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fleshandfiction · 3 days ago

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The Weight Of The World ── .✦

Pairing: JacksonJoel x Reader

Summary: You were a no-bullshit therapist hardened by the apocalypse, and Joel Miller was your most guarded, stubborn case. You clashed constantly, both too wrecked to back down, but something unspoken always simmered. After he was nearly killed in an ambush, you stayed by his side as he recovered—and somewhere in the silence, the scars, and the shared guilt, something real began to take root. Whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t therapy anymore.

Warnings: Violence • PTSD • Trauma recovery • Near-death experiences • Strong language • Emotional repression • Slow-burn tension • Dysfunctional relationships • Grief/guilt themes • Power dynamics • Rough emotional intimacy

WC: 5k(may have went a bit crazy)

Part 1 Part 2(Here) Part 3 - 7/18 Part 4 - 7/21 Part 5 - 7/24

A/N: There will be mentions of a spouse for reader(you), but I will refer to them as "partner" so you can use whatever label you choose.

The thud of your front door rattled you more than it did your walls and windows. You knew there was something he was hiding. Something that had to do with Ellie. But this? His reaction when you asked what really happened left you feeling unsettled.

Even when you woke up the next morning, stretching the tiredness out of your bones—the look in his eyes hadn't left your mind. When you were making your coffee before heading into town for the day, you couldn't help but remember the sadness radiating from him like a wave that just wouldn't quit. The therapist part of your brain started to dissect every micro expression, every subtle tick of his jaw, every silent second that passed between you before he walked out.

In the time he's been in Jackson, you haven't seen him lash in such a manner. Joel was always reserved, silent—rather be in the corner by himself than speak to another living, breathing human. There were only a few people you've seen he'd willingly talk to. At least then, it didn't seem like someone was holding a gun to his head to make him interact and be social for once.

Even then, you couldn't shake the pure, unbridled fear in his eyes. The guilt. The shame. Those feelings were deeply rooted in him, woven so tightly that it was practically strangling him as Joel struggled to come up for air.

You know that feeling all too well.

Standing in your kitchen, slowly sipping from your chipped mug as you watched the steam rising—flashes of memories you've tried to bury deep within the crevices of your brain began to flood in.

Outbreak night. Your partner pulling your hand, tugging you away from the chaos that surrounded you. Panicked citizens and what you now know as infected attacking people left and right. Explosions that knock you down to the ground before your partner picks you back up again, risking their own life to stop and save you. Then the mistake of them staying back to bar a door and yelling at you to run.

And somewhere in all of that screaming, your child crying in your arms—terrified, clutching you like you could keep the world from falling apart. You could still hear their voice, high and panicked, asking what was happening. You held them so tight you thought they’d disappear if you let go. And in the end... they did.

You didn't notice your hands were even shaking until the feeling of hot coffee hit your skin. Dropping the mug out of instinct, shaking your hand as you tried to ward away the pain. Looking down at the shattered glass, you shook your head, muttering to yourself.

"For fucks sake."

As you clean up the remnants of the mug and run cold water over the burn, a familiar pain squeezes your heart. Over the years, you learned to forget those specific memories, not wanting to remember how you failed to protect them. The way the infected just—god, it was awful. The pain of that day never ceased; it never went away despite how much you tried to drown it at the bottom of a bottle.

You still saw your kid’s face sometimes. The way they screamed when your partner turned back to fight. How small they felt when you held them that night. You remembered their warmth. Their laugh. The way they’d snuggle up between you and your partner on the couch, all three of you safe and unaware of how the world was going to come crumbling down. The worst part wasn’t the fear—it was that they trusted you. And you couldn’t save them.

All you could do was stand there by your kitchen sink, looking out the window towards the skyline above Jackson Hole. Everyone here has a story, including you. But Joel? He was different.

Not because it was worse.

Not because it was darker.

But because he chose to live with it. That despite the pain the decision is causing him, you could see he didn't regret it. That if he could choose it, he would do it all over again. And that is what haunts you the most about him.

You recognized the drop in his shoulders when he let down his guard before quickly putting it back up. The way he fidgeted with his fingers, unable to keep still. Hyper vigilant of everyone and everything around him.

It started to create fissures in your armor that you've so perfectly crafted.

With this new normal, everyone has suffered. Losing family to either raiders, infected, or starvation. Loss was an everyday thing. But with you and Joel? There lies a deeper understanding that neither work nor alcohol could fix.

But now he sits on your couch week after week—every session a slow and painful unraveling. But yesterday? Yesterday was different.

You could see something completely broke in him. And you weren't sure if you could help Joel put it back together.

The rest of the day consisted of you helping Tommy with the animals—feeding them, cleaning up the area they lived in. It was peaceful, save for the occasional playful screeching from children running down the main street. Maria came by with their son as Tommy lovingly showed him how to rake the hay.

The stinging of your bandaged hand is a stark reminder of the subtle envy you have of the scene before you. Of the family you once had and can never get back. Tommy laughed at his son's antics like the world hadn't gone to shit and it was just a normal day. You saw Maria look at them with the same amount of love, if not more, as she rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Another flash of your life from before came through, this one a bit more painful. You are sitting at the dinner table with your partner and your—your—god, just thinking about it is too much. Their sweet, innocent face looks between you and your partner, laughing, her joy simply pure. You instinctively rested your own hand on your stomach, missing the feeling of when they rested safely inside. And the day they were born was a joyous occasion, and the years following after.

You remember when they started to learn how to walk. Their little messes. The bedtime stories. Their hand in yours on the last day—how tightly it clung to you when everything started to fall apart.

But the outbreak took both them and your partner, and that pain rips through you every time you look in the mirror.

You stand there, numb to the world around you, before a small voice pipes up.

"Do you have a kid?"

Your eyes shoot up to Tommy and Maria's son, standing there, innocent and unassuming of the gravity of what he just asked. It wasn't his fault; he didn't know. His parents are the only ones who do. You told them one night, not too long after you first arrived in Jackson, when the weight of actually surviving all these years finally crashed down on you.

"Benji, that's not right to just—" Maria said, attempting to cut in through her child's probing questions. But he ever the curious one, continued on.

"I heard Mommy said you used to be a mommy. Are they here? Can I play with them?" He asked, all wide-eyed and innocent.

Those questions were a gut punch. Since that night, you hadn't thought much about them. Out of grief and guilt from failing to save them. You wanted to remember their faces, their voices, but each time you tried, it sent you into a drunken spiral. The familiar feeling of your chest tightening and the world about to give out beneath your feet sprouted forth before you got it under control enough as to not scare Benji.

Tommy walked forward to stop his son from asking more personal questions.

"Son, we can't ask questions like that. Those are personal and can only be told by her—"

You cut him off by bending down to Benji's eye level, glancing over at Tommy, and giving an assuring nod.

You swallowed, voice wavering. "I am a mommy. Or well used to be."

Knowing how to explain things like the concept of death was out of your wheelhouse. You never got that far with your own child.

"Are they a boy like me?"

You blinked, the question hitting you harder than it should.

You continued to stare at Benji, mouth agape, and throat closing in anguish. It was like walls were closing in, even though you were outside in a barn and cleaning animal stalls. The urge to try and find solace at the bottom of the whiskey bottle that was waiting for you at home was at an all-time high.

But instead, you swallowed down everything, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. "No, sweetheart. They were a girl. About your age, actually."

His face brightens so much that you think it would melt the snow that covered Jackson during the night.

"Well, I don't mind playing with girls. Though dad did say they could be bossy sometimes, like mommy is," Benji said, with the most heartwarming grin you had ever seen.

You glanced in front of you to see Tommy stifling a laugh while his wife glared at him. If looks could kill, he would be dust. But there was also a hint of a smile. You chuckled quietly at the scene before you, relishing the normalcy for once.

"She would have loved playing with you, Benji. She loved books and drawing her favorite animals. She also talked a lot when telling stories."

Benji perked up. "I like animals too! Do you remember which one was her favorite?"

"Uh...yeah," you said, a smile tugging at your lips despite the lump in your throat. "It was a dolphin, of all things. She used to draw them, coloring them with sparkles and stars."

"Whoa," Benji whispered. "Do you still have the drawings?"

Fuck. That one really hit you. Everything about your family was left behind in your home when you ran that night.

Tommy stepped in again, hand on Benji's shoulder as he sensed the shift in your breathing. "Alright, buddy, let's give her some space, yeah?"

"Aww, but I want to see the drawings," he whined, but Maria gently took his hand.

"You'll see lots of pictures when you are older," Maria said, giving you a knowing glance. "C'mon, dinner time is creeping up."

Benji pouted, but waved goodbye. "Bye!"

You nodded, words stuck in your teeth. "Bye, kiddo."

Watching them walk away like your heart hadn't just cracked open and the ground underneath you was swallowing you whole. You knew that bottle was waiting for you on the kitchen counter, and you'd probably end up drowning in it. But for now, you continue to stand tall, straightening your spine and looking back at Tommy. He had this look on his face like you were seconds away from falling apart.

And you very well might be.

"You okay?" He asked, stepping forward a bit more. "I'm sorry about Benji. He can be persistent sometimes."

You chuckled, half real half strangled by your sadness. "Just like his father and also his uncle. He got it from both of you."

Tommy gave you a sad smile before shaking his head, looking out at the people walking past. "Sometimes I'm afraid Benji will find out the stuff I've done. What I did to get here. And what he would think about me if he did."

"He loves you. He always will. And I think if he ever did find out either through you or whatever other avenue that he'll still see you as his father. We all had to do things we don't like to survive," you muttered, voice cracking from the weight of your words.

He looked down at the ground, the animals making plenty of noises distracting you for just a moment. It would have been fleeting or easy to miss if you hadn't quickly looked back at Tommy. Everything about his posture, his eyes darting back and forth, his hands on his hips like he's holding the world back tells you one thing.

He's hiding something. And your instincts also tell you that it's related to Joel. But you don't push. If there's one thing you did know it's that you can't go over one's boundaries.

The moment passes as Tommy reverts back to his usual charming self, a stark contrast from his older brother. Although, Joel could have his moments as well but those were more rare.

"You coming to the new year's party tonight? Maria had people decorating the hall all damn week. I never saw her so focused. It was like she was running an army," he grinned, thinking to his wife's antics.

"I don't know. I'm not sure if I'll be good company right now. Besides not everyone likes to have a therapist around them. Like I consistently try to dissect people's emotions," you shrugged, trying to play it off as a joke.

Tommy puts a hand on your shoulder, firm but comforting. "Maria would like you to come. And I would, too. Hell, even Joel will be there, and that's rare for him to agree. Besides, if you don't, Maria might send Benji to guilt trip and drag you out of your home."

You huffed out a wiry laugh, soft and tired. "God, that kid's weaponized cuteness. It's unfair."

Tommy grinned. "I know, right? A kid could convince a clicker to go vegan."

You smiled, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. The truth was you had already been thinking about Joel. The way the sadness filtered when you crossed paths with him in town earlier today. He was leaving for patrol, and he looked at Ellie, who was with Dina.

Not out of jealousy. Or anger. Just the slow, quiet ache at having already lost so much and now watching one of the last things he cherishes the most drift further and further away. He glanced at you across the way, on top of his horse, before giving a curt nod. You sent one back before he turned and rode off outside the protective gates surrounding the town. The thought of him being out there, surrounded by so much danger, made you fearful. So much so that you shoved down the feeling right alongside the other things you couldn't afford to think about.

You cared. More than you wanted to admit. It was like someone was playing Russian roulette, and there was more than one bullet in the chamber.

"I'll think about it," you finally said.

Tommy smirked. "That's already a yes. So we'll see you there."

"Shut the hell up and go feed the rest of the animals."

