom?"

You hesitated, a brief flash of the sad woman crossing your mind, but you pushed it away. "No, it’s not that. I’m just tired." You forced a smile.

Yuji’s arm tightened slightly around you, his thumb pausing for a moment before resuming its soothing motion. He didn’t press further, his quiet concern clear in the way he held you. "Alright," he whispered, so softly you would have missed it if your ear wasn’t pressed to his throat. His chin came to rest against your head once more, and you both sat in comfortable silence, the world fading away around you.

A few minutes passed with you both looking at the distance before you both got up, preparing to return to the night. You felt self conscious as you might’ve ruined the end of the night with your own set of problems, but as you moved, a sharp pinch made you jump. It came from where the plushie you'd stashed in your back pocket. You laughed, swatting Yuji playfully.

"Yuji!" you accused, smacking him on the arm.

He recoiled, rubbing his arm. He was wide-eyed and bewildered, almost clueless as to why you had just hit him. "What? What did I do?" he pouted, rubbing his arm.

You rolled your eyes, realizing he may have been trying to lighten the mood. Appreciatively, you nestled closer to him as you both walked to the parking lot.

If you had looked closely, you might have noticed his hand still resting innocently at your waist, the other deep in his sweats, never having moved from its place since you stood.

October 6th

The next day, a low-grade fever crept over you. It wasn’t much, but it was still a fever.

You laid snuggled under the covers, an empty box of tissues on your nightstand and your Sukuna plush peeking out from behind its pile of crumpled tissues that marked your misery.

Minutes later, Yuuji entered the room, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’d already changed into his workout clothes, a gray tank top and black basketball shorts. His eyes quickly found you, curled up in bed, shivering slightly. He walked over and placed a hand on your forehead, wincing at the warmth. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“I don’t want to get in your way,” you replied, managing a weak smile. “I’ll be fine, I’ve got…” You groped around until your hand slipped beneath Yuuji’s butt to retrieve the badly treated plushie. “I've got Sukuna, King of Curses, to protect me.”

He sighed but smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Alright. Rest up. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” you said softly. “Love you.”

He paused, smiled over his shoulder, halfway out the door. “Love you, too, babe.”

And then he was gone.

The house fell silent except for the low murmur of the TV and the fading echo of Yuuji’s footsteps, followed by the creaking door. You were alone now, left to your thoughts.

You held the Sukuna plush above your face, playing absentmindedly with its four plump arms. It was strange. Sukuna was known to be the most evil man who lived, but he reminded you of Yuuji in a way. Well, in terms of looks, anyway.

You were drawed out of your thoughts when you heard a soft shuffling of slippers dragging across the wooden floor with a faint, sticky sound. Your mother entered, frail and unsteady, her eyes clouded, holding a bowl of steaming soup. “I made you something for your cold.”

You set the doll aside. “Mom, you really shouldn’t be cooking,” you said, gently taking the bowl from her trembling, bony hands and placing it on the nightstand.

Her brow furrowed, eyes darting nervously around the room. "Yuji said the same thing before he left, like I can’t take care of my own daughter. I’m your mother." Her voice cracked, then softened, taking on a childlike lilt. "I’m supposed to take care of you."

You opened your mouth, searching for comforting words, but before you could speak, her tone shifted, sharp and sudden. "I know you lived with my mom during your teenage years, but she’s not your mother. She’s not. I gave birth to you– I sat on that bed for twelve, fifteen hours. Not her! Me," Her voice crescendoed, then fell to a whisper, trembling. "Not her..."

You held your breath, knowing it was best to let her rant. Your mother, the saddest woman you knew, had given birth to you young, been through two divorces, and by the second, she was lost to drugs. When you were twelve, she overdosed, slipping into a coma, and you moved in with your grandmother. She never fully recovered, neither physically nor mentally. Her eyes were murky, as if her life was constantly flashing before her eyes, reminding her of what a shit parent she'd been to her only child. It left her desperate to be part of your life, and you let her move in when you were twenty.

“I know, mom. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry,” she grumbled, her voice thick with irritation. She moved to sit on your bed but stopped when she felt something soft beneath her. Lifting herself, she frowned and picked up the Sukuna plush she had nearly squashed. Her expression softened. “Oh, who’s this?”

“Yuuji won it for me at the fair yesterday.”

Her lips curled into a smile. “I remember how much you loved your dolls and plushies. You had them all around your bed. And that, that um, that one doll Botan bought you for your tenth birthday, the one you were obsessed with…”

“The black cat with the big eyes?” you said, the memory surfacing. Botan, her second husband, was a kind man, the kindest you’d known. He bought you the plush cat for your twelfth birthday because you always wanted a real one, but he was allergic. Your mother had thrown it away after they divorced, convinced he was cheating. She’d promised to buy you a real cat. A month later, she slipped into her coma.

“Yes, yes, the big eyed one,” she said, a glint of fondness in her eyes. “It scared me half to death one night when you left it in the kitchen. I came down for water, and all I saw were those two big eyes staring at me in the dark,” she chuckled. “But this one looks like Yuuji, how cute.”

Her smile softened, and she carefully placed the plush by your pillow before standing up. She reached out and ruffled your hair gently. “Alright, I’ll let you rest. Make sure you eat your soup. It was a lot of trouble making it.”

With a soft sigh, she turned and shuffled out of the room.

You glanced at the bowl on the nightstand. The soup was watery, mostly filled with large, uneven chunks of carrot, the chicken and noodles sparse. Still, you ate it, knowing it wasn’t the taste that mattered, it was the effort.

Finally, officially alone, your mind drifted again. Yuuji.

You had met in freshman year, bonding over shared pain. He had just lost his grandfather, and while your mom had left the coma by then, the damage she inflicted on you had already finished crumbling.

You had been together for so long, but the foundation of your relationship had always been built on trauma. Yuuji had begun to grow past his grief. Instead, it motivated him to live fully and seek, in his words, a “proper death.”

You, on the other hand, still lived in the past and grew nervous each day that he may leave you in his, in his new pursuit.

Though, Yuuji wasn’t the type to string anyone along. He wasn’t that kind of person. You were his first everything, and he was yours. He knew you were still suffering, and he grew an obligation to help your mother. Because of that, he stayed.

You felt embarrassed, and at the moment, you resentee your mother for making him feel that way; tapped.

You coasted back to the present, turning over and idly playing with Sukuna’s arms. He really did look like Yuuji. Was that the reason he picked it out for you?

You shook your head, rolling over on your side, tucking the Sukuna plushie in between your breasts as you drifted to sleep.

October 10th

Fuck, why did it look so much like Yuuji?

You positioned yourself on top of your plushie. Although soft, most of its design was embroidered onto the fabric skin, like the plushie's eyes, hard to the touch.

You both haven't fucked in ages, with Yuuji being busy as a college athlete.

You felt the plushie's softness envelop your lower half as you began to grind against it. The fabric was surprisingly responsive, almost as if it were alive beneath you. Your hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, building friction between your clothed sex and the plushie's plush exterior.

The plushie's soft, yielding surface seemed to mold perfectly to your body as you straddled it, its plush exterior conforming to every curve. You ground your hips against the toy faster, panting with need as delicious friction built between your clothed sex and the plushie's inviting surface.

Your nipples hardened into stiff peaks, poking against the fabric of your top. Unable to resist, you reached inside your shirt and grasped them, squeezing the sensitive buds between your thumb and forefinger. "Ohhh… mmm… yes..." you whimpered quietly, mindful that your mom was asleep just next door.

The plushie's embroidered eyes provided a delightful contrast in texture, their slightly harder surface perfect for grinding your clit against.

Lost in the sensations, you tugged impatiently at your clothes, desperate for more direct contact. Finally managing to throw your shirt aside, your fingers kneaded the supple flesh of your breasts, rolling and pinching your nipples until they ached deliciously. Unable to resist, you ducked your head down and captured one rosy peak between your lips, suckling greedily. The wet heat of your mouth sent sparks of pleasure racing through your body, drawing a needy whimper from your throat.