He raised his hands up in mock surrender. "Ok, ok, but don't be surprised if Maria corners you if you don't show."

You flip him off halfheartedly as he turns around, walking away and leaving you alone.

The party. Tommy. Maria. Benji. Ellie. And Joel.

Any other night, you would have just gone home and drowned in alcohol to try and forget. But not tonight. You didn't want to show up drunk, and especially didn't want to see the look on Joel's face if you did. You couldn't stand to see that disappointment.

You weren't sure why his opinion mattered so much.

But you decided that tonight you wouldn't let the past swallow you whole.

You weren't going to run.

You were going to show up.

Even if it broke you.

By the time you arrived, the party was already in full swing. When you walked up, you could see people scattered about—some drunk, others coupled together with their sweethearts. It was so sweet that you could get a cavity from watching it all.

Another part of you was disgusted by it. The duality of humans can be astounding. On one hand, you're happy people can find love and peace in a world such as this, but on the other....you feel hatred. Angry that they can have what was ripped away from you in a matter of hours. Angry that they can find love and not drown in the way you did.

You felt guilty for even having the thought.

Shaking off the feeling, you walked inside, and the fanfare was even more sickly sweet. Dancing. The lively music playing—so catchy that it made you want to stomp your feet to the rhythm. You looked around the room to see Ellie speaking with Jesse over their beer bottles. Every so often, Ellie would glance at Dina on the dance floor, and it was adorable. It didn't take rocket science for you to figure out that she had a crush.

At a table in the corner, you see Maria holding little Benji while Tommy speaks to some random most likely about patrol routes. She spots you waving you over to come sit with them. The closer you got, you saw Joel sitting next to Maria. You didn't spot him before, but now that you can—your heart stuttered an unfamiliar beat.

He was sitting there underneath the fluorescent lights, looking ever like a cowboy in a western. Maybe you avoided noticing him when you first walked in, but now? It hit you like a slow, dull ache to the chest.

He didn't look at you right away. But he knew you were there. Your presence was just as undeniable as his.

Joel wasn't the type to show his emotions out loud, but you knew the subtle ways to see how people really feel. His eyes held a certain shine when he saw you out of the corner of his eye. His hand clenched around the glass of whatever excuse for whiskey that they had for tonight.

Not a gasp. Not a flinch. But it was something. You knew all the signs.

Maria stood up, Benji still on her hip as she gave you a hug. "I know you would come tonight."

You smiled, catching Joel finally looking at you head on. "Still deciding if it was a mistake or not."

She waved her hand, dismissing any notion of the possibility. "Too late. Come sit."

Sitting down beside Maria, directly across from Joel. The three of you sat there, occasionally exchanging bits of conversation with Tommy cutting in and sitting down at the table.

"Ah I knew you would come. You couldn't resist all the fun," he joked, nudging your arm.

"I'm actually being held hostage by your wife," You quipped, sipping the weak ass whiskey that Tommy brought over for you.

She snorted beside you, shifting Benji in her arms. "Damn right you are. And I don't take it light. So you better not try anything stupid."

"Noted," you said, with a half smile, trying to relax your shoulders. The buzz of the room helped, the laughter a soothing balm with the occasional clink of bottles. For a moment, it all felt normal.

Glancing out at the dance floor, you see Dina pulling Ellie towards the dance floor. Ellie was clearly shy as it seemed she tried in a way to convince Dina to let her stand on the sidelines but ultimately Dina won.

Ellie's reluctance was almost painful to watch. You could practically hear her insistent pleas to stay on the sidelines. But Dina, the ever force of nature she is had the upper hand. She spun Ellie into the middle as a light blush bloomed on Ellie's face. It was so damn sweet being able to witness something pure that hadn't been touched by harshness and cruelty.

You see Joel watching them as well. Happiness. Sadness. Fear. All of it is a kaleidescope on his face. Biological or not, you knew Joel loved Ellie as his own—having lost Sarah on outbreak night. Just like you lost your partner and daughter on outbreak night as well. Another thread that connects you and Joel to your shared pain.

"They're good for each I think," Maria murmured beside you, her eyes on Ellie and Dina.

"Me too," you whispered back, your voice catching somewhere in your throat.

Someone called Maria away for a moment—a woman probably wanting to speak with her about the council and God knows whatever else. Your mind wasn't really focused on that right now. Without missing a beat, Maria stood up, shifting the now sleeping Benji over to Tommy and walked off.

Tommy also excused himself, saying he's going to put Benji to bed.

"Aww you are gonna miss the countdown for midnight with me and ole grumpy pants over here," you said, gesturing towards Joel with your glass.

Tommy chuckled. "You'll survive. Barely." He nodded goodbye to you and gave Joel a pat on his shoulder. "See you next year." Then he slipped into the crowd with Benji's tiny arms wrapped tight around his neck.

You turned back to Joel, half expecting him to throw you a scathing look. Maybe even a smirk. But his face was so unreadable with that damn mask he always wore. Still, you saw the ghost of a smile twitch in his mouth. Not quite a smile but not nothing either.

"Grumpy pants, huh?" He muttered, eyes still locked onto the dance floor.

You shrugged. "I call it like I see it. Besides, remember I'm a therapist and I can diagnose you with a serious case of being a grumpy pants."

And then everything shifted. You didn't see Seth walk to the dance floor. You felt it. Like a chill crawling down your spine.

"Joel," you said, more instinct than thought. But he was already moving.

And you followed.

Your heart pounded harder with each step. Seth was already halfway there, most likely drunk and angry at nothing, but chose to aim it towards Ellie and Dina. As if two girls sharing a kiss is the biggest thing that Jackson needed to worry about.

They hadn't seen him yet. Still engrossed in their own bubble together, flirting and swaying to music. Both of their eyes were bright in a way that made you ache with how rare it was to find something they had.

Joel saw how Seth looked at them. And that was the last damn straw.

Seth got close enough to raise his voice.

"What the hell is this?"

The music didn't stop, but the mood did. People turned. Conversations froze. Dina and Ellie whipped their heads around to stare at the man, who seemed to have a problem with them.

"Is this what passes for a celebration now?" Seth barked. "You think it's ok to do that in front of kids? In a church?"

You could see Joel's hand twitch. Pure instinct, but no weapon.

"Ok, geez, sorry," Dina spoke, before grabbing Ellie's hand and leading her away.

But clearly, Seth wasn't done with his tirade. He stepped forward, face turning a shade of red with anger.

"Fucking disgusting," he sneered. "Right in front of everyone you should be—"

CRACK

It happened so quickly, you didn't even get a chance to breathe before Joel pushed Seth to the ground. He fell to the floor with a hard thud. Gasps rolled through the crowd like a shockwave. Joel stood over him, chest heaving, and the look in his eyes—almost like a rabid animal looking at their next meal.

"Joel!" you hissed, grabbing his arm. You weren't angry, just afraid of that look he had. It was something unchained. Something primal. You worried his mind was fracturing more than it already had been. You were afraid he would be too far gone for your therapist's abilities to pull him back.

He looks to you, then Ellie, his eyes softening with concern. "Are you ok?" he asked her.

But Ellie's face spoke more than any kind of fear you knew.

"You think that helped?" she snapped.

Dina pulled her arm, trying to get her to leave so she could calm down. Away from the noise—but the words had already begun to fall out.

"No," Ellie whispered. "You don't get to do that. Not anymore. Not after everything."

Joel didn't say a word. You didn't either. You started to study him in those few seconds, and everything you saw completely shattered your heart. You could tell what Ellie meant by "not after everything." It was recalling back to your last session with Joel. You wanted to reach out, comfort him, but right now, you were at a total loss.

All you could do was watch how his face spelled out the pain that shot through him. Like a nail straight through his chest. Ellie walked off, with Dina trailing behind her. You shot her a look, telling her to keep Ellie safe before they disappeared into the night.

But before you could turn to Joel again, he was already walking out as well. You stared at the space he filled just moments ago before seeing Tommy helping Seth up from the floor. He looked up, saw you moving. You gave him a quick nod. He gave you one back. And you followed Joel out the door and into the cold, hoping you could pull him back.

The air hit you as you stepped out. It was unforgiving how the wind sliced your skin. It was like the night was trying to punish you for feeling anything at all.

Joel was already halfway down the path and onto the road, beelining back to his house. His boots crunched against the snow, his shoulders were squared tight like he was holding the whole goddamn sky on his shoulders.

"Joel," you called out, voice low but firm.

No response. Just the same stubborn, angry pace.

You sped up to match him. "Joel, stop."

He didn't. Annoyingly so.

Not until you reached for him. Not until your hand touched his shoulder, not hard but enough to make contact.

His head dropped, trying to make the snow seem more entertaining. You stepped in front of him, blocking his path. When he finally looked at you...God...you thought his eyes couldn't hold any more pain. But they clearly were capable.

"Hey," you said, softer now. "Talk to me."

What you were seeing now wasn't just grief. It was grief you fucking survive.

"This what you wanted to see?" Joel muttered, his voice hoarse. "The fuckin mess that I am?"

You shook your head. "No, I didn't want to. But I still did. Because I know it. I've lived it."

The memories have broken the dam you crafted to keep them at bay. But Joel needed help. And that matters to you right now. So you continued on.

"You don't think I understand your pain? Do you think I don't understand the feeling of having the people you love ripped away from you as you watch helplessly and realize you can't save them? Well, I do."

You shuddered when you remembered how the infected ripped away your partner when he barred the door. You stood on the other side, banging your fists and screaming at them for leaving you behind. More heartbreak than anger. Your daughter was sobbing in your arms, yelling for them as well. But you couldn't stay. You couldn't save them. It was too late. So the only thing you could do was run.

You ran and ran and ran. You kept going even when your legs were screaming, they were about to give out, you still kept going. But then you were knocked down to the ground by another person. They weren't infected, just cruel. They only cared for themselves and didn't bother to help.

Her tiny arms were wrapped tight around your neck, face buried in as she sobbed. You were running on instinct. Muscle memory. Nothing else. Because if you stopped, you both would die.

But when that stranger shoulder-checked you, as they were so desperate to save themselves, it sent you flying. You landed on your side, arms around her, the breath knocked out of your lungs. Your head hit the pavement. Stars exploded behind your eyes, momentarily blinding you from the pain. But the sound of a CRACK was unmistakable.

When the world finally stopped spinning, you began to frantically search for her. Glancing up, you see that just a foot away from you is your daughter, lying on the ground. Yet something was wrong. You rushed over to her, grabbing her body and clutching it to your own. But when she went limp, when you didn't feel her chest rise with life, something inside you broke.

You looked at her face, and there was nothing but an expression of sadness and fear. In the span of two hours, you lost everything. Your home, your partner, and now your child.

Your breath hitched, chest heaving like the air was too heavy to hold.

Joel stood there, the shared pain flowing through like a match to a flame. This time, neither you nor Joel moved. You didn't shy away. You didn't think about drinking the memories into a muddled haze. Instead, you let it out, wanting him to know he isn't alone.

"She was around Benji's age when she died," you murmured. "My daughter."

You closed your eyes, breathing in and out as you told Joel of your past.

"On outbreak night, she was in my arms—my partner and I, we—we were running, trying to find safety. Then we ran into a building. I thought we had made it. At least for a moment. But before I could reach for them, my partner closed the door behind me, leaving them on the outside to deal with the infected."

Your voice shook, but you kept going.

"I remember screaming, banging my fists on the door. Our daughter crying for them. But they wouldn't open the door."

You swallowed hard, the cold biting at your lungs.

"And then we ran. Because that's what they wanted me to do. Because that's all I could do."

Joel didn't say anything. He didn't move.

So you continued.

"Not even twenty minutes later, I lost her, too. Someone knocked us to the ground. Not infected, just someone who didn't care about anyone but themselves. She was thrown from my arms, and when my vision came into focus, I saw her lying on the ground just... lifeless."

Joel's eyes didn't leave yours. He didn't flinch. He didn't offer empty words of apology.

And thank god for that.

Because you didn't need saving. You just needed someone to see you.

And he did.

So you stood there, two ghosts out in the freezing cold.

But not alone.

#joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #joel x reader

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abysswalkerastraea1 · 8 months ago

Text

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

#art the clown #art the clown smut #terrifier #terrifier smut #art the clown x reader #art the clown x you #terrifer 3 #terrifer #terrifer x you #terrifier x reader

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torpublishinggroup · 1 year ago

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"Warning Signs Your Machines Are Trying to Kill You!" by TJ Klune

(Legally, I’m required to tell you that when smart phones first became popular, I bought one and then asked for the address of the app store because I thought it was a physical location I had to go to in order to download apps and not something already on your phone. Also, I was recently told I speak like an old person so as a warning, there will not be any slang you youths typically hear, especially on Tumblr. Any slang I’ve learned in the last five years has been against my will. I still don’t know what FOMO means, and I don’t care.)

1. Oh no! You and your family are trying to enjoy a movie night, but Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) wants a sacrifice at the altar of their god, BeeZos. Should this happen, do not attempt to give Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) a cantaloupe with googly-eyes on it and say that it is your baby. Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) knows the difference between fruit and children. Instead, ask the machine to order dog food, and it will forget about eating humans for a little while.

2. If you own a very fancy vehicle that can drive itself, always make sure to carry a brick. That way, when the car locks you inside and attempts to drive you off a cliff into a gas station, you can break the window using the brick. You will then have to jump out, but make sure you do so in time so you can watch the wicked-ass explosion when the car hits the gas station, and you can revel in your victory over your car.

3. This one will hurt. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Chances are, you’re reading this on your phone right this second. To be safe, after you’ve finished reading this post and have clicked on the affiliated links to purchase my books, you should throw your phone into a volcano and then move to South Dakota where there are no machines, only wind and cows. That way, when everyone else gets the 5GZombieVirus that people on Twitter (I’m not calling it the other thing, shut up) seem to think is real, you’ll be safe with your cows on a windy day.

4. Get rid of your air fryer. Don’t ask me why, just do it. Red flags all around. Danger, danger.

5. Do you know of the Clapper? That thing first launched in the late 20th century (I wrote it that way to make me feel old) where the commercials showed cranky old people unable to reach their light switches, so they got a thing called a Clapper that turns your lights on and off when you clap? Guess what? Those will be the first things to try and kill you. If you love your gram-gram, save her from the Clapper. When she asks why you are destroying it with an ax, tell gram-gram it’s because you love her.

6. Do you live in a smart home? The kind where everything is connected to the internet, including your refrigerator? The refrigerator that holds your perishable foods? And oh, would you look at that: how many ice cubes have you kicked under it rather than picking them up when they fall to the floor? A dozen? A million? The refrigerator remembers. And it will spoil your food in seconds. What then? What are you going to eat? Canned food? Not if the refrigerator falls on top of you!

Unfortunately for you, this is where it must end. I hope this has given you enough information to help you survive the inevitable. If you do not heed my warnings, well. Who cares. I’m not in charge of you. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come complaining to me when gram-gram gets the clap.

#tor books #booklr #new books #in the lives of puppets #tj klune #tbr #sff #science fiction #team robot #unreality #long post

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xan-izme · 4 months ago

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Dubble Life 14 (Batfam x reader x ACTSV)

Summary: No matter how much you think you know yourself, you seem to still not understand why you do the things you do.

Part 13, Part 15

When you wake up, things felt, more tense. Bruce was stricter on not letting you out on certain hours. Even Alfred wouldn't let you slip out the door without him coming along. Dick clung onto you, kept trying to do everything for you till he had to go back to Bludhaven. Damian was weirdly distant. Not cold, just Distant. Tim seemed take over what Dick was doing to you, just a lot less clingy. Helping you more than usual, even when he was clearly tired.

And Jason?

He was pushing your damn buttons.

"You should stop."

"Huh?"

You stare at the older man with confusion. You two stood in an abandoned building. You were in a spider suit that was darker to blend within the dark. Jason had just taken care of a few thugs just as you finished throwing an anomaly into a portal to the Spider Society HQ.

"This thing with Alchemax, I can handle the fighting, and you can-"

"Whatever bullshit your trying to say. Spit it out. Don't beat around the bush." You cut Jason off, you didn't have to take your mask off for Jason to know you were getting pissed off already.

". . . It's getting dangerous."

The moment Jason said those words you immediately throw your hands in the air while letting out a scoff of disbelief.

"You gotta be kidding me. Are you serious right now?"

"Just hear me out God damn it!" Jason wasn't going to let you just brush him off anymore.

"Joker, Scarecrow and all those other psychos are out now. Trust me when I say your screwed if you run into any of them, doesn't matter if you're meta."

You had your back faced to Jason. Clearly frustrated and upset of this topic. Jason lets out a sigh and shook his head. Before speaking a little more softly

"Come on kid, you haven't even talked about what happened with the fear gas."

". . . That doesn't matter-"

"Yes, it does! Whatever is going on up there-" Jason points to his head; "Will affect your insect ass out here."

". . . Spiders aren't insects."

"Oh, for fucks sakes You know what I mean!" Jason lets out a frustrated sigh.

"Just wait till those psychos are put back in Arkham. . . Please?" Jason walks closer to you. But you walked to an open window to jump out. Before doing so you spoke one last time.

"Fine."

Jason felt slightly relived once you agreed, watching you jump out of the window and swing up to a building.

Miles was working on a new invention, the upbeat music you put on faintly in the background. Miles puts a screwdriver in his mouth as he uses both hands to connect the wires on his invention. But he pauses as he felt a pair of eyes on him. He slowly turns his head to see you on his bed, a book in hand, just staring at him with a small smile.

"What?" He gave you a look of confusion. Your brow quirks up at his confrontation "Hm?"

"You're staring at me with that creepy smile of yours." Miles takes the screwdriver out of his mouth and waves it around as he spoke. You gave a fake offended gasp.

"Exuuusse me??" Your hand now on your chest, exaggerating the feeling of offence. You expected some form of amusement from Miles, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere

You tilt your head "Hey, space boy, what's got you so distracted, I come here to spend time with you and you're not even yapping about your usual nerdy stuff." You spoke in a joking manner, but there was a hint of concern.

Miles stayed silent for a moment. Your playful demeanor falters as you see that he's bothered about something. But he doesn't want to talk about it. But you know it was about you.

You sighed as you scoot closer to the edge of the bed where Miles sat.

"Your upset." You nudged his shoulder with your own. His silence only confirms your suspicion. After a few moments Miles finally spoke up.

"Me and Uncle Aaron found out who was responsible for the explosion at the bridge. The one that got your mother killed. . ."

You paused at the last sentance.

"Oh . . ."

"It was Kingpin."

You hum and nod. "I see. . . he's in prison right now, right? He won't hurt anyone else for a long awhile." You rub his shoulder to reassure him. But this only angered him.

"Why are you so calm!?" He brushed your hand off and let out a huff of annoyance as he stood up from the bed with his back faced to you. Your brows furrowed at his sudden burst of anger.

"Miles-"

"It doesn't matter that he's in jail now. He's going to get out. He has the money, Has the connections. No matter what we do they always come back and they hurt more people!" His frustration on the situation felt, familiar. You had the same feeling once.

"Miles. . ."

He ignores your first warning he goes on. "What's the use of fighting crime when they just end up killing more people!? Why- why can't we kill people like Kingpin!?"

"Miles Gonzalo Morales! ¡Ya es suficiente de ti!" Your stern voice almost booming. Silence falls upon the room. Miles, still upset spoke again.

"He killed your mother."

You were not having his attitude today.

"Do not use her death as an excuse! you know killing has been and never will be an option for us. It makes us no better than them."

Both of you were angry. Angry at each other, at the world. Just two angry teens in a room.

The disagreement with Miles dragged. The two of you didn't speak to each other for a few days, and you were agitated to get back out on patrol feeling Alchemax is up to something and the longer you wait the worse things will get.

You were able to slip away from a nagging Alfred. You made it past a very sleep deprived Tim who usually , once you made it through the doors of the manor you were met with a surprising view of Ms. Dean walking up the stairs to the doors.

"Mrs. Dean! What are you doing here?" Your brow quirked up in confusion and a little curious. "Aw, do you miss me? we just had a session two days ago." You spoke in a joking tone, but Mrs. Dean was not amused.

"I'm actually here to, discuses a few more things with you."

You sighed, you walked up closer to the older woman, circling her.

"And I'm assuming Bruce is making you do house calls now?" Your tone uninterested on whatever Bruce is trying to get out from you. Whatever it is. You must admit, the man is more insistent than you imagined.

"Actually, I'm here on my own accorded. I was hoping we could talk, off the records of course."

Mrs. Deans words caused you to gain interest.

"Seriously?" You gave the woman a look of surprise mixed with suspicion. Mrs. Dean nods "Seriously."

You don't sense any interior motive. At the moment. So, you agreed. The two of you going into Gotham city and stopped at a bat-burger place.

Mrs. Dean watched you with a blank expression as you devoured your burger.

"Mmm, these are, okay. I honestly like the burgers back in New York." You say this while your tray is literally empty.

"So, what did you want to chat about. My childhood? any daddy issues you assume I have? oh oh! trust issues. Yes, I remember you said that was one of my problems, no?" You of course were acting sort of passive aggressive; you have just been so frustrated with the recent events that it was getting harder to be or even act positive.

And Ms. Dean saw this, her own daughters show this sort of attitude when keeping in their anger for too long.

"Actually, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

You gave the older woman a look of confusion and slight suspicion.

"Ms. Dean-"

"Please, call me Alice." Ms. Dean- Alice insisted.

You stayed silent for a moment before letting out a small scoff of amusement. "Alright, Alice. Is this something you normally do with your clients? or am I just, special."

"Just think of this as a friendly meet up."

You almost scoffed

"Come on, Alice. What is this really about?"

Alice inhaled deeply. Seeming to almost bracing herself before speaking.

"I just- I don't understand why you didn't confront me about the camera. You knew the whole time. Yet, you didn't say anything for weeks." The older woman was clearly stressed on this topic. Which made you smirk in amusement as you just shrugged.

"You're the therapist, you tell me."

Alice's eyes narrowed, sighing as she leans into her seat.

"You weren't completely lying in our sessions. . . You told the truth. Half of the time. You're like an open book, but in a whole different, complex language." Alice glanced up to see your invested into this conversation. Curiosity in your eyes as you leaned into the table that kept the distance between you two.

"And because of that, you assume no one will take the time to truly understand you. But when someone actually does take the time to try and understand you. You panic. And you change yourself to . . ." Alice stops. She doesn't stop because she came to an understanding of something. Quite the opposite. She doesn't know why you do it.

You sighed, slightly disappointed. "You almost nailed it. Your pretty scary actually, haha!" You laughed.

". . . I'm scared. I change myself because I'm scared." Your cocky facade fades, just a little. Still present but fades enough to shock Alice to an extent.

"Why?"

"Donno. . . was kinda hoping you'd figure that out for me."