Rocking your hips faster, you chased the building pressure between your thighs. The plushie's surface rubbed deliciously against your clothed sex, the fabric of your panties growing damp with each passing second.

You circled your sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing yourself with feather-light touches before increasing the pressure. Each stroke sent jolts of electricity coursing through your veins, stoking the fire building low in your belly. Desperate for more, you slipped your hand into your panties, fingers gliding through the slick folds of your pussy.

You plunged two fingers deep inside your aching core, pumping them in and out in time with the sway of your hips. Crude squelching noises filled the room, mingling with your breathy moans and the rustling of the plushie's stuffing. You inner walls fluttered around your fingers, aching to be filled.

You bit your lip, muffling a scream as ecstasy crashed over you. Your pussy spasmed and clenched as you gushed, soaking through your panties and dripping onto the plushie below. The soft, plush fabric absorbed your juices, the toy growing warm and damp beneath you.

You let out a shaky moan, looking down at your mess. A minute passes by before you reluctantly get up on shaky legs, your body still trembling from the force of your orgasm.

You pad naked to the bathroom, where in the shower, you languidly soap up your curves, replaying the intense moment in your mind. After thoroughly cleaning yourself, you step out and dry off, feeling refreshed and satisfied.

You wrapped the plushie in a towel to contain the mess and carried it to the laundry room, tossing it in the washing machine along with some detergent, setting it to run a hot cycle.

October 18th, 9:20pm

You stepped into the dim kitchen, your thoughts fixated on grabbing a snack. Across the room, your mother lay motionless on the couch, the low hum of the TV casting flickering shadows as she slept. The silence settled, and you reached for the cabinet handle, but the moment you opened it, something tumbled out with a sharp thud against the sink.

Startled, you jerked back, your heart racing as you peered down, half-expecting a rat to scurry from the shadows.

But in the sink, drenched in the pooling water, was your Sukuna plush, its pink hair dark and matted.

October 24th

At last, Yuuji was beside you in bed, the soft sheets barely a barrier between your bodies. You lay facing each other on your sides, close enough to feel his breath on your skin. Your lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. Until he broke it.

"Mmm," Yuuji groaned, his body trembling with need. "I hate how it's staring at us."

You glanced over your shoulder, following his gaze. The Sukuna plush sat on the nightstand, its large red eyes fixed on the two of you. Turning back to Yuuji, a sly smile tugged at your lips. “Performance anxiety?” You purred, your voice low and sultry.

Before he could rebuke, your thumb caressed the side of his face, fingertips trailing down his jawline as you pulled him in for another searing kiss. Yuuji melted into your touch, his lips parting to allow your tongue to slide against his. He tasted faintly of sake from earlier.

Yuuji's hands roamed your curves, squeezing your hips as he deepened the kiss. His hardness pressed against your thigh, evidence of his desire. But then he opened his lidded eyes and caught sight of the Sukuna plush watching you both. Frowning, he broke away, drawing a frustrated groan from you.

"Really, Yuuji?" you whined, trying to pull him back.

"I don't know, something doesn't feel right about that guy," Yuuji muttered, reaching over to flip the Sukuna plush face-down on the nightstand. He paused before flinging it softly across the room all together.

Satisfied, Yuuji turned back to you, his eyes dark with lust. He tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging you into another passionate kiss. Your bodies molded together as the kiss grew more heated, hands exploring and caressing. He grabbed the sheets before raising them over your heads.

Halloween Night

You sat on the edge of your bed, slowly rolling the red stockings up your thighs. The fabric hugged your skin snugly as you adjusted them, pausing to glance at yourself in the mirror. Halloween has finally come. The costume party you'd been excited about for weeks was just hours away, and you’d decided to dress up as Little Red Riding Hood. Her dress was secured around you with needles, as you did last minute shopping and they were out of your size. You hid the pins with the cheap red cloak that draped over your shoulders, falling just past your waist.

You were paired with the lace-trimmed stockings you’d found online. The outfit was cute but with a hint of edge, just the way you liked it.

Nobara and Megumi were supposed to pick you up soon, and the three of you planned to make an entrance. Megumi was the wolf and Nobara was the grandma. Yuuji, on the other hand, had opted to stay home. He had a big game tomorrow and needed to focus, so he’d promised to hold down the fort and handle the trick-or-treaters, along with your mom if she wasn’t already resting in her bedroom. You had teased him earlier about his dedication, but he just grinned, saying he didn’t mind.

As you turned back to the bed, you frowned, realizing that one of your stockings was missing. Your eyes scanned the messy bedspread, then drifted to the floor. Maybe it had fallen off when you were getting dressed. You leaned over to check under the bed, and sure enough, there it was, and there it was, wrapped around your Sukuna plush like some kind of weird little hostage.

You frowned, reaching down to grab the sock when, out of nowhere, you felt a sharp smack on your backside.

"Yuji!" You yelped, startled, before whirling around to see him standing there, toothbrush in his mouth, a playful smirk on his face.

“Be safe, okay?” he mumbled through the foam, tapping the toothbrush against his lip. “And make sure you don’t split up with Megumi.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing the Sukuna plush back onto the bed with a sigh. You couldn’t help but smile at that, shaking your head. Megumi was like the reluctant guardian of your little trio, always making sure you didn’t get into too much trouble. “Alright,” you said, glancing at the clock on your nightstand. 6:09 p.m. You still had a little time before they arrived.

“I’ll be back by eight,” you promised, pulling on your red boots and smoothing out your dress. “Don’t wait too long.”

Yuuji stepped forward, toothbrush now forgotten, wiped the foam from his face with the back of his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, as he always did before you or he left. “Alright, just be careful,” he murmured, his voice a little softer than before.

You smiled, feeling a little flustered under his affectionate gaze. You headed toward the door, your hand resting on the knob, when his voice called out to you again, making you pause.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he added, grinning like a dork. “I love you.”

You turned slightly, looking over your shoulder with a teasing smirk. “I know,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, enjoying the playful banter between you two.

Yuuji pouted, crossing his arms. “Say it back! What if I die tonight?”

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a laugh. “Die? From what? The neighborhood kids in bed sheets pretending to be ghosts?”

He gave you an exaggerated look of concern. “I might not have the candy they wanted! They could turn violent, y’know.”

Shaking your head, you walked back over to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, tasting the minty toothpaste. “Love you, Yuuji. And if you’re still up when I get home, maybe I’ll give you something sweeter than candy.”

8:25 p.m

You entered the door with thunder. You’d been carrying lots of food left over from the party. Knowing the college students like you both were, food was a valuable object. You could feel your stomach twist if you had to go one more day with instant noodles.

What bothers you more is that your boyfriend hasn'rvcome down the stairs to help you put the food away after you slammed the door, a sign of frustration.

“Yuuji!” You screamed, hearing your voice echo off the walls. Nobody answers back. You didn't bother with your mom. Usually around this time, she took her pills and was out for the rest of the night.

What bothers you more is the bowl of candy, untouched, still overflowing with vibrant wrappers, sat on the table, mocking the silence that filled the house.

You cursed under your breath, assuming he’d gone to bed early again. Irritation bubbled inside your throat, but as you ascended the stairs, ready to scold him, the bubbles in your throat exploded, replaced by a scream that tore through the quiet.

There, sprawled across the floor, was your highschool sweetheart, his lifeless body drenched in blood. The crimson pooled around him, staining the hardwood. But it wasn’t the blood that froze your heart.

It was the figure standing over him.

The hulking presence loomed over you, its naked form towering and imposing. Pink hair spiked wildly, framing a face that was both beautiful and grotesque. One side twisted and deformed, while the other was almost handsome. There was something else in his hair, a sort of white foam that looked like stuffing.

But it was those piercing blue eyes that truly captured your attention – cold, calculating, and filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

Four inhuman arms emerged from its shadowy frame, each marked with jagged black patterns that pulsed with dark energy.

And two massive twin shafts stood at semi-attention, donning the same black markings on his arms. The weighty orbs of his testicles swung heavily between his muscular thighs, swollen and churning with virile seed, ready to unleash their pent-up load.

You could feel its gaze boring into you, as if it was sizing you up like a predator stalking its prey. A distant, hazy recognition sparked in your mind – you had seen this creature before, in the darkest corners of your memory. And now, it was here, in the flesh.

He began to walk towards you but his feet snagged onto your boyfriend's body.

Sukuna stared down at the unmoving carcass indifferently, as if it was a mere log in the way of him reaching you. He simply pushed the body to the side with his foot, thighs carved as if made of marvel, and made his way towards you.

"No... No," You whimpered as he closed the distance between you.

As you stumbled back as it advanced, closing the gap between you with slow, powerful strides.

Your feet became tangled, an unavoidable result of the intense fear coursing through your veins. The room seemed to tilt and spin around you, and before you could react, you found yourself falling backwards.

Sukuna was quick to respond, his reflexes lightning fast compared to your panicked mind. One of his powerful arms shot out, grabbing at your flimsy dress held together by pins. The delicate fabric ripped easily as you fell, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable before the imposing figure of Sukuna.

His eyes devoured every inch of your body, taking in the sight of your lacy lingerie barely concealing your most intimate parts. The flimsy bra did little to contain your heaving breasts, your nipples clearly visible through the sheer lace. And your panties... They clung to the curves of your ass and the swell of your pussy, leaving very little to the imagination.

"Leave me alone!" You cried out, crawling on all fours. He grinned and reached down, gripping on your hair firmly, almost painfully so, as he yanked you closer to his throbbing cock.

The thick, musky scent of his arousal filled your nostrils, making your head spin with a dizzying mix of terror. His other hand pressed the leaking tip of his cock against your trembling lips, smearing them with his salty precum.

"No...--" you whimpered before he forced his massive girth past your lips. Sukuna's cock stretched your mouth obscenely, the bulbous head pushing against the back of your throat. The bitter taste of his precum coated your tongue as he slid deeper, making you gag and splutter around his thick shaft.

The intoxicating taste of his precum flooded your senses, igniting an uncontrollable ache between your legs. With each passing second, your body betrayed you further, your pussy growing slicker as you found yourself eagerly sucking him of your own accord.

He watched you intently, a wicked grin spreading across his face as you lavished attention on the tip of his cock, lapping at it like a woman dying of thirst. A guttural groan escaped him as he wiped away the saliva that dribbled down your chin. Throwing his head back, he surrendered to the sensations, one hand tangling in his hair while the other gripped your head tightly. For the first time, he spoke. "That's it. Quit acting so shy."

His fingers dug into your scalp as he began to thrust forcefully, driving his cock deeper into your throat with each harsh movement. There was no mercy in his actions, only a primal desire to claim and dominate. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to breathe around his thick girth, but still, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

His grip on your hair tightened, holding you in place as he pistoned in and out of your throat. The wet, vulgar sounds of your sucking filled the room, mingling with his grunts of pleasure. He was close now, you could tell by the way his thrusts became more erratic, more desperate.

He halted inside you, his heavy balls slapping against your chin. Your nose was buried in his pubic hair, the musky scent filling your lungs. Sukuna held you there, letting you struggle and sputter around his cock before cumming down your throat. You had no choice but to swallow every last drop, your body shuddering as the aphrodisiac effects of his seed sent waves of unwanted pleasure crashing through you.

"Swallow."

After what seemed an eternity, he finally withdrew, allowing you to gulp precious air. Thin strands of saliva and pearly seed bridged your bruised, swollen lips to his glistening, throbbing shaft. He rested the weighty length across your flushed cheek, still pulsing and oozing aphrodisiac essence from the engorged head. It trailed down the thick veins of his cock, painting your face with his musky fluids.

You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, panting softly, a wild, desperate look in their depths. Something primal and hungry sparked within you. It finally came to you that this man, this... thing, was the king of all curses.

Sukuna's voice was a deep, velvety purr that seemed to caress every inch of your skin. "Just look at you, so utterly wrecked, so desperate for more of my cock, just from having it in your mouth." His fingers traced along your jawline with a feather-light touch, a mockery of tenderness.

"I wonder how utterly destroyed you'll look when my thick shaft is buried to the hilt inside your tight little cunt." His words dripped with a dark promise as his hands roamed possessively over your your.

Sukuna's iron grip on your hair sent searing pain through your scalp as he yanked you down the hallway, your screams echoing off the walls. As you entered you and Yuuji's shared bedroom, you passed Yuuji's crumpled form, catching a glimpse of his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. A flicker of hope ignited within you - perhaps there was still a chance to be spared from being ravaged by this beast.

But Sukuna remained utterly unmoved by Yuuji's condition. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent you tumbling onto the bed, your body bouncing slightly on the rumpled sheets. You immediately scrambled backwards, putting as much distance between yourself and the demon as possible.

Your efforts were futile. In a blur of motion, Sukuna lunged forward and seized your ankle in an iron grip. You thrashed and kicked, but he easily captured your other leg and effortlessly wrenched your legs apart, positioning himself between your thighs.

Sukuna's hands roamed possessively over your soft curves, his touch both tender and rough. "So soft, so delicate. Like ripe fruit, just waiting to be devoured," he purred, fingers digging into the pliant flesh of her thighs. "I remember when you used to play with me, moving my limbs however you wanted. Did it excite you, having that control?"

You shivered. His words transported you back to the weeks before, when you would idly move the stuffed limbs of your Sukuna plush. How was he alive? Big?

Newer flashes of memory surfaces, ones of where you carelessly tossed him, or accidentally sat on him. Yuuji performed all of those actions, and now he laid unmoving on the floor. What if Sukuna sought revenge for those thoughtless acts?

Sukuna's hands roamed hungrily over your curves, tracing the flare of your hips, the taper of your waist, before roughly palming the heavy weight of your breast, pushing them together. With a sharp tug, he rent your bra asunder, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper. Your breast spilled free, soft and yielding as they followed the curve of your sides, like melting butter on a hot pan.

Sukuna's fingers sank into the pliant flesh, kneading and squeezing with bruising force. He enveloped your entire breast in the hot, greedy clasp of his palm, thumb flicking mercilessly over the pebbled peak. You grunted as his roughness.

Suddenly, a wet heat engulfed your nipple. You gasped, realizing a mouth had formed on Sukuna's hand. The tongue swirled and lashed the sensitive bud, suckling hard and drawing the tender flesh deeper. Jolts of painful pleasure shot straight to your core as it's teeth grazed the delicate skin, nipping sharply before his tongue soothed the sting.

Sukuna's other set of arms slid between your thighs, a finger brushing against your clothed sex. He could feel the scorching heat emanating from your core, the dampness seeping through the thin fabric. A wicked grin spread across his face as he realized just how affected you were by his touch.

"Mmm, already so wet and ready for me," Sukuna purred, his voice a deep rumble.

In one swift motion, one hand clasped together your ankles in one palm, spreading your legs wider. The other clamped down on your panties, bunching the fabric in his fist.

With a sharp yank, Sukuna tore your panties clean off, baring your glistening sex to his hungry gaze. His eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of your slick folds, already flushed and swollen with arousal.

Sukuna's tongue slid out, licking his lips as if he could already savor your sweet nectar. In one fluid motion, he laid on the bed, positioning you above his face. Your dripping sex hovered inches from his mouth, the intoxicating aroma of your pussy filling his nostrils.

He gripped your hips firmly, holding you open and exposed for his hungry gaze. You could feel the scorching heat of his breath caressing your sensitive flesh. Sukuna's fingers dug possessively into the meat of your thighs, keeping you spread wide.

"I'm going to feast on this pussy," he growled, his lips grazing your inner thigh. "Ever since you came on my face, I haven't been able to stop thinking about tasting your essence. Sweet, compared to how slutty you were."