Silence falls between you two. One thing is for sure, your not paying for the food.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___----___---___

A/n: This is really short, but you all deserve at least SOMETHING! So here yall go❤️

@huening-ly,@mariadvorak, @superherosdystopiafreak, @chelluv, @houseissofine, @esposadomd, @greyeyedmockingbird, @1-800-daisy, @c0c0-puffsxxx @arthurswife, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @josiepapen, @natashanice165, @amber-content, @mahbeanz @azurewisteria, @seraph101, @skepvids, @lara20aral, @iwasveronica, @jackrabbitem, @nickey-diano, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @sekidekiboombeki, @masters-blog, @lulpeepkins, @sgarrush-blush, @redsakura101, @danart501, @definitely-not-sammie, @khaleesihavilliard, @reallynotsoconfident, @uknowimdumb, @bat1212

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cologona · 4 months ago

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The fact that Jason’s wearing his murderer’s old title is a fun detail for angst but good god, “taking ownership of his trauma” is not his primary reason, or even secondary reason for doing so.

Practicality is core to Jason’s character. He did not learn to use bombs because he died from an explosion, he used them because they’re destructive and remote controlled and that’s useful for his goals. Even his theatrics are for a purpose of communication. Remember that he spent all of Lost Days in the same ratty track suit, and never took credit for anyone he killed or anybody he saved. If he isn’t saying something to someone he doesn’t bother.

So what is the practical utility of taking on the Red Hood persona?

It’s crap as a symbol of fear. Unlike the silhouette of giant bat, which stokes the imagination, the sight of some guy in a helmet hardly inspires anything more than perhaps thoughts of motorcycles. The name itself is merely a reference to the costume and the costume is just a thing to hide your face. It’s the most spartan, pared down persona one could have. That it used to be Joker’s hardly helps because it was only his back when Joker was just an ordinary man— and a rather pathetic no-name fall guy at that. Anyone clued in enough to know about it is more liable to think of Jason as another nutjob than to be intimidated.

But that’s the point. Jason doesn’t need a symbol of fear because he gives people perfectly tangible reasons to fear him. The Red Hood persona is nearly devoid of expression, but because of that it’s very effective at the one thing it does express- “I am a criminal. Refer to me by color because there is nothing more to know.” Its association with Joker taints anyone else who uses it with the implication of insanity, but insanity is useful when any crook or businessman worth his salt in Gotham knows not to bother questioning the non-negotiables of its local lunatics.

Jason is an especially acrobatic single-operator pushing a seemingly altruistic agenda. It would’ve been very easy for him to get labeled as another vigilante. One that is more comfortable getting blood on his hands maybe, but a vigilante nonetheless. That he’s able to function the way he does, while still being taken seriously a rogue and crime lord is due in large part to his very deliberate presentation.

Why, if Jason thinks what he does is good and necessary, does he present himself this way? Maybe because from the start, his beliefs were more nuanced than one would be lead to believe. That Jason thinks his actions are necessary does not mean he must also think they should be attributed to righteousness or justice. He explains in Outsiders: PAYG— what it means for a ‘bad guy’ to do something is different from if a ‘good guy’ does the same thing. Jason essentially makes the same point Tim once made to Huntress about public trust in heroes but from the opposite angle.

The assertions modern comics make about why Jason has the Red Hood mantle (and why he uses a crowbar) ring very hollow to me. It feels like an almost deliberate push to erase the complexity he had as a villain in favor of a squeaky clean redemption arc. The way I see it though, so long as Jason remains Red Hood any sort of “redemption” he has is a false one. He’s still holding onto the symbol of his convictions, just because he’s willing to betray himself and others for love doesn’t mean that he’s changed his mind about how it all works.

#this got a little rambly at the end but I did my best #jason todd #meta

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juliettejwnewinesa · 1 month ago

Note

Heyaaa author nim! Thank you for answering my request!! I really loved it!!!! Got me giggling and kicking my feet lmao

Requesting for Seong je x Reader(baku's little sister) where they've been together for a long time(private/secret relationship that not even Baku knows) and one day while the quadro was hanging out and walking down the streets, they see seong je and reader too. Holding hands, snacks in their hands, and acting like a lovely couple(seong je is a green flag for her and he loves her soooo much). They were shock to see her with seong je and so reader is!! Please it's your desicion to make what will happen next!!

Reader is close to gotak,jun-tae and sieun too so they shock fr

-koitaaaaa

❝ You’ve Been Holding Out on Us ❞

— Seong Je x Reader | Fluff | Secret Relationship Reveal | Chaos Ensues

Tags: Long-term secret relationship, green flag Seong Je supremacy, Baku little sister energy, shocked quadro reactions, soft boyfriend behavior, found family vibes POV: 3rd person, fem!reader

ok so imagine like seongjae was like a good guy in this 🥲thank you

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

Seong Je was so dead.

He knew it the second he saw Si-eun freeze mid-step, a half-eaten taiyaki hanging from his hand.

It wasn’t just Si-eun. Gotak’s jaw had dropped, Jun-tae had audibly gasped, and Baku—oh, Baku had gone stone cold.

Because there Seong Je stood, right in the middle of a busy street in Hongdae (do you libe alone) on a sunny Saturday afternoon, holding hands with the very off-limits girl known to them as: Humin's little sister.

And they were being cute.

Not just casual, maybe-we’re-friends cute.

No.

Y/N had her fingers intertwined with Seong Je’s, her other hand wrapped around a bag of candied sweet potatoes he’d clearly bought for her. He was leaning close, laughing at something she’d said, and she looked up at him like he’d hung the moon.

They were… glowing.

They were so in love.

And it was a goddamn ambush.

Y/N spotted them a split second after Seong Je did, and it was like time froze.

“Oh my god—” she whispered, nearly dropping her snack.

Seong Je blinked, barely managing to keep his grip on her hand. “Don’t panic.”

“I’M PANICKING.”

“They haven’t said anything yet. Maybe we can just walk away.”

“Baku’s literally squinting like he’s gonna kill you with math.”

“I’ll protect you,” Seong Je said instinctively.

“Seong Je, you’re the one in danger!!”

Baku stepped forward first.

He looked at Y/N.

Then at Seong Je.

Then at their linked fingers.

Then back at Y/N.

“…You’ve been dating him?”

Si-eun leaned in to whisper to Gotak, “Is this… Is this what betrayal feels like?”

Gotak nodded solemnly. “I thought we were friends.”

Jun-tae, ever the peacekeeper, tried to lighten the mood. “At least he’s not a red flag…?” (bitch what are you on)

“I’m gonna vomit,” Baku muttered.

Y/N sighed, stepping forward, cheeks burning but voice steady. “Yes, I’ve been dating him. For… a year and a half.”

“A YEAR AND A HALF?!” the quadro yelled in unison.

Seong Je, to his credit, just rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. “We didn’t want to make it weird.”

Si-eun glared. “We’ve literally all almost died together. You think this would be the thing to break us?”

Jun-tae blinked at Y/N. “Wait… that time you skipped movie night? You said you had ‘a family thing.’”

Y/N: “...I meant Seong Je.”

Gotak: “The matching phone charms—?”

Seong Je: “I said they were a random gift. They weren’t.”

Baku: “And the time I heard her giggling on the phone at midnight??”

Y/N: “Okay, that was definitely him.”

Seong Je: “She snorts when she laughs too hard.”

Y/N: “SEONG JE!!”

Eventually, the tension cracked like a dropped soda bottle—messy and loud, but not explosive.

Gotak sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us. Where’s the group trust?”

Si-eun, still mildly betrayed, just grumbled, “I have so many questions.”

Baku crossed his arms. “If he ever hurts you”

“He won’t,” Y/N said quietly. “He’s… really good to me.”

Seong Je looked over at her, fingers squeezing hers gently. “She’s everything to me.”

There was a pause.

Jun-tae smiled softly. “Okay, but like. You still lied.”

“Can we bribe you with snacks?” Seong Je asked, holding out a still-warm fish bun.

“Two each,” Gotak said instantly.

“Plus bubble tea,” added Si-eun.

“And I get to interrogate you later,” Baku muttered.

Y/N groaned. “Fine, fine. But no bringing up the time he cried watching Spirited Away.”

Seong Je: “YOU PROMISED—!”

Later That Night… Gotak to group chat: [Image] — Y/N and Seong Je fast asleep on the couch, her curled up under his arm, both holding hands even while passed out. Caption: Okay they’re gross. But like. Kinda cute? Jun-tae: 🥺💘 Si-eun: 🤨 Baku: Fine. He’s not the worst. Baku: But I’m still sleeping with one eye open.

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mee30p · 2 months ago

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Don’t cry

a/n: I used @dixondisease inspo post I’ll link it here go check out them please they are an amazing inspo writer and I hope i did it justice <3

☽ summary: Daryl is frustrated from earlier events in the day when he says something he shouldn’t of and makes you cry.

☽ Warnings: swearing, calling reader names, crying

☽ Word count: short. I’m going to be so honest idk how many words maybe 0.5k?

You didn’t mean to pry, you knew you shouldn’t have Daryl becomes explosive when overwhelmed but you wanted to know what was up his ass today. This resulted in you and Daryl being in an argument again. The fourth one today and it’s only 12:30 PM, Daryl’s had a stick up his ass all day today and it’s pissing you off.

“Come on D, just tell me what’s got you so pissed off?” Your voice is relativity calm, not accusing just worried and slightly tight as you approach him and place an innocent worried hand on his arm his back facing you. That’s when Daryl says something really stupid.

“Would you just fuck off woman? I don’t need your naggin’ ass pissin’ me off more than I already am!” Daryl yells as he pulls you off his arm and spins around to look at you. As soon as he said it he regretted it. Fuck he’s stupid. But he is just so overwhelmed, the new addition to the prison decided it was a good idea to leave the gate open resulting in a dozen walkers getting into the prison field leaving Daryl to clean it up.

His words hit you like a semi-truck, God you knew you were sensitive it wasn’t a secret to anyone. You cried yesterday over a joke someone made about your hair but this was different Daryl never said stuff like this to you. Before you could stop yourself tears well in your eyes and a small choked sob escapes your mouth. You turn your back to Daryl as you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs coming from you as your shoulders shake and tears run down your face.

Regretting he even uttered a word in the first place Daryl rushes over enveloping his arms around you m from behind while you sob uncontrollably. trying to reverse his doing with soft whispers and peppered kisses on the back and side-of your head. “fuck m’ sorry baby don’t cry… please don’t cry” but it’s far too late you’re already sobbing at his biting words.

“Fuck… shit…. No baby don’t cry please… I didn’t mean it I promise” Daryl whispers as he panickyly kisses everywhere he can reach as he hugs you. Daryl then lets go of you to spin you around making you face him. God. You feel like a total cry baby, you’ve killed people before without shedding a tear but just a few mean words from Daryl you knew he didn’t mean and you’re a mess. Daryl pulls you into his chest his hands threading through your hair and he presses more desperate kisses to your face and head. “I know baby… I know I’m a dick.. I didn’t mean it… I love you” Daryl panics.

Your crying slows down and you sniffles wiping your nose on your winter coat before looking up at your man. You don’t say anything as you look up at the hunter with teary red swollen eyes you don’t need to. He knows he messed up big time.

“M’ sorry Darlin’ didn’t mean it… I promise I love you” Daryl says as he looks down at you pressing a long kiss to your lips.