You have barely any time to remember before he yanked your hips closer, burying his face between your legs. He dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, savoring the first taste of your arousal. You cried out, fingers tangling in his hair as he moaned against your flesh.

"Fuck, you're so sweet," Sukuna rasped, his voice rough with desire. "So fucking sweet."

He dove back in, sealing his lips around your clit. At the same time, he thrust his tongue deep inside your tight channel, fucking you with the slick muscle.

"Ah!" You cried out, your thighs clamping around Sukuna's head as you tried to squirm away from the intense pleasure. Sukuna growled, the vibrations making you see stars.

His strong hands gripped your doughy hips, holding your frame firmly in place. With a sharp smack, he struck your pert ass, the crack echoing through the room. A vivid red handprint bloomed across your rear. "Interrupt me again while I am feasting and I will have you writhing and screaming on my tongue for hours on end."

"'M sorry... 'M sorry!" You whimpered, though your mind felt foggy, thoughts scattering like startled birds.

His tongue continued to swirl and tease, leaving hot, wet strokes over your quivering flesh. He zeroed in on your throbbing clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue before his lips secured around it again. He suckled hard and fast, sending jolts of electric pleasure racing through your core. He alternated between flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit and taking it between his lips.

"Mmmph! Oh, oh god!" You moaned, your back arching as you rode his face. Your hands fisted in his hair, pushing him closer. "Please don't stop... Please don't stop!"

Sukuna showed no signs of slowing down, his tongue plunging deep into your soaked folds, stroking along your velvety walls. He plunged two thick, calloused fingers knuckle-deep into your tight, slick heat. Your velvety walls clenched greedily around the intrusion.

Curling his fingers just so, Sukuna rubbed insistently against that spongy patch of nerves, stroking and massaging until your hips were shaking against his face. Drool trickled from the corner of his mouth as he feasted on your weeping sex.

You babbled incoherently, hands fisting in his dark hair. Your thighs clamped around his head, trapping him against your spasming core. "Ah... Ah!"

With a final, well-aimed thrust, he sent you flying over the edge into pure bliss.

Your back arched off the face as a silent scream tore from your throat. Your pussy clenched around his fingers like a vice, gushing your sweet nectar onto his tongue and chin as he eagerly lapped it up. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you boneless and panting. Slowly, he pulled his sticky fingers coated in your essence and brought it to his softened lips.

As he licked his fingers, he gazed at you with renewed hunger, as if the taste of you had an aphrodisiac effect too. He knew you were completely at his mercy now.

In one swift motion, he pounced, his powerful body pressing you down into the mattress. With a firm grip on your ankles, he hoisted your legs up and back until they were folded nearly in half, your knees nearly touching your shoulders. The lewd position left you completely exposed and vulnerable to his desires.

"There, now you're open and ready for me," he growled, the bulbous head of his thick, veiny cock prodding insistently at your tight little entrance. You let out a sharp gasp as he began to push inside, your slick walls stretching obscenely around his girthy intrusion. It felt like you were being split in half as he slowly sank deeper, igniting a raging wildfire in your core.

"Ah! S-Slow down! It's too much!" you cried out, your fingers digging into his muscular chest to push him away. Your body betrayed you, inner muscles fluttering and clenching needily around the hard shaft impaling you.

He paused.

Then a ungodly grin spread across his face. With a flex of his powerful hips, he withdrew almost all the way until just the tip remained inside your quivering heat. You felt something else prod your entrance and your heart dropped.

With a brutal thrust, he slammed back into the hilt, heavy balls slapping lewdly against your upturned ass. He had managed to stuff his second cock into your tight hole.

Your back arched off the bed, a silent scream tearing from your throat as he stretched you to your absolute limit. Electric pleasure crackled through your nerves with each deep, punishing stroke as he set a ruthless pace, pounding into your sopping cunt with animalistic abandon. Obscene squelching noises filled the room, mingling with the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh and your wanton cries.

"Let this be a lesson to you, girl," he groaned, relishing the way your velvety walls gripped him like a vice. His hand gripped your cheeks, puffing out your lips. "Tell me what to do with my cock, and I'll return it twice-fold."

He could feel every inch of your tight heat clenching around his throbbing shafts as he pounded into you mercilessly. The wet, obscene sounds of your coupling filled the room, driving him wild with lust. He wanted to ruin you, to claim every part of you and make you forget about any other man.

He grinned at the thought. "Your boyfriend would lose his fucking mind if he saw you like this," he growled, voice rough with lust. "Stuffed full with two cocks, moaning like a bitch in heat, surrendering to me so easily. Are you ashamed?"

He reached down to roughly grope your bouncing tits, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. He pinched and tugged at your sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. The synchronized sensations of his hands on your breasts and his cock pounding into your dripping cunt were driving you wild, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

"No," he chuckled. "No. I don't even think you have a single thought in that pretty little head besides how good it feels to be used like a cheap whore."

His lewd words only stoked the flames of your desire higher, your inner walls gripping his plunging shaft even tighter. You could feel the pressure mounting deep within you, winding itself into an knot.

"Take it," he growled. "Take, every, last, inch!" His hips slammed into yours with every pronounced word of his command. "Gonna pump this pussy full. Flood your womb with my seed."

Abruptly, he altered the angle, the bulbous head of his manhood grinding against your G-spot with every powerful thrust. That extra stimulation was the final push you needed to tumble over the edge. A guttural moan tore from your throat as your climax hit you like a freight train, your body quaking and spasming as rapture overwhelmed your senses in relentless waves.

His cocks pulsed and throbbed inside you as he neared his own peak, stretching you deliciously with each twitch. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt, his hips pressed flush against yours. You felt the first hot spurt of his release paint your inner walls, followed by another and another, until you were both gasping and trembling from the intensity of it all.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight pinning you to the bed as you both struggled to catch your breath. For a long moment, there was only the sound of your mingled panting filling the room. After a long, blissful moment, he rolled off you, his semi-erect cocks slipping out with a lewd squelch. Immediately, his thick seed began oozing from your well-fucked pussy, trickling down to your quivering asshole.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled to the back of your as exhaustion overtook you. Sukuna gazed down at your ravaged body, admiring the finger-shaped bruises and glistening sheen of perspiration coating your skin.

He leaned down, licking a long stripe up your pussy, savoring the mingled taste of your juices.

His eyes suddenly flicked to the shadowy corner. "Uraume, you little pervert," he grinned.

Uraume stepped out from the shadows, a wicked grin on their face. "I couldn't resist coming to welcome you back to the world, my lord Sukuna." Their eyes roamed over your cum-splattered body, and followed the trail of stuffing on the floor.

"I was wondering when you would come back from that humiliating curse."

Sukuna sat up, not bothering to cover his nudity. "This girl happens to be a descendant of one of my brides. I take great pride in my women."

"Yes, I can see," she said, eyeing Yuuji's body. "She served you well, my lord.”

[hvhvmoc]

🖤🖤🖤

Characters : Art the Clown (Terrifier), afab!reader

Warnings/CW : kinda slowburn, Art almost kills you on purpose, funny stuff, rough smut, wall sex, spanking, hair pulling, overstimulation, choking, pussy slapping, oral (f! Receiving), multiple orgasms, you pass out mid sex, Art is stumped and confused, you're ok tho, talks about blowjobs, bit of fluff at the end, tell me if I missed anything

A/N : I have nowhere to go this Halloween ☹️ just stay home, write and take photos of myself

Its around midnight, you're in your kitchen cooking dinner. Usually you don't cook at midnight but you were busy all day and it just got pushed back. Plus, your boyfriend wasn't home yet. The infamous Mikes County Killer, Art the Clown. He was taking his usual time out there, spilling blood, guts, and pain, while you were home, working or being lazy.