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixion smut #i love daryl dixon #daryl dixon x female reader

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itsnotsunnyy · 2 months ago

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to be so lonely

pairing: paul lahote x female!reader

word count: 1,3k

summary: she was warmth. he was wildfire. it started soft, but nothing ever stayed that way. he didn’t know how to love without ruining, and she didn’t know how to stay when it hurt. now, all that’s left is silence, and a name he can’t stop tasting.

content: angst, jealousy, slow burn, emotional repression…

a/n: a little gift for you guys! i’ve had this sitting in my notes for the longest time, so i finally decided it’s time for it to see the world. it’s inspired by ‘to be so lonely’ by harry — shocking, i know! i’ll always find a way to bring his songs into my life. anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

i’m not good at nice, never was. i don’t say shit like “i miss you” or “you looked pretty today” or “it hurt when you left.”

but god, you did. you do and it fucking did.

you fell first and i let you, watched you do it. watched you look at me like i was something worth falling for, and i didn’t stop you, because i liked it. i liked the way your voice got softer when you said my name. i liked the way your fingers brushed against mine like it was on accident, even when it wasn’t.

i liked that you smiled at me like you knew something i didn’t.

you fell first, but i fell harder and later. way, way too late.

you were already gone by the time i figured it out. not gone gone, not dead. but gone in the way that matters. gone in the way you’re still here, still breathing, still smiling at everyone but me.

you still talk to jacob, of course you do. he was your best friend before he was mine, but now when you laugh at his jokes, i wanna rip out my fucking teeth, because he gets the softness. he gets the easy version of you and all i get is cold, short sentences, a nod when i pass you in the clearing.

i did that. i know i did.

and the worst part is, i don’t even remember the moment i lost you. it wasn’t one thing, not some explosion. just a slow burn. a hundred little things i never said and a hundred more i shouldn’t have.

don’t blame me for falling. i swear i didn’t mean for it to happen. i thought if i kept it all locked down, if i didn’t say how badly i needed you, it would pass. it didn’t. it never does.

every time you walked away, i told myself not to care. every time you smiled at someone else, i swallowed the acid.

every time you stood too close to jake, and looked at him like i used to look at you.

i clenched my fists so hard i drew blood.

and still. still. i said nothing.

do you think it’s easy being of the jealous kind?

because it’s not. it’s hell. it’s torture. it’s wanting to scream when you sit next to him instead of me. it’s watching your eyes light up when he tells you some dumbass joke.

it’s knowing he gets to call you at 2 a.m.

and i don’t. it’s pretending i don’t care when all i ever do is ache.

i hear your laugh in my sleep. i see your face every time i phase. i taste your name like it’s ash on my tongue.

you were mine. you were never mine, both those things are true and maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

you told emily once, when you thought i wasn’t listening, “i know he’ll never love me the way i love him, but i think i’d rather drown in him than live without him.”

i remember the way your voice cracked when you said it. i remember thinking, fuck, she means it and i remember staying silent.

because what would i have said?

“i’m sorry”?

“i’m not ready”?

“i’m too fucked up to love you right”?

i didn’t say anything and you stopped waiting.

i think that’s what killed me the most, not that you gave up, but that you had to, because you tried. you reached for me.

so many times and every single time, i flinched. looked away. pushed you back with words that cut sharper than claws ever could.

i didn’t mean them, not the way they sounded.

“you don’t get it.”

“i’m not your project.”

“stop trying to fix me.”

but you weren’t trying to fix me. you were just trying to love me and i didn’t know how to let you.

god, i wish i had.

don’t blame the drunk calling.

that night, the one you blocked my number after. i meant every word i slurred into the receiver.

“i miss you.”

“come home.”

“he’s not me.”

“i never stopped.”

i woke up the next morning and puked in the sink, not from the whiskey. from the shame, because even wasted, i couldn’t say what really mattered.

i love you.

i’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when he’s sorry.

and i am. so fucking sorry.

for making you wait. for letting jake take the spot i never claimed. for not saying it back when it could’ve saved us.

you still come to the bonfires sometimes.

you laugh with quil. you braid claire’s hair.

you press your fingers into jacob’s shoulder when you walk by, casual and easy, like it doesn’t gut me every single time.

i thought i could live with it, but i can’t. not when i know what your hand felt like in mine.

not when i remember the sound you made when you laughed at something stupid i said. not when i wake up reaching for a body that’s not there.

i think about that night. the one you kissed me.

you didn’t even ask. you just looked at me like you were tired of waiting and when your lips touched mine, everything else fell away.

it was soft.

tentative.

hopeful.

and i didn’t kiss you back. not really. just stood there, letting you pour your heart into it while i kept mine locked tight. i still dream about the way your face fell when you pulled away, like you already knew.

and you did, didn’t you?

you always knew i’d break your heart, but you loved me anyway.

how the fuck do you still smile?

how do you laugh like you didn’t give everything to someone who didn’t know how to hold it?

i don’t deserve it. you, but i want you. so badly i shake with it. burn with it. ache so hard i can’t breathe when you’re near.

i tried to hate jacob, but i don’t. not really, because he was there when i wasn’t. he caught you when i let you fall.

but sometimes i wanna scream at him, tell him he’ll never know what your laugh sounds like at 3 a.m. he’ll never know the way your lip trembles when you’re about to cry but trying to be strong. he’ll never know that you used to trace the lines on my palm and whisper “i think we were meant to find each other.”

he doesn’t know because i never told him,

because i never told anyone, because if i said it out loud, it would be real.

and if it was real, i’d have to admit i lost it.

that i lost you.

but if there’s even a small part of you that still waits, still hopes, i’d do anything.

i’d fall on my knees. i’d scream your name into the woods. i’d pull the stars from the sky if it meant you’d look at me like you used to.

so here it is. the thing i never said.

i love you.

i never stopped.

i don’t think i ever will.

i’m sorry i let you go. i’m sorry it took losing you to understand what i had. i’m sorry i made you think you weren’t enough when you were the only thing that ever made me feel whole.

please.

don’t walk away forever, don’t let him keep the pieces you gave to me. just tell me there’s a chance, even if it’s a thousand miles from now. even if i have to wait a lifetime.

because i will.

i’ll wait.

i’ll burn.

i’ll ache.

i’ll love you from the shadows if that’s all i get, but if you turn around, just once, i’ll be there.

i’ll never stop being there.

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earthsparked · 2 months ago

Text

Sparking Flames

Part One | one two three four intermission five (AO3 link)

You really didn’t expect that when you went to work this morning, before your second cup of coffee you’d be pinned against the remnants of a broken brick wall, sheltering under the unnaturally shiny armor of some giant fucking PacRim jaeger as explosions whump and boom around you.

Your ears feel strange and dull, like they’ve been stuffed with cotton. You’re half blinded by the clouds of dust swirling in the air that keep catching in your throat, choking you and making it impossible to catch more than glimpses of the battle going on around you. Flashes of hot summer sunlight glinting on metal monsters. You can vaguely hear gravel growls and shouts from mechanical throats as giant robots try to kill each other for god knows what reason. With you and the other humans in your tiny, rural town caught in the middle.

And you are indeed caught. You’d been staring at the giants, confused as to how you’d ended up lying in the street with sirens going off all around you. Then a voice like a mountain rumbled something you were too rattled to catch. Hard, metallic hands padded with something like thick rubber - bigger than your entire body - swooped on you, and scooped you up like a wayward kitten. You gasped more than screamed, black spots peppering your vision as you fumbled for something to hold onto. The metal under your hands was warm and had an inexplicably shiny finish, like the giant alien robot had a thing for detailing. A thought so inane that the one that follows it is, oh. I’m in shock.

It had pressed you into the lee of what used to be the back wall of the old bank. Then it had parked itself over you, towering and terrifying, kneeling so you were squeezed into the space between it and the wall. It wasn’t looking at you now, its giant gun - fuck, that thing’s practically a cannon - balanced on the edge of the broken wall. It fired irregularly, its electric blue eyes shining pale as it tracked the movements around you. Hopefully with better accuracy than you can manage.

You’re so close to it you can feel hot air rushing from vents, mechanical systems whirring in a strange symphony of what feels nearly organic. Alive. It’s like being too close to a skyscraper to see the top, but feeling its enormity all the same in every nerve ending. You can’t stop flinching at every move it makes, certain it’s going to crush you by accident or by design, any second now. The sense of imminent danger is inescapable. Some part of you has already given yourself up for dead. There are other people out there, lying still, tangled in rubble. You are going to join them any second.

You’re shaking uncontrollably. There’s blood on your shirt, and you don’t remember how it got there, much less whether it’s yours or not. Adrenaline numbs you too much to feel any pain, for now. Later, you’re not going to remember a lot about these terrifying moments at all - shock mercifully shielding you from some of the trauma while you recover. You fumble in your pockets for your phone, feel a surge of hope as your fingers close around it. Hope that’s immediately dashed when you realize the screen has been smashed to oblivion, dark and useless.

The one thing that somehow cuts through the chaos is that rumbling voice, the vocalization moving through you as much as through the air. It takes your jumbled mind and senses a beat to grasp that this giant robot is speaking words you can understand.

That was incredibly stupid, it says, electric gaze peering down at you with an eerily human curiosity. It’s strangely disarming; typically, skyscrapers don’t come with curiosity. Or the mild frustration that you could swear you hear from it. Why were you just lying there in the street, waiting to get stepped on? Are you damaged?

You definitely are, but you don’t know how to explain. You can’t get your words to work. Every bit of your nervous system is in a full-on meltdown trying to keep you alive. You settle for nodding, in hopes that translates to a “yes.”

The robot’s face, makes a face. You read it as alarm.

Slag, don’t tell me you’re going to crash. The Prime was very clear we’re not to let any of you get hurt. It exhales ferociously and makes a noise not unlike a laugh. That energon’s already out of the cube, I see. But don’t offline, all right? It’s my first cycle on your planet, and The Hatchet said he’d turn me into a …actually, maybe you can tell me. What in the Pit is a lawnmower?

You are having a conversation with a giant robot who is holding a gun that looks like it could put a hole through the moon. Who doesn’t know what a lawnmower is, and yet has been threatened by someone named The Hatchet with being turned into one.

You begin to entertain the possibility you are hallucinating.

It pauses to fire off two shots at something big that wanders too close in the smoke of the battle. You grab your head, duck-and-covering like you were taught in tornado drills all those years ago in school. Something makes a terrible mechanical groaning, and the ground shakes as something huge crashes onto it, making the dust swirl. You’re pretty sure now some of it is smoke, but you’re not sure what’s on fire.

Oho, he’s gonna be feeling that in the morning, the robot crows. Fragging ‘cons. They gotta be getting desperate to go after an energon deposit in an inhabited area. Or maybe that’s not what they’re after. Don’t suppose you know of any secrets this town of yours is hiding, huh?

S-secrets? I, I don’t know. The water tastes weird sometimes? That poultry company didn’t clean out the chicken houses on route six all winter, and then in spring there were rats everywhere…

Each word is breathless like you’ve been running a marathon. You can just about feel the weight of its attention shift back to you where you’re hyperventilating. There’s a change in it suddenly, as the hand that had been squeezing the trigger on that cannon reaches down. You flinch as it brushes tentatively along your spine, but the metal creature does it again, more firmly, when you don’t try and move away. It’s very nearly comforting, the contact and pressure, and you can’t help but lean into the touch.

Its voice gentles. First time almost dying, sparklet? Don’t worry, you’re gonna be -

You don’t find out what you were gonna be, because in a roar of unearthly engines and a flash of sun on metal, something huge lunges out of the smoke and dust. Your cry of alarm is drowned out in the apocalyptic clang of an even bigger, scarier-looking robot launching itself onto the one that had been sheltering you.

The one standing over you makes some harsh buzzing noises that you can almost understand as foul cursing, and then the two robots are tumbling away into the next building over. No skyscrapers in your little town - just a two-story insurance company that goes down like a toddler stomping through a play-block castle. You hear human screams that you’re pretty sure aren’t yours.

They’re fighting hand-to-hand, and as you make yourself as small as possible against the brick wall, you feel something hot soaking through your clothes. You pry a trembling hand away from your head and swipe at it, staring in incomprehension when it’s not blood, but something bright pink and smelling of ozone and something far, far stranger. It tingles in a weird way. On your skin, and under it. You try and wipe it off, but there’s nowhere on your clothes that isn’t already wet with fluids or covered in dust.

The ground shakes. More explosions. You contemplate making a run for it, but - where? In what direction? You can hardly see, you could get stepped on in a heartbeat, or be crushed under rubble.

You look up and in a brief burst of inspiration, see a glimpse of the town’s water tower in the distance. The pale blue-painted structure is tall enough that it rises above the chaos of battle, still standing. For now. A landmark to aim for? It’s on the edge of town, and from there you could hit the woods and hide deep in the trees. Even a giant robot would have trouble getting to you through the underbrush on the nature conservation land, with its barely-there footpaths accessible only by bicycle, foot, or horseback.

You glance in the direction the friendly robot had gone, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt for even thinking of leaving it behind. Of leaving the other humans behind.

But what could you do? No, you could - you could get to the fire tower. It’s occupied this time of year, and there’s a radio system there. It connects to the forest service, who surely can get in touch with people who can do more good here than you.

But the robot…you shake your head. What could you possibly do for it? Distract it more from the fight so it gets -

You’re not sure how to finish that thought because “killed” means that thing has registered to you as alive in the first place, and that’s several magnitudes of comprehension above what you’re capable of right now. Gahdammit, you hear in your beloved grandfather’s voice. you hadn’t even finished your fucking coffee.

Then something in front of you explodes, flames licking hot over your shelter, which suddenly doesn’t seem very sheltering at all. Get to the landmark to escape the fighting. Get to the forest. Get to the fire tower. Call for help. A plan, in theory.

You stagger to your feet, and with an eye to the water tower - you run for your fucking life.

#transformers x human #transformers first contact au #transformers x reader #human distribution system #congrats on your new human nameless Autobot

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feelfreetopleasemexo · 2 months ago

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Boy talk

Boys discuss who they find attractive and Bakugo lets slip he thinks you’re slightly less irritating than the others, so denki just HAS to let you know

After a particularly strenuous training day, you head back to your dorm to flop on your bed and pass out, but as you walk towards the communal kitchen you hear denki, sero and katsuki all chatting. After denki let out a roar of laughter, you decide to linger back slightly to see what they were joking about. You cling to the wall and perk your ears up, trying to decipher their murmurs behind the shrieks of laughter.

“So, Bakugo, who’ve you got the hots for then?” Denki quizzes as he pushes katsukis arm playfully.

“Bakugo doesn’t notice girls man cmon!” Sero jokes, pushing denki away from him.

“Im not blind. I might not see those extras as worth my time, but I do notice them.” Stern, with no infliction, if he wasn’t screaming in someone’s face, he had a very stoic tone about his voice.

“Oh cmon man! You can’t say you haven’t looked at Momos boobs at least once right? Or Ochaco suit clinging to her ass? Damn even froppy’s ass is good…” Bakugo fires a blast at denkis head.

“Shut up. Of course I’ve noticed but I don’t really care about that, I just wanna make sure I’m the best. You can see boobs anywhere, it doesn’t phase me.” You can hear his footsteps walk towards you as he’s about to leave the kitchen, before sero gets his attention and he stops in his tracks.

“What about y/n? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her boobs NOT bounce when she walks. And when she uses her quick? Hell, I think I’d welcome her putting me to sleep if it meant I got to rest my head on the….” Before he can finish his sentence, he starts to squeal, Bakugo clearly blasted him.

“Don’t speak about her like this.” Bakugo growls, you can almost feel the heat from his crimson eyes staring into the guys. “She’s cool, leave her out of this.”

“Oooooooh someone’s got a crush! So you DO feel human emotions like the rest of us…..so, you like what y/ns got going on then hey man….” Denki teases, throwing a cup of water over sero to cool him down.

“Fuck off. I didn’t say I fancied her, I said she was cool. Grow up you extra.” You hear Bakugos footsteps continue to advance towards where you were hiding, you take a few steps back and then continue forward as if you were already walking this way, looking down at your phone as you bump into Bakugos chest abruptly.

“Shit sorry! Need to watch where im going….” You huff, flashing a smile at him as if you hadn’t just heard somewhat of a confession that he finds you slightly less irritating than the others.

“Watch where you’re going idiot!” He would usually blast anyone who touched him, accidental or not, but instead he put his arms on your shoulders forcing your arms tightly to your sides, picked you up and moved you out of his way. You glanced over to denki and sero laughing in the kitchen as he plonked you down and continued to walk away. As you started to walk towards your dorm, you hear denki shout for you,

“Yo! Y/N wait up! I’ve got something interesting to tell you.” As soon as you hear him excitedly shout this to you across the kitchen, you suddenly hear a massive explosion, and turn to see Bakugo stood by the door of the building, smoke encapsulating him. You can just about make out his life ending stare peak through the smoke veil, before hearing him mutter in a dark, low tone “Denki I swear to fucking god.”

Denki rushes to you, grabs your arm and pulls you alongside him to your dorm. As you’re both running, you can hear Bakugo take flight as he flies towards the both of you, cussing and shooting short flash bursts to up his speed. You reach your dorm and denki shoves you in, slams the door behind him and pushes himself up against the door, trying his best to be a blockade so Bakugo can’t explode the door down.

“He likes you! He freakin’ likes you man!” The excitement in his voice, only lessened by the worry that he’ll be killed for telling you this. Your cheeks flush pink as you stumble back and sit on your bed. The devil incarnated likes you? Surely not….

“Wait are you sure?! I didn’t think he liked anyone like that, didnt think he could….” Suddenly you’re interrupted as Bakugo kicks your door clean off his hinges, and denki becomes flattened by the frame. He steps over it as you hear denki screech from under Bakugos weight.

“So. You think I like you huh?” He stares down at you, the intensity makes you desperately want to look away, feeling like a kid being told off by their parents. You hold the intense eye contact,

“Denki was joking around that you liked me but I knew….” He interrupts you.

“Well, guess you know now. Meet me outside at 8. Wear something warm, I don’t wanna have to be your blanket all night.” He turns and leaves, leaving you godsmacked that not only did he admit that he did indeed like you, but he actually asked you out on a date…well, asked is a generous over assumption, it was more of an order.

As you stay sat, stunned at what just happened, sero comes running in and helps denki up,

“Did you do this?! I thought your quirk was a mist thing, i didnt think you could break your own damn door down!” He clambers to pick denki up, who seemed winded but otherwise fine.

“No no, it was Bakugo….i told y/n he likes her and he nearly killed me, but…..he then asked her out on a date!” The confusion between the three of us could’ve been cut with a knife, all staring between each other, then sero let out a slight laugh,

“Guess he really is a guy.”

#katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #sero x reader #mha smut #mha fluff #denki kaminari #denki x reader #bnha denki #mha sero #mha fanfiction #fandom

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alwaysthebiggerbear · 3 months ago

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where is she? - Soldier Boy x Female Reader

Summary: Soldier Boy only has one thought in mind when Homelander wakes him up: you.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader A/N: Wrote this on 7/29/24. This was meant to be a drabble and I was going to experiment with a different format at the time but after taking another look at it close to a month later, I decided against it. I haven't seen Season 4 of The Boys yet but I did see a gif on here of something from the finale in regards to SB. This idea popped into my head that day and I wrote it out. Starts from the Tower scene in 3x08, an AU. Unbeta'd. Full dialogue in text is from 3x08. Warnings: drug use; violence; violence against a woman; choking (not Butcher/Boys friendly) Word Count: 1019 First posted on here: 8/31/24 dividers by @firefly-graphics

You burst into the room from the stairwell, finding Ben trying to fight three of your new supposed teammates off, his eyes full of fury and a slight tinge of fear immediately finding you as they slipped a mask over his face. “I’m not…going back…in that fucking box!”

“Get off of him! Now !” You angrily yelled, energy pulsing from your hands as you tried to rush them when Butcher caught you off guard and knocked you into a wall on his way to get to Ryan.

“Sorry, luv.” His expression was full of trace amounts of remorse as he turned from you but you didn’t care. Your attention was on Ben alone.

When Ben saw you slam into the wall, even more fury seemed to emanate from him and he was finally able to push everyone off. His chest was a bright pulsing red that continued to get brighter and brighter; he was charged up and he was about to blow.

“You’ll kill everyone!” Starlight implored.

Ben’s expression didn’t change and you knew you had to get to him before he went off. You didn’t care about any of them, especially now, and you didn’t care for yourself. But Ben you cared about and you wouldn’t let him do this — not again.

“Ben!” You called.

Within the seconds it took for you to get to your feet, Maeve was already launching herself at him and they crashed through the window of the high rise, plummeting stories below. “No!” You rushed to the edge, watching their freefall in horror. “BEN!” You screamed before the impact of the explosion sent you careening backwards.

When Soldier Boy was woken for the second time, uncaring who was there to greet him, he only had one question. “Where is she?”

America’s Asshole of a Son, now suited up, stared out at the city from Homelander’s newly renovated suite. His own son watched him, keeping his hands clasped behind his back.

“It could all be ours, you know.”

“Don’t care,” Soldier Boy growled out. “Where’s Butcher?”

Homelander sighed in disappointment and approached. He didn’t know much about the man whose blood he shared but one thing was for certain: Soldier Boy was laser focused when it came to revenge. He just happened to be focused on the wrong thing.

When he reached the older man, he studied him for a moment before nearly rolling his eyes. “You actually loved her.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Soldier Boy turned a lethal glare onto him, his pupils dilated from the drugs coursing through his system that he’d just snorted, but it still caught him a little off guard. Homelander didn’t feel shame or remorse; those were human feelings and he was a god. But right then, he felt like a small child scolded by that dark gaze and his shoulders subconsciously lowered an inch.

“Find me Butcher or I will find him on my own,” the Supe threatened before walking away. Homelander watched him go, angry that even while dead you somehow still managed to fuck with his plans.

Right before Soldier Boy was about to strike a killing blow to Butcher, Hughie yelled, “She’s alive!” The Supe froze and turned a scowl onto Butcher’s dickrest.

“I promise,” the bitch insisted. “I can tell you where she is! Just don’t kill him. Please.”

Soldier Boy’s glare dropped to the man swaying in his hold, his face bloodied, bruised, and swollen. The supe’s jaw tensed and he dropped the man to the ground, making him a silent promise that he would still pay for his betrayal, before his eyes landed on Hughie. “Take me to her. And you better be telling me the fucking truth or you’re never going to get to feel the warmth of this fucker’s mouth again.”

Hughie’s eyes widened but he gave a nod. A hint of a smirk teased the corner of Soldier Boy’s lips for a moment and then disappeared completely. Before following the bitch out the door, he gave Butcher one last kick for good measure.

Soldier Boy tightened his grip on Grace Mallory’s throat and lifted her body higher up the wall. He ignored Hughie’s whiny pleas of not hurting the old bitch. “Open it,” he ordered. “Now.”

Hughie did just that. The supe could hear a whirring sound behind him and he intensified his glare at the woman he was currently choking out before turning to look over his shoulder. Out of a drawer, a cryotube emerged, looking quite different from the one he had been in when his pussy of a son had found him. His breath caught in his chest when he saw you inside, slumbering peacefully, tubes wrapped around your barely dressed body. Rage began to flow through his veins when he realized that you had been stocked away inside a fucking sock drawer like a second thought — like you had never mattered. You were the only thing that mattered.

He turned back to Mallory, gritting his teeth, and his body shaking with fury. He saw the lack of fear in her eyes and in a split second, his decision had been made. He flung her across the room, not caring about the sickening cracks he heard when she made impact. For good measure, when Hughie tried to run to her aid, he brutally knocked the kid aside and made his way towards you. Within seconds, he had the cryotube open and he ripped the wires from your body. He curled his arm around your shoulders and carefully hoisted you up into his lap.

A few heartbeats later, your eyes slowly began to open, your lashes fluttering repeatedly as you returned to consciousness. Your gaze struggled for a minute to focus on the image in front of you but when it did, you rasped out in disbelief, “Ben?”