You're surprised your still up with this much energy. You did wake up really late today, since you didn't have work that day. You took that time to organize the house, clean everything up, shower, maybe even trim your hair with a pair of random scissors you prayed didn't belong to Art- knowing what he does with them- and knowing that although he has okay hygiene, he doesn't properly clean his weapons like at all.

You switch between mixing and checking on the red rice, stirring the big pan of cooking chicken, stirring the smaller pan of cooking beef, and finally stirring the pan of cut up bell peppers, broccoli, corn, and onion. The rice finished cooking and so did the vegetables- the chicken and beef still needed some time- when Art busted through your front door, a scowl on his face, his leg and torso cut up a bit from (what you can only guess) a victim fighting back, and blood all over him. He drops his bag of weapons and goes to find you, the scowl not leaving his face.

That expression would've terrified anyone. But really, you were used to it. The more logical side of your brain knew it was only a matter of time before he treats you like any other victim of his; scalping, cutting, drugging, stabbing, torturing. But you decided to just play along with him. Maybe if you act nice and continue to treat him like this, he'll make your death less brutal. Hopefully. But truly you don't know. Nobody but him knows what's going on in his head. He's like a wild animal; sometimes you can get close and they look still- froze- waiting for you to get close and closer, before they pounce on you and attack. Brutally attack.

Art stands by you, not really doing anything but standing with the scowl on his face, staring at you. You smile and wave up at him, giving him a little "Hi baby", before turning your attention back to the food. There was silence, the only thing making noise being the food cooking.

You feel something cold on the back of your neck. You look up at Art and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand outstretched behind your neck. You can't really tell what it is he has but you will admit, it's scarring you. You tried not to show it though. You know Art loves when his victims show fear. If he has thoughts of killing you, fear will only fuel it.

He lowers his hand while you watch. Now you can see what he had pressed against you. A knife- which is probably the least painful object he owns for killing. You again, tried to show now fear. Your eyes didn't widen and your breathing stayed like before. But your heart is beating faster. That's something you can't control. You just showed confusion. Art drops the knife onto the floor- thankfully missing his and yours feet- and turn around, leaving and disappearing into your bedroom.

Once he leaves, you sigh. What the fuck was that? This isn't the first time he's pressed a weapon against you but it still shakes you up everytime. And maybe that's what he wants. You bend down and pick up the knife, throwing it in the sink. You continue cooking, acting like your boyfriend didn't just hold a knife against you.

You taste test everything, ensuring that everything's thoroughly cooked. When the taste is up to your standards, you go to turn off the stove. As your reaching for it, you hear a loud "honk" right in your ear. You jump and turn around, more terrified than when he held a knife to your neck. Art is there, now fully cleaned of blood, and silently laughs. Hard. And buckles over in laughter and pointing at you. He then puts a hand of his heart and mocks your shocked expression and the way you jumped. You bend over the counter, holding your head and laughing too.

Art comes over and grabs a hold of your waist, wrapping both arms around you and lifting you up. He swings you around a bit and kisses your neck. You laugh as he does, now forgetting about the past incident. "Baby-" you laugh. Art perks up and looks at you. "Go sit at the dinner table, I'll bring out your dinner." Art rolls his eyes and gives you once last squeeze before he lets go and slumps over to his spot on the dinner table.

You serve two plates; Art has some chicken, beef, rice and vegetables, which yours has the same but less beef. You bring out his plate first, setting it in front of him and kissing him on the lips. And go back to get your plate and when you come back and set your plate down across Art, you notice his vegetables are gone from his plate and... on the floor, a very thin, useless napkin covering them.

"Babe." Now it's your turn to scowl at him. Art was some of the beef in his mouth. He looks up at you, dumbfounded. "Why the shit is your food on the floor?" Art shrugs and looks around at the floor around him and looks puzzled, like he's pretending the food on the floor doesn't exist. "Art." You glare at him and he just looks like he doesn't know what you're talking about, doing hand movements to tell you you're crazy.

You opened your mouth to speak but Art held up a finger, shushing you. He points to the beef and then his arm, his eyes questioning. "What?" He does the same again. You shrug, looking confused. Art rolls his eyes like you're the dumb one and points to the beef and then to you and him. "I dont-" Art rolls his eyes harder, throwing his body back in dramaticness too. He points to the beef again, and shrugs, looking at you like it's so obvious to know what he's trying to ask you.

"What is it??" You ask, trying to guess what he's trying to say. Art nods, happily and relieved that you finally got it. "It's beef. It's cow." You say and start eating, taking a bite of the chicken. Arts grin is quickly wiped off his face and he slumps. "What?" You ask and eat. Art does a handmovement to say "oh nevermind" and he starts eating. "I'm not cooking human, Art. Don't even think about it." You scold and Art mocks you in response. You just roll your eyes and eat, forgetting the vegetables on the floor.

🖤🖤🖤

After dinner, you two clean up the kitchen. Art washes the dishes while you put the dishes in the sink and wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor. You have music on, singing along as Art bops his head dances a little to the music.

After cleaning, you two go to your shared bedroom. As soon as your door closes, you pounce on Art. You wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. Almost like he was expecting it, Art instantly grabbed onto you and kissed you back, using tongue and gripping onto your pajamas.

Art pushes you against the wall, his hands still gripping your hips. Your hands reach behind his back and zipped down the zipper on his clown suit. Art starts peeling off your clothes until you're completely naked. You pull off arts clown fit until he's naked too, just his facepaint and mini tophat on.

Art flips you over so you're pressed against the wall. You open your legs a bit and Art grabs your asscheeks, opening them apart and angling his dick with your pussy. He spits on his dick and slowly slips into you, his hands moving to your hips. You let out a soft moan and press your cheek against the wall, looking back at him. Your full body is against the wall, your ass poking out a little.

Art starts slamming his hips against you, his pace getting rougher and rougher. Your body jolts and you moan louder. With every thrust, your thighs slap against the wall. Art reaches around your neck. He wraps his bare hand around the front of your neck and he flips you two over. His back lays against the wall, one hand on your hips as he continues to thrust into you. He pulls your head back by your neck, squeezing a little. Your hands reach back and grab onto his legs as his pace becomes almost unhuman.

Art slaps your ass hard as he does, grinning at your yelp in response. He trails is hand down, roughly grabbing your tits, then trailing fully down to your hip. He pushes down on your back to make you bend over and his other hand grabs a fistful off your hair and pulls your head back. Art grabs your thighs with the hands that was once on your back and opens your legs more. He then grabs your hand and places it on your pussy, and you start mastutbating yourself. All the while his pace stays harsh and rough like usual.

After a while you warn Art of your upcoming orgasm, to which he replies by slapping your ass harshly a couple more times until you cum on his dick; your fingers still circling your clit and Arts pace not faltering. Art abruptly stops his movements, planting himself balls deep into you. He lets go of your hair, his hands just resting on your hips. You slowly stand up straight again. Art grabs the hand you used to pleasure yourself with, pressing it against his lips and into his mouth, licking your juices off your fingers. His other hand pulls your hair back. He slowly turns to look at you, a grin on his face, and he dives in to kiss your lips.

He lets go of you and peels you off his dick, walking you to the bed and pushing you on your back, onto the bed. Art opens your legs, kneeling between them. He uses his fingers to massage your clit for a while before he raises his hand up and slaps your pussy. Not too hard but enough to sting. When he hears you moan and watches your legs jolt, he does it again. And again. And again. And again, till your pussy was wetter and red.

Art stops slapping you, then leans down and starts roughly eating your pussy. You moan loudly and wiggle a little as he does. He forces your legs open and keeps them there as he makes out with your pussy. You grab his head and push it closer to you, his large nose pressing against your clit.

You grind against his face until you cum on his face and he keeps eating you out. Your body spasms. He finally pulls away and licks his lips, standing up again. He lines his dick up with your pussy, instantly pludging himself into you and his expression contorts at the feeling. He starts moving his hips again, fast.

You cry out in overstimulation, your nails digging into his arms as his hands grip your hips tightly. A single tear runs down your face. Art sees this a grins, enjoying the pleasure- and pain- he's giving you. He licks the tear, biting your cheek a little before he comes back up. Your legs shake and tremble and your face looks disheveled. But Art loves when your helpless like this with him. Because of him.

Art winks down and at you and blows you a kiss. He then slams into you, hard, and stays there for a second, balls deep inside you. Then he does it again. And again. And again. He grins wider and wider with every moan you scream out.

He then wraps his hand around your neck, tightly, and starts up his fast, rough pace into you. Your hands claw at his arm as he chokes you, but not too hard. Well... not at first at least. After a couple more minutes, and a couple more orgasms pulled from you, he grips your neck tighter. Your face is now redder than it's ever been.

Art slams into you, cumming inside you, his grin not leaving his face, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your pussy. Even after he came, he kept going, moving fast like before. Like he had all the energy in the world. He squeezed a little tighter at your neck for a second, cutting your airways for only a second before he let you breath again as he fucked you.

Your body slowly became more and more limp, your eyes getting loopy and your heart racing. Your moans start getting fainter and quieter, which makes Art falter a bit but he doesn't stop. Seconds later your body goes limp and your eyes close. You passed out. Whether that be from the choking or from the overstimulation, you don't know. You just know you knocked out.

🖤🖤🖤

You woke up minutes later, now laying against a pillow on the bed. You have a blanket over your still-naked body and the ceiling fans on. You see Art sitting next to you on the bed, now in sports shorts and a T-shirt. He's looking down at you as you wake up, and you have a feeling he's been like that for the whole time you've been asleep.

Art has confusion and... fear in eyes. Fear for Art is rare. Rarer than rare. Someone like Art is never scared. Confused yes, he's sometimes confused, but not scared. He's watched you almost cut a finger off while cooking and his eyes looked more hungry and like he was holding back than scared for your life. But now he's scared. There's finally some human emotion in his eyes.

You two don't do anything but stare at eachother for some time. Didn't Art almost kill you when he got home? Why does he look worried now? It's like he's not even blinking.

Arts tilts his head, looking down at you. He slowly inches his hand to your neck, lightly touching the red marks of his hand left behind. You turn on your side, smiling tiredly as you look up at him. Art touches your face and raises his eyebrows, still confused on why you just knocked out mid sex. "Ya kno-" you stop talking when you hear your own voice. It's very very raspy. You clear your throat and go to talk again. That didn't help. Still raspy. But you talked anyway.

"A girl can only take so much, baby." You laugh. Art rolls his eyes and mocks you. He's back to his usual self. "Whaat??" You laugh again and wrap your arms around his waist. Art ruffles your already-messed-up hair, grinning down at you playfully again.

"Maybe if I wake up first tomorrow, I'll wake you up with a blowjob." You rub your elbow on his crotch and he instantly gets hard again. You get off him and lay back on the bed. He looks down at you with a frown. "Tomorrow." You remind him. Art huffs and rolls his eyes, getting into bed with you. You two sleep, clinging onto eachother.

🖤🖤🖤

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

[r4di0h3ad]

3 times jj kissed you + 1 time you kissed him

parings! bsf!jj x reader

warnings! . smoking. fluff. angst if you squint. not proof read.

the first time, you were 14.

you had moved to the outerbanks at the beginning of your 7th grade year, terrified out of your mind. you didn’t know a soul, you didn’t know how people in a beach town behaved, what they wore, how they talked.

but on your very first day at kildare county middle school, you met your people.

jj was the first to talk to you, telling you he liked your t shirt you got from a popular surf shop that you had agonized over, wondering if people would like it. he was the first to make you feel comfortable.

gradually, you started sitting with him in science class, and then you started sitting with him and his friends at lunch. you met john b, kiara, and pope and you were inseparable since.

now it was the middle of your 8th grade year. kiara was throwing her birthday party where half of the middle school seemed to be invited. her circle of friends was much larger at that time due to her being considered in between a pogue and a kook.

the girls had decided to play the classic party game, spin the bottle and mostly everyone at the party gathered around in a crowded circle. it seemed like everybody playing wasn’t the least bit nervous about kissing someone else, but you were picking at the skin of you fingers because you had never been kissed.

you anxiously awaited your turn, watching the bottle intently in case it landed on you, but thankfully, it never did.

and then your turn came around. you nervously spun the bottle, hoping it wouldn’t land on some guy or girl you hardly knew. it did a few rotations, everyone eager to know who you were going to kiss.

the bottle settled on jj directly across from you.

you immediately felt better, knowing that it was one of your friends who would steal your first kiss, but then you chided yourself for even thinking about kissing one of your friends.

jj came across the circle to where you were sitting and grabbed your hands, pulling you to your feet. he didn’t seem nervous at all, but that was just how jj was.

you noticed some of the kook girls staring at the two of you, jealous that it wasn’t them who got to kiss him.

“you can skip me if you don’t wanna kiss me, y’know?” he said, but not in a way that was telling you he didn’t want this. he spoke with a quiet and sweet tone, making sure you were okay. he was always making sure you were okay. he knew this was your first kiss and he didn’t want to take that from you if you weren’t alright with it.

“no, it’s okay.” you shook your head, smiling nervously.

he nodded and then gently placed his hands on both sides of your face before he leaned in.

you closed your eyes and waited for his lips to touch yours.

you always thought you would be clueless during your first kiss, but he made it feel natural.

his lips gently pecked yours, lingering for a few seconds before he pulled away.

you heard ooo’s and ahh’s from the teenagers around you and you couldn’t help the redness that rushed to your face. you were glad it was him.

that night you also kissed two others. one random kook boy who you hardly knew and one girl who was in your english class. the girls never skipped each other because they knew the kisses were meaningless, and those last two kisses were definitely meaningless. but the one with jj felt different. you tried to make yourself think it was because it was your first one. you had also watched jj kiss a few more girls that night. you scolded yourself for feeling a tinge of jealousy.

what you didn’t know was that jj placed himself directly across from you to have a better chance of your spin landing on him.

the second time, you were 16.

you had just discovered the golden cross in a dilapidated church. pope was hacking away at the wood encasing the treasure, pieces of it crashing to the ground.

when you saw the gold shimmer through the wood, your eyes lit up. you couldn’t believe that everything you had gone through had brought you to this moment. you couldn’t believe you actually found what you were looking for.

everyone celebrated with shouts, with cheers saying “we’re gonna be rich!” and with hugs.

your adrenaline was so high, you felt like you were dreaming.

jj took your face in his hands and planted a kiss right on your lips. it happened so fast you could barely comprehend what was happening and when he pulled away, your eyes met his and you saw the excitement on his face. you knew he only kissed you because there was so much to celebrate about that he didn’t know what to do with it.

you watched him hug john b as kie and sarah hugged you. he didn’t have that same look in his eyes when he celebrated with them.

you never mentioned it afterwards.

john b was the only one who saw him kiss you. a few days later, he told jj to just ask you out already.

“everyone knows it j.” john b said.

“knows what?”

“that you’re in love with her.” he said it like it was the most obvious thing ever. “you’ve been crazy about that girl since you were 13, it’s almost embarrassing that you’ve never done anything about it.” they were the only ones in the twinkie together, waiting for the 3 girls to get in the van for another daily adventure.

“she’s like- i don’t know, man.” jj shook his head. “she’d never say yes. i’d rather not fuck our whole relationship up, y’know?” he said with a hint of sarcasm.

john b scoffed.

“you’re saying she’d never say yes but you don’t see the way she looks at you?” he said. “either you’re choosing to ignore it or you’re just flat out stupid.”

the third time, you were 17

jj had shown up at your house in the pouring rain with a bruise forming on his cheek and a cut on his lower lip. the second you saw his face, you knew it was his dad.