A soft smile played upon his lips as he ferried your hand to his bearded cheek. “Yeah, doll. It’s me.”

When you attempted to return his smile, he leaned down to whisper, “I found you,” before he gently pressed his mouth to yours.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys fanfiction #jensen ackles character

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fayelero · 5 months ago

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ⓘ 01. VALENTINE’S DAY !

⤷ FLUFF ﹫ valentine’s special ﹫ multiple

⌗ katsuki, kirishima, denki, shoto, keigo

⚠︎ fluff, jealousy (katsuki) .ᐟ.ᐟ

The halls of U.A. were buzzing with excitement as students exchanged chocolates, gifts, and heartfelt confessions. You weren’t the biggest fan of overly public displays of affection, but today was different—it was Valentine’s Day, and you had a certain explosive blonde boyfriend who, despite his brash nature, had a softer side reserved just for you.

You had been dating Katsuki Bakugo for a while now, and though he wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate, you knew he cared. He showed it in his own way—walking you home, making sure you ate enough, and protecting you in battle without hesitation. But today, he had gone out of his way to surprise you.

You were heading to your locker when suddenly, a firm yet familiar hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you into an empty classroom. You barely had time to react before the door clicked shut behind you.

“Katsu—?”

“Shut up for a sec,” he muttered, cheeks tinged with a faint blush as he dug into his pocket.

Your heart pounded in anticipation. Bakugo wasn’t one for grand gestures, and he especially hated anything that would make him the subject of teasing from his friends. But when he pulled out a small velvet box and a bouquet of deep red roses, your breath hitched.

“You better not laugh,” he grumbled, shoving the roses into your hands. “Here. I know you like this kinda shit.”

Your eyes widened as you took the flowers, the sweet scent filling your senses. “Katsuki… these are beautiful!”

He clicked his tongue, looking away as he popped open the small box to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a small charm—your initial intertwined with his.

“Got this, too,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured you’d like it, so… whatever.”

Your heart melted at his flustered demeanor. “Oh my god, I love it!” Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

He stiffened for a moment before relaxing into your embrace, resting his chin on top of your head. “Tch, don’t get all sappy on me now,” he grumbled, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

You pulled back slightly and cupped his face, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He kissed back, albeit roughly, his hand gripping your waist possessively before he pulled away with a scoff.

“Turn around, dumbass. Lemme put it on you.”

You obediently turned, lifting your hair as he fastened the necklace around your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Once he was done, you turned back around, your hand touching the charm.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly.

A smug smirk played on his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before those idiots come lookin’ for us.”

With your hand in his, you walked back out into the hallway, making your way to your locker. Students were still milling about, exchanging gifts and talking about their Valentine’s plans.

When you reached your locker, you carefully placed the roses inside, but as you did, your eyes caught something unexpected—a folded piece of paper resting on the shelf.

Your brows furrowed as you picked it up. “What’s this?”

Bakugo, standing beside you, peered over your shoulder. “Dunno. Open it.”

You unfolded the note, and your heart skipped a beat as your eyes scanned the words written in elegant handwriting.

Dear Y/N,

I’ve admired you for so long, and I couldn’t let Valentine’s Day pass without telling you how amazing you are. You’re kind, strong, and beautiful, and I wish I had the courage to tell you this in person. No matter what, I just want you to know that you deserve the best. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Your stomach twisted, and you could practically feel the air crackling with tension beside you.

“The hell is this?” Bakugo’s voice was low and dangerous.

You turned to look at him, and if looks could kill, the entire hallway would’ve exploded. His ruby-red eyes were dark with fury as he snatched the letter from your hands, scanning it again, his grip tightening with each passing second.

“Who the fuck wrote this?” he growled.

You swallowed nervously and tried not to laugh. “I… I don’t know.”

Bakugo crumpled the letter in his fist, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack. “Some extra thinks they can confess to my girl? They’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

You placed a hand on his chest while holding your laugh, trying to calm him. “Katsuki, I—”

“No. This isn’t fuckin’ happening.” His arm wrapped around your waist possessively, pulling you close. “You’re my girl. Don’t need some shitty love letter from some coward who can’t even say it to your face.”

You sighed but chuckled, cupping his cheek. “Of course, I’m your girlfriend.”

He huffed but visibly relaxed under your touch. “Damn right.”

Before you could say anything else, a familiar voice called out from behind you.

“Yo, what’s with the angry look, Bakugo? Someone steal your girl?”

You turned to see Denki and Kirishima approaching, Denki grinning like he was about to tease the hell out of Bakugo.

Bakugo shot them a deadly glare, stuffing the crumpled letter into his pocket. “Shut the hell up before I blast your dumb face off.”

Denki raised his hands in surrender, but Kirishima looked between the two of you, noticing your new necklace. “Whoa, did Bakugo get that for you?”

Your face warmed, and Bakugo scoffed. “Yeah, so what?”

Denki smirked. “Aw, look at you being all romantic. Didn’t know you had it in you, man.”

Bakugo growled, sparks popping from his palm. “Say another word and I’ll end you.”

You giggled, squeezing Bakugo’s hand. “Come on, Katsu. Let’s go.”

With one last glare at Denki, Bakugo led you down the hall, his grip on your hand tight, his possessiveness evident.

The soft hum of students chatting filled the classroom as the lesson dragged on. You were tapping your pen against your notebook absentmindedly, stealing occasional glances at the clock. Just a few more minutes until class ended, and you could finally enjoy the rest of Valentine’s Day.

As you turned your attention back to your notes, something small and folded landed on your desk. Your eyebrows lifted in curiosity, and you glanced around to see if the teacher had noticed. When you looked to your side, Kirishima Eijiro was avoiding eye contact, his face dusted with a light pink blush as he scratched the back of his head.

Smiling to yourself, you unfolded the note under your desk.

Hey, Y/N!

Wanna go out with me after class? I, uh, have something planned, and I really hope you’ll like it. Just nod if you’re in!

You bit your lip to suppress a grin before looking at him. His crimson eyes darted to yours nervously, as if bracing himself for rejection. Trying not to giggle at how adorable he was, you nodded enthusiastically.

His reaction was priceless—his face brightened instantly, his sharp teeth peeking through as he beamed at you, barely holding back a celebratory fist pump.

The rest of class felt like forever, both of you sneaking excited glances at each other. When the bell finally rang, you gathered your things quickly and practically bounced over to Kirishima’s desk.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice light with excitement.

He laughed nervously, rubbing his hands on his pants as he stood up. “Y-Yeah! Let’s go!”

Despite his usual confidence, you could tell he was on edge. You knew how much this day meant to him—your first Valentine’s Day together. Kirishima wasn’t the type to half-ass anything, so he’d no doubt spent a lot of time planning something special.

He led you outside, his warm hand wrapping around yours as he guided you through the streets of Musutafu. The February air was crisp, but the excitement in your heart made it easy to ignore the cold.

After a few minutes, you arrived in front of a small, cozy café you had mentioned wanting to try weeks ago. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“You remembered?” you asked, turning to him with a touched expression.

Kirishima rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Of course I did! I know you were excited about it, so I thought… well, it’d be the perfect place for today.”

Your heart melted. “You’re the best, Eiji.”

His blush deepened, and he grinned, quickly opening the door for you. “Ladies first!”

The café was warm and inviting, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries filling the air. The two of you found a quiet table by the window, and you couldn’t help but admire how much effort he had put into this.

As you both browsed the menu, Kirishima fidgeted, tapping his fingers against the table. When the waiter came over, he got so flustered trying to order that he accidentally knocked over the sugar jar.

Your eyes widened, but instead of being embarrassed, you let out a soft chuckle, covering your mouth. “Relax, Eiji. It’s just sugar.”

He groaned, running a hand through his spiky hair. “Ugh, I just don’t wanna mess this up. It’s our first Valentine’s together, and I want it to be perfect.”

You reached across the table, gently taking his hand. “It is perfect, because it’s you. Clumsy or not, I love spending time with you.”

His eyes softened as he squeezed your hand, a lopsided smile forming. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

After placing your orders, the two of you talked and laughed, time slipping by effortlessly. Kirishima relaxed more with every passing moment, his nervous energy replaced by his usual enthusiasm.

When the food arrived, he practically inhaled his dessert, getting a bit of whipped cream on his nose in the process.

You giggled. “Eiji, you’ve got—”

“Huh?” He blinked at you, confused.

Shaking your head fondly, you leaned forward and wiped the cream off with your thumb before licking it off. “Got it.”

His face turned a deep shade of red, and he choked on his drink. “Y-Y/N! You can’t just—!”

You laughed at his reaction. “You’re too tense, relax!”

“Not so manly from me,” he mumbled, pouting slightly as he recovered.

After finishing your drinks, Kirishima’s demeanor shifted again—nervous, but determined. He reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around something.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at you, his usual fiery confidence battling with his nerves. “Okay, so… I, uh, got you something.”

You tilted your head. “You did? Eiji, you didn’t have to—”

“No, I wanted to,” he said firmly, before pulling out a small black box and placing it on the table between you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at it. “Eijiro…”

“Open it,” he urged, shifting in his seat.

With slightly trembling fingers, you lifted the lid to reveal a gorgeous silver ring with a small gemstone embedded in it—the same color as his eyes.

Your breath hitched. “It’s beautiful…”

Kirishima exhaled, rubbing his neck. “I saw it and thought of you. I know it’s not, like, an engagement ring or anything—but it’s a promise, y’know? That I’ll always be here for you. That no matter what, I’ll have your back.”

Your vision blurred slightly as your heart swelled with affection. “Eiji…”

Before he could get any more nervous, you reached across the table, grabbing his face and pulling him into a deep kiss. He let out a surprised noise but quickly melted into it, his large hands cupping yours.

When you pulled away, your eyes shimmered. “I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up with pure joy, his sharp teeth showing in the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “I love you too, Y/N!”

Slipping the ring onto your finger, you admired how perfectly it fit. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers, your heart brimming with happiness.

This was, without a doubt, the best Valentine’s Day ever.

The morning of Valentine’s Day started with a text—no, scratch that, a flood of texts.

Denki [6:45 AM]: BABE WAKE UP

Denki [6:46 AM]: IT’S VALENTINE’S DAYYYYYY

Denki [6:46 AM]: Get ready, because I’m about to make you feel like the luckiest girl alive!

Denki [6:47 AM]: And also I may or may not need help carrying something

You blinked at your phone, groaning as you rolled over. You weren’t even out of bed yet, and Denki was already in full hyper mode.

You [6:49 AM]: What did you do?

A minute later, another text came through.

Denki [6:50 AM]: Nothing bad! Just something AWESOME. Be outside in ten ;)

You sighed but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Denki always had this chaotic yet endearing energy, and you had a feeling whatever he had planned was going to be a lot. You quickly got dressed in your U.A. uniform, brushed your hair, and hurried outside.

What you saw made your jaw drop.

Standing at your doorstep, grinning like a fool, was Denki Kaminari, holding—no, STRUGGLING to hold—a massive teddy bear, a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, a small, elegant box, and an entire bag of fancy chocolates.

“TA-DAAAAA!” he announced, nearly toppling over as the bear wobbled in his grip. He quickly steadied himself, flashing you his usual electric grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!”

You gawked at him, your eyes darting between the absurdly large stuffed bear, the flowers, the chocolates, and the tiny velvet box in his hand.

“Baby…” you started, eyes wide, “This is—this is so much!”

“I know, right?” He beamed proudly. “I may have gone a little overboard, but like, it’s our first real Valentine’s Day together, so I had to go big! You deserve it!”

You ran a hand through your hair, still staring at the pile of gifts. The teddy bear was practically half your size. The bouquet was so full of roses, it looked like something from a movie. And then there was the tiny box in his hands—which could only mean jewelry.