“can i stay here tonight?” he asked, as you were already pulling him inside.

you took him to your bathroom and he rolled a joint while you found some rubbing alcohol for the cuts on his face.

he sat on the wall of the bathtub and you sat on the toilet, turning yourself to face him. he lit his joint before you dabbed a cotton pad doused in alcohol on his injuries. he flinched slightly from the pain before he took a hit from his joint, instantly soothing it.

you could’ve killed his dad for what he did. you noticed jj’s eyes were red, probably from tears. he didn’t deserve any of what his dad had put him through.

you fixed him up in silence, not wanting to touch on the subject of what happened between him and his dad.

“you’re making the house smell like weed.” you said, half-jokingly.

“shit, are your parents home?” he asked, getting ready to stub out the joint on the bathtub, but you took it from his fingers and held it to your mouth, taking a long drag and exhaling.

“they never are.” you replied.

you notice his eyes trail down to your lips as you smoked, his breath hitching. it was silent, but there was a tension that was speaking volumes between you two. the fact that he came to your house instead of john b’s was proof enough for how much he felt for you, and anyone with half a brain could see it. but you always wrote it off, not truly believing that he could have any feelings that weren’t strictly platonic towards you.

almost unconsciously, he leaned in. you let him.

his lips touched yours, his hand supporting himself on your knee. he tasted of weed and your cherry rolling papers. he tasted good.

when he pulled away, you were almost frozen, the joint still resting between your fingers, burning away. his eyes were wide with a look of regret and your heart sank.

“im- im sorry, i shouldn’t have-“ he started, realizing his hand was touching your bare leg and immediately taking it off like it was burning him.

“it’s okay,” you handed him the joint. “you’re just- you’re high.”

he cleared his throat.

“i’m sorry.” he uttered again.

later, when you went to bed that night, you wished you had kissed him again, and again. the only thing that played in your mind for the next week was the taste of his lips. but friends couldn’t think of each other like that, right?

you kissed him about a month later.

he asked you to go on a boat ride with him since you two were the only ones in the chateau at the time. you agreed, of course.

you were a little far out from the shore, seemingly being the only two people out at the moment. he had stopped the boat and began rolling a joint as you watched, seated across from him. he was so focused on crafting the joint that he didn’t even notice you staring at him.

you thought about every time he had kissed you, and every time you just shrugged it off. and you thought about the fact that every time you were near him, you wanted him to do it again. but why wouldn’t you just do it? what was the harm?

he looked up only to lick the paper, his eyes meeting yours and a smile playing on his lips.

so you did it.

you leaned in and connected your lips to his. he kissed you back almost immediately and moved his mouth in sync with yours. his hands went to your waist and yours went to his hair.

it was minutes later when you finally pulled away, both out of breath.

“i’ve wanted to kiss you like that since the day i met you.” he said, his hands still on your waist.

“don’t know what was stopping you.” you giggled.

his hand went up to your flushed cheek.

“well i really don’t want anything to stop me again.” he kissed you again.

you came back late at night to find your friends. your cheeks were still read, your hair was a little messy and a barely visible hickey was left on your collar.

everyone knew immediately. and everyone was glad they would never have to witness the mutual pining between you two again.

taglist! (comment or message to be added or removed!) @ifilwtmfc @xcallmetaniax @moondustedlily

[rcmclachlan]

I love how it appears that Tommy is the grounded, well-adjusted foil to Buck's devil-may-care adrenaline junkie, but I also have to remind myself that Tommy was the guy who was asked to steal a helicopter and fly it into a category 5 hurricane on a hunch, and he was like, "yeah, cool, let's go."

Buck probably thinks Tommy's a rational, responsible adult, because he's so considerate and he owns a house and he's so methodical when he takes Buck apart in bed and he's got a 401k and a Roth IRA account. The helicopter heist flight was definitely an outlier.

But eventually he learns the truth: Tommy's batshit insane.

Like, they're hanging in bed one morning and Buck's on his phone trying to solve the math riddle Hen sent him, and he laments the loss of his lightning-enhanced skills. And Tommy, turning the page on the WWI biography he's reading, absently says, "At least you got them. All I got was 30% hearing loss in my left ear."

Buck slowly lowers his phone and demands an explanation, and Tommy, still focused on his book, tells him about when he was struck by lightning. Both times. The second time he was in the middle of a hoist and winch rescue trying to get to the captain of a sunk fishing boat in the middle of open ocean during a storm. Tommy holds his place in his book with his thumb and shows Buck the picture Lucy took of his Lichtenberg burn—it spans the entirety of his back and goes halfway down his arms. Buck stares at it, stunned, then takes the phone and book out of Tommy's hands, tosses them on the floor, and proceeds to suck Tommy's brain out through his dick.

The first time Buck goes to see Tommy at Harbor, Tommy is still en route back from a call, so Buck gets to talking to two people named Nico and Dana who've worked with Tommy since he arrived. Buck sheepishly apologizes for putting Tommy in such a dangerous position with the hurricane.

Nico and Dana look at each other and snort. Nico puts his hand on Buck's shoulder and is like, "Dude, that is not the craziest thing Kinard's ever done. That's not the craziest thing he's done this year."

They tell him about his legendary but batshit NATOPS check maneuvers and how no one's ever been able to figure out how he can do a barrel roll in low altitude in a transport bird.

They tell him about the time he and Donato were called to a high-rise gas explosion, and they casevac'd an unconscious, pregnant woman who ended up going into labor. Tommy got back there and, with the power of WikiHow on his side, delivered a healthy baby girl halfway to LA General.

They tell him about the time he sustained a concussion while landing a malfunctioning helicopter in the baseball field of a middle school, and yet somehow found the strength to host an impromptu AMA to three hundred kids about what being a pilot's like while he munched on tater tots and waited for a rescue.

They tell him about the time he was flying with a probie at night in an area with uncharted power lines that got tangled in the rotor, and how he slung the probie under his arm like a tote bag and dove out of the helicopter right before it exploded.

They tell him about the time Tommy and Nico were called to a cliffside mansion where some foreign dignitary's daughter was being held hostage. Tommy ended up HRSTing out of the helicopter and onto the scene, and then proceeded to beat the hell out of the guy, get himself stabbed, and give the SWAT team so much shit when they arrived that the 217 has an honorary table every year at the Backdraft Ball.

When Tommy finally shows up and disembarks, Dana's halfway through a story about the time they were all called to Shasta County to help with the Carr Fire in 2018, and as soon as Buck sees him over Dana's shoulder, he shouts, "You flew into a fire tornado?!"

Tommy's expression goes a little hunted and he holds up his hands placatingly, like, "In my defense, I tried to find another way around it—"

And Dana's like, "The fuck you did. You looked me dead in the eye and said, 'You know what would be funny?' And then you banked right into the whirl."

"It's not like you tried to stop me," Tommy says accusingly, ignoring the way the side of his head is starting to smoke from the intensity of Buck's stare.

"Well, no, you were right: it was funny," Dana says with a shrug.

That night, Buck rides Tommy slow and vicious and makes him recount every detail of the fire whirl flight before he'll let Tommy come, and the entire time he grips Tommy's head and forces him to hold Buck's gaze and thinks, I can't believe I ever thought you were normal. You're insane, you're out of your mind, you're perfect, you're perfect, you're perfect for me.

In the afterglow, practically humming with satisfaction, Buck bites playfully at Tommy's chest and says, "So this is what Lucy meant when she texted me that you and I match each other's crazy. Hell, after everything you've done, I think the only thing left to check off your list is, like, aliens."

And Tommy's entire body freezes and he falls very silent very suddenly. Buck lifts his head to stare at him, like, "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Evan, for legal reasons, I need you to change the subject."

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 6: The Return

A/N: Did this chapter during a slow day in class. Enjoy this mini chapter!

You tried to keep your promise to Alfred about taking regular breaks to stop for food and sleep, but the Megamycete gives you unlimited energy, reducing your need for food and rest and allowing you to focus only driving as much as you can before night because Alfred is no doubt keeping track of when you tell him you’re stopping and resuming your journey.

Finally, after forty hours (you wished you could’ve turned into a giant flying creature and carry your car all the way to Goodsprings, but you’d never be able to explain that to Alfred), you pulled into the driveway of your childhood home and you feel tears swelling up in the corners of your eyes.

(Your feelings for this home are quite profound,) it remarks as you make your way up the driveway. (May we ask a favor?)

“Yeah, of course?”

(Allow us to establish a root system around your house. We promise our roots will not damage anything.)

“Can I ask why?”

(You have longed to return to this house for years. We wish to ensure its protection. With a root system, we will be able to watch over your house and keep out undesirables, be they man or pest.)

“Sure,” you chuckle, bending down and touching the lawn and from your finger, a sliver of mold extends from your skin and disappears into the dirt.

(We thank you. Should anything threaten your home, we will intervene.)

“Thanks, buddy,” you chuckle as you walk up to the front door, pulling out the key that the Clark County Probate Office sent you after you turned eighteen.

As you insert the key into the keyhole, you realize that you’re holding your breath. You’ve dreamed on this moment for years and now that it’s here, you’re worried that the home you’ve wanted to return to won’t bring you the joy you thought it would.

(Do not let your fears stand in your way. This home contains memories of a time of your life that you cherish. You will also be able to walk through the halls of this house without fear. Within these four walls, you will create a new life that will bring you happiness.)

You’re thankful for accepting the Megamycete into your body. Not only has it given you powers and abilities that you could never dream of, but it’s provided you comfort and companionship. It’s been very helpful to have your own Jiminy Chricket, whispering guidance and help from your shoulder.

With that, you turn the key and push the door open, stepping into the small foyer. Sure, the house has that type of smell that says it’s been empty for years and it’s pitch black since the curtains are drawn, but you’re overwhelmed by so many memories all at once. You and your Momma chasing each other down the hall in a game of tag, you sprawled out on the couch in the adjacent living room to watch the latest episode of one of your favorite cartoons, and so many others.

As you make your way through the house and notice every piece of furniture is covered in white sheets, protecting them from being covered in dust. Probably Sheriff Foley, he was the last one here the day your left and from what you remember of the distinguished sheriff, he’d do everything in his power to preserve the house and make sure nothing happened to it.

Finally, you pass throgh the dining room attached to the kitchen, walk down the small hallway and stop at the door on the left.

“Momma’s study,” you say, looking at the door before you.

(A room she spent most of her time. Many hours spent at her desk, working on her books. And you would stay in here to watch her.)

You open the door to see her bookshelves, desk, and chair covered in white tarps and the curtains drawn just like the rest of the house. You walk over to the other side of the desk, pull the tarp off the chair, and plop down on it.

“Feels just like I remember it,” you say, spinning around in it.

(What will you do with this room? Will you keep it as a study, or repurpose it?)

“I can turn it into my own study. With all that money Lex gave me for Bruce’s secrets? I can buy one hell of a PC that’ll be perfect for making games.”

After the study, you head upstairs, which has your old room, your Momma’s room, an upstairs bathroom, and a bedroom she had turned into a storage room. Your old room’s empty since you took most of your belongings when you moved to Gotham, the only things left are a bed that you’ve long since outgrown and a small dresser, so you decide otherwise set up in your Momma’s old room, which has a large bed that’s been covered in a tarp for years, a large dresser perfect for your clothes, and a sizable private bathroom.

(This house seems perfect for your purposes. And your mood has definitely improved since arriving.)

“Yeah, we have the house all to ourselves and there’s no Waynes in sight. This is definitely better than Wayne Manor.” You look around at the dark room and sigh. “We have a lot of work to do.”

And you did. For a week, you worked tirelessly to get the house livable, making calls to utility companies to get power, water, and gas turned back on, airing out the house, taking down the tarps and making everything look presentable, and clearing out your Momma’s belongings. You kept as much of you could, like her books, movies, jewelry, and everything else in between, but her clothes were boxed up and donated, along with appliances that date back to the early 2000s.

You had a lot of shopping to do, replacing the old appliances you donated, groceries for the new refrigerator, and a new mattress for your new room since the thought of sleeping on a decade old mattress made you itch all over. If you could’ve, you would’ve done all the shopping online, but you didn’t want to risk attracting attention to your finances with so many large purchases, so going to stores and paying with cash was your only option.

The best part of all this was converting your old bedroom into your gamer cave, full of your Pokémon plushies, toys, and posters, LED strips lining the corners of the room, and a giant desk and a top-of-the-line gaming PC. As much as you loved your trusty laptop, this PC makes it look like a relic from over a hundred years ago, and you can now play more modern games without any kind of lag. You’re really looking forward to future video game sessions.

After your gamer cave came your office. You boxed up your Momma’s old books and placed them in the storage room, replacing them with a few art books and game guides and bought another top-of-the-line PC full of digital art and video game creation software and placed it on the desk. You also found a fancy pen stand and placed your Momma’s pen on it, retuning the pen to its proper place. Plus, it can give you inspiration while you work.

Thankfully, the Megamycete made this undertaking easier, giving you stamina and energy that allowed you to work for hours on end without getting tired and allowing you to summon tendrils so you can do something upstairs while your body’s downstairs.

“Finally,” you sigh, plopping down on the living room couch after finishing the second coat of paint in the living room. “We’re done.”

(You have turned this house into a place anyone would kill to live in. You should be proud.)

“You helped. Getting this place into shape would’ve a few weeks, probably a month.”

(What is your next course of action?)

“Right now? Rest. Tomorrow? Time to get back to work.”

(That is right, your game. With your new tools, you should create a masterpiece worthy of you in no time.)

“Glad to know you think so highly of me, bud,” you chuckle.

That’s when you hear your phone go off, indicating you have a text. You take the device off the table, which had been playing your playlist of video game soundtracks, and see a message from Alfred.

Alfred: I hope your first week back in Goodsprings and that you’re taking proper care of yourself. I was thinking about you earlier today and decided to make my chocolate chip cookies.

The text is accompanied by a picture of said cookies and you instantly start salivating at the sight of the baked goods.

(Yes, the butler’s treats were very palatable to you.)

That’s a gross understatement.when it comes to any form of cooking, especially baking, the man is a god, able to conjure up food that would bring tears to anyone’s eye. While you’re ecstatic to be back home and away from the Waynes, you miss the man and his cooking. Now, you have to make do with either what little restaurants Goodsprings has or try your hand at cooking your own meals. And while there are many in the Megamycete’s records that were good in the kitchen, none of them held a candle to Alfred.

Me: Looks delicious! Making me drool up a river in my living room.

Alfred: I certainly hope that’s a joke. A young man as respectable as you should never be caught doing something as disgraceful as drooling.

You laugh at the text. Bless him, the poor man really thinks of you as a member of the “prim and proper” Wayne Family instead of the product of a one-night stand. When you first moved in, he tried to teach you all the ways of high society, but none of it ever took. You are who you are and nothing’s going to change that.

Alfred: Is it too early to ask when I can expect a visit from you?

You feel your heart drop a bit. You miss Alfred and would do anything to see him again, but you promised yourself that when you left Gotham, you’d never step foot in that hellhole again. And you know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to get their shit together and remember the third child brought to live with him, but you hate all of them more than anything and if you never saw them again, it would be too soon.

Of course, you can’t tell him that. It would break his heart and make him feel guilty for not doing more. So, instead, you say:

Me: Sorry, I’m still getting things cleaned up around here and I’m trying to get my game working. Don’t know when I’ll be able to.

Alfred: I understand, my boy. I just ask that you try to carve out a little time to come back to Gotham and visit home when things calm down.

Home and Gotham definitely do not belong in the same sentence. Not for you, at least. Nevertheless:

Me: I promise!

Of course, you have no intention of going back there. You miss Alfred, but that city isn’t a place where good people end up. You were dragged there against your will and if it wasn’t for that drunk driver, you never would’ve lost the best years of your life to it and the Waynes. No matter what, you will never step foot in Gotham again.

You’d rather die.