Your heart squeezed. You wanted to tell him he really didn’t have to do all this, but the way his golden eyes shone with excitement made it impossible to say anything but:

“…This is too much,” you said, laughing softly, “but also, thank you, babe. Seriously.”

Denki’s grin softened as he set the bear down with a dramatic oof before stepping closer. He lifted the small box, opening it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, lined with tiny lightning bolt charms.

“Here, this one’s my favorite part,” he murmured. “I saw it and thought, ‘this is literally so us’—you know, ‘cause I’m all zap zap and you’re all gorgeous and amazing—so I had to get it.”

Your cheeks heated as he gently took your wrist, fastening the bracelet around it. It fit perfectly, the tiny charms glinting in the morning light.

“…Okay, this part is actually perfect,” you admitted, smiling as you turned your wrist to admire it. “I love it.”

Denki practically vibrated with joy. “YES! I KNEW IT!”

Then reality hit. You had to go to school. With all of this.

You glanced at the enormous teddy bear, the bouquet, the box of chocolates—how were you even supposed to carry all this around U.A. all day?!

Denki, oblivious, picked up the teddy bear and proudly placed it in your arms. “Okay, now let’s get to school!”

“…babe, I can’t—how am I supposed to carry this around all day?” you asked, voice somewhere between amused and exasperated.

He blinked. “Oh.” Then he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing. “Uh… I didn’t think that far ahead.”

You deadpanned. “Clearly.”

“Okay, okay, new plan!” he said quickly. “We drop the bear and chocolates off in the dorms, and you just take the flowers and bracelet with you. Boom! Genius, right?”

“Actually, yeah, that is a good plan,” you admitted.

Denki gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Babe. Are you saying I just had a smart moment?”

You smirked, poking his chest. “Don’t let it get to your head, Sparky.”

He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both started walking toward the U.A. dorms. “Oh, it’s absolutely getting to my head. But also, I’m just really happy you like everything.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I do. And I like you even more, you dork.”

Denki made an exaggerated swooning noise. “Oh my GAWD, my girlfriend just made my whole year.”

You laughed, shaking your head. Maybe it was way too much, but honestly? That was just so Denki. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The streets of Musutafu were dusted with a thin layer of snow, the chill of February still clinging to the air despite the early evening hour. Streetlights cast a soft golden glow on the sidewalks, and the occasional burst of laughter from passing couples and friends filled the atmosphere with warmth. It was Valentine’s Day, and for once, you weren’t spending it alone or just watching others celebrate—you were spending it with Shoto Todoroki.

You glanced at the boy walking beside you, his dual-colored hair standing out even in the dim light. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his coat, and though his expression was calm as always, the slight pink dusting his ears made you smile.

“You didn’t have to buy me all that, you know,” you said, shifting the small bag in your hand—a small, elegant gift bag from a local store, courtesy of Shoto.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply. “Besides, it’s Valentine’s Day. I should get you something nice.”

You huffed playfully. “You already gave me a gift this morning.”

Shoto tilted his head slightly, thinking. “That was different.”

You laughed. “How?”

He blinked, as if the answer was obvious. “That was for the morning. This is for now.”

Your heart warmed at the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t the type to shower people with words, but the way he always thought of you—always made sure you felt special—meant more than anything.

The two of you continued walking in comfortable silence, your steps in sync as the city buzzed around you. Small shops had their windows decorated with hearts, and couples strolled by, hands intertwined. You felt Shoto’s gaze flicker to your hand briefly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he nodded toward a cozy-looking café on the corner.

“Do you want to go in?” he asked.

You smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

The café was warm, filled with the scent of coffee, chocolate, and fresh pastries. A few couples were seated near the windows, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the hanging lights. The atmosphere was peaceful, perfect for the kind of quiet, intimate moment you knew Shoto preferred.

He led you to a small table near the corner, where the view of the street was still visible but slightly secluded from the rest of the café. The two of you sat down, and you sighed contentedly as warmth seeped into your fingers.

Shoto studied the menu for a moment before glancing at you. “What do you want? My treat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you already treat me?”

He gave you a look—one of those subtle yet affectionate ones that always made your heart stutter. “That was different,” he repeated.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. I’ll get a hot chocolate, then.”

He nodded, then walked up to the counter to order. You watched as he stood there, his tall frame relaxed, one hand in his pocket while the other gestured slightly as he spoke to the barista. Even with his usual stoic demeanor, there was something so effortlessly charming about him.

When he returned with two drinks—your hot chocolate and what you assumed was his usual black coffee—you smiled up at him. “Thank you, Sho.”

He set your drink in front of you, then slid into his seat. “You don’t have to thank me every time.”

“I do when it’s sweet,” you teased, taking a sip. The rich chocolate warmed you instantly.

Shoto took a careful sip of his coffee before setting it down. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you could tell he was thinking about something.

“What is it?” you asked gently.

He exhaled softly, glancing out the window before looking back at you. “I was just thinking… this is the first time I’ve really celebrated Valentine’s Day like this.”

You blinked, setting your cup down. “Really?”

He nodded. “My family never did much for it. And in the past, I never really… thought about it. It just felt like another day.”

Your chest tightened at the quiet honesty in his voice. You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. He looked down at your joined hands before curling his fingers slightly around yours.

“Well, I’m glad you’re celebrating it now,” you said softly. “And I’m really glad I get to be the one spending it with you.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of Shoto’s lips. He squeezed your hand lightly. “Me too.”

By the time you left the café, the night air was crisp but not unpleasant. Shoto walked a little closer to you this time, his hand occasionally brushing against yours. The streets had quieted, the earlier crowds thinning out.

As you passed by a small shop, Shoto suddenly stopped. “Wait here.”

You blinked. “Huh?” But before you could ask anything else, he had already stepped inside.

You watched curiously as he spoke briefly with the shopkeeper before emerging a minute later, holding something behind his back.

“What did you just—”

Shoto stepped closer, then gently held out a single red rose. His eyes softened as he looked at you. “For you.”

Your breath hitched. A single rose. It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it was perfect—because it was from him.

Smiling, you carefully took it from his hand. “Sho…”

He looked slightly unsure. “Do you like it?”

You held the rose close to your chest, nodding. “I love it.”

Something in his shoulders relaxed, and his lips quirked up ever so slightly. Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Shoto froze for a second, his eyes widening slightly. Then, slowly, his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink—not from the cold this time.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sho,” you murmured.

His gaze softened as he reached for your hand, holding it properly this time. His fingers were warm against yours, a steady presence in the cold night air.

“…Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The penthouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city below and the occasional flicker of the television that had been playing some random show in the background. You were curled up under a blanket, barely awake, scrolling through your phone when it vibrated with a new message.

Keigo [9:42 PM]: Get ready, I’ll pick you up in 20 minutes.

You sat up so fast the blanket fell off your shoulders. “Are you kidding me?” you muttered, scrambling out of bed.

Your damn bird of a boyfriend could have at least given you some kind of warning! You were still in your pajamas, for crying out loud.

Muttering curses under your breath, you bolted toward your closet, flinging it open as you desperately searched for something appropriate. Your eyes landed on a long, elegant black dress—sleek, centered at the waist, and perfect for a last-minute dinner you weren’t warned about.

“Damn featherbrain,” you grumbled, tugging the dress on.

You barely had time for makeup, so you went for something simple—a bit of mascara, lip gloss, and a touch of jewelry before throwing your hair into a slightly messy but passable style. You grabbed your purse, slipping into your heels just as the familiar sound of wings beating against the air reached your ears.

A gust of wind blew in from the balcony. You turned just in time to see Keigo Takami—Pro Hero Hawks—landing smoothly, golden eyes gleaming with amusement as he took in your rushed state.

“Ready?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

You glared. “No, I am not ready! You could have told me sooner!”

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You huffed, grabbing your purse and storming toward the front door. “Let’s just go.”

Before you could reach for the handle, you felt a pair of strong arms loop around your waist. You barely had a second to react before Keigo hoisted you up effortlessly, wings spreading wide.

You froze. “Keigo—NO.”

“Keigo—YES.” He grinned.

Your heart plummeted as he kicked off the ground, lifting both of you into the night sky.

The cold wind rushed past you, and you instinctively buried your face into his shoulder, clutching onto him like your life depended on it.

Which—it kind of did.

Keigo laughed, the deep, rich sound vibrating through his chest. “You’re so dramatic, babe.”

“I hate flying,” you mumbled against his shoulder.

“You hate flying alone. You love flying with me.”

“That is an outright lie, I can’t even fly alone.”

Keigo hummed, amused, as he adjusted his grip on you, his strong arms holding you securely. “You’ll survive.”

You peeked out from his shoulder, the city lights stretching beneath you in a breathtaking display. It was beautiful… but also terrifying.

“I swear, if I die—”

“You won’t,” he said smoothly, his lips brushing against the top of your head.

Despite yourself, you sighed, melting slightly into his embrace.

When Keigo finally landed outside the fancy restaurant, you nearly collapsed onto the ground in relief.

“I am never doing that again,” you declared dramatically, smoothing down your dress.

Keigo snickered, leading you inside with a hand on the small of your back. “You say that every time.”

The restaurant was luxurious, filled with soft golden lighting, elegant décor, and the quiet hum of music playing in the background. A few people turned their heads as they recognized Hawks, but Keigo paid them no mind, his focus entirely on you.

Once you were seated at a private table, the tension from earlier faded, replaced by the warm, intimate atmosphere between you.

Keigo leaned back in his chair, golden eyes studying you with that familiar lazy, yet utterly enamored gaze. “So, how was your day, babe?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Oh, you know. Peaceful—until a certain someone decided to ambush me with last-minute plans.”

He chuckled, sipping his drink. “Hey, I like keeping you on your toes.”

You shook your head fondly. “How was patrol?”

“Boring. Missed you,” he said smoothly, sending a slow wink your way.

You flushed, laughing. “You’re so corny.”

“And you love it.”

The conversation flowed easily, the two of you exchanging stories, laughter, and playful banter between bites of food. It felt perfect—peaceful, comfortable, and so wonderfully natural.

Then, just as dessert was about to arrive, Keigo suddenly reached into his jacket pocket.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you—”

He pulled out a small, velvet box.

Your heart stopped.

The entire restaurant seemed to fade away as Keigo set the box on the table, his usual cocky smirk replaced with something softer, more serious.

He opened it—revealing a beautiful engagement ring.

Your breath hitched. “Keigo…”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his expression open, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw.

“I was gonna wait ‘til later,” he admitted, voice softer than usual. “But I figured—why wait?”

You stared at him, completely caught off guard. “Are you—are you serious?”

He laughed, but there was nervousness in it this time. “What, you think I’d joke about this?”

You blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Keigo Takami—the most reckless, unpredictable, flirtatious man you’d ever met—was looking at you with the most sincere expression you’d ever seen.

“I know I’m not always the easiest guy to be with,” he continued, his thumb rubbing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I stress you out, and I know I drive you crazy—”

“You do.”

He grinned. “But… you’re it for me. You always have been.” His golden eyes softened. “So, what do you say, angel? Wanna keep dealing with me for the rest of your life?”

Your chest tightened with overwhelming warmth, your entire body buzzing with emotions.

You exhaled shakily, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

“You’re an absolute menace of a boyfriend,” you murmured.

Keigo chuckled. “I know.”

“But…” You felt tears prick your eyes as you reached forward, covering his hand with yours.

“Yes.”

His breath hitched slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah.”

For the first time, you saw actual relief wash over him—before it was replaced with a cocky, dazzling grin.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured, sliding the ring onto your finger before tugging you forward into a kiss.

The restaurant erupted into applause, but you barely noticed—because at that moment, all you could feel was him.

Keigo pulled back, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, fiancée.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

Yeah. You really, really did.

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