#clown smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jenniferspet · 3 months ago

Text

TW Threesome, Clown porn

Small Authors note: Not to happy with this one but I hope y’all enjoy. Happy Halloween 🎃

"Guys, I can't believe we're actually going to that haunted house," said Y/N, her voice a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"Come on, Y/N, it's just a bunch of actors in spooky costumes," Alex replied, trying to reassure her.

"Yeah, but you know the stories about the one on the outskirts of town," said Mark, his eyes wide with the thrill of potential horror.

"What stories?" Y/N's curiosity was piqued.

"Oh, you know, the usual," Mark shrugged, his tone nonchalant. "People say it's not just a simple haunted house. Some folks claim it's actually haunted by... real ghosts."

The group exchanged skeptical glances, but as they approached the dilapidated mansion, the air grew thick with a sense of unease. The lights flickered erratically, casting eerie shadows across the peeling paint and crooked shutters. The chilly October breeze seemed to carry whispers of untold secrets from within the decaying walls. Despite their bravado, the friends clung to each other tightly as they stepped through the creaking door.

Inside, the cacophony of screams and mechanical sounds filled the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter. The path wound through fog-filled rooms, each more unsettling than the last. Y/N's heart raced as she caught glimpses of the male and female clowns. They were both terrifying and oddly alluring, their makeup flawlessly applied to create a disturbing yet fascinating look. She couldn't help but feel a strange attraction to their mischievous smiles and piercing gazes, which seemed to follow her through the fog.

The male clown, tall and lanky with a chillingly painted face, had an air of dominance that sent a shiver down her spine. His red nose and sharp teeth gleamed in the dim light, and his eyes, framed by thick black lashes, bore into her soul. His partner, the female clown, was equally unsettling. Her hair was a wild tangle of colorful curls, and her eyes twinkled with a sinister amusement that seemed to promise a dark delight. Despite their menacing appearance, Y/N found herself drawn to their energy, a thrilling blend of terror and intrigue.

As they moved deeper into the house, the groups of friends grew more scattered. A particularly terrifying jump scare caused Y/N to stumble away from her group, her heart hammering in her chest. She turned to find the clowns standing side by side, their grins widening at the sight of her isolation. Her friends had vanished into the foggy abyss of the next room. Panic began to set in, but the clowns' eyes held a spark that suggested something more than mere fright awaited her.

The male clown reached out a hand, his fingers long and spindly, beckoning her closer. She took a tentative step, her breath catching in her throat. The female clown giggled, a sound that seemed to echo through the very walls, and took Y/N's other hand. They led her through a hidden door, the wood groaning in protest as it swung open, revealing a dimly lit chamber that was a stark contrast to the chaos of the haunted house.

The room was small and intimate, with walls covered in red velvet that felt almost alive to the touch. The floor was a sea of plush black, and the air was thick with the scent of musk and something sweetly floral, a scent that was at once comforting and unsettling. The clowns' grip tightened, and she found herself unable to resist the pull, as if she had been caught in a spell.

The male clown leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Welcome to our special show," he whispered, his voice a gruff purr that sent a shiver down her spine. His hand trailed down her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps. The female clown's laugh grew softer, her eyes gleaming with a predatory glint.

Y/N's heart raced, her palms growing clammy. She knew she should be afraid, but there was something about the way the clowns moved, the way their eyes searched hers, that made her feel... desired. The male clown's hand found her waist, and she gasped as his thumb stroked the sensitive skin just above her hip. The female clown leaned closer, her breath tickling Y/N's neck as she whispered sweet nothings that seemed to carry the weight of dark promises.

The tension in the room grew palpable, and Y/N's fear began to melt away, replaced by an unexpected arousal. The clowns' grips grew firmer, and she could feel their excitement, their anticipation of what was to come. The male clown's hand slid up to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip, and she couldn't help but part them slightly, inviting him in. He took the cue, his lips pressing against hers in a kiss that was as much a declaration of intent as it was a gentle seduction.

Her body responded of its own accord, her hands reaching out to grip the male clown's shirt, pulling him closer. The female clown's fingers danced over her shoulders, sending shivers down her back. She felt her own power in this moment, the control she had over these two creatures of the night. They were here for her, to give her the thrill she craved, and she was eager to accept.

The kiss grew deeper, the male clown's tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting of something ancient and forbidden. His grip on her tightened, his other hand sliding down to palm her ass, his sharp nails digging in just enough to make her moan into his mouth. The female clown took this as an invitation, her own lips tracing a line down Y/N's neck, her teeth grazing her skin. The sensation was electric, and Y/N's knees went weak with desire.

The male clown's hands moved to the hem of her shirt, his movements deft and sure as he began to lift it. His eyes never left hers, holding her gaze with a fierce intensity that seemed to dare her to look away. The female clown's nimble fingers followed suit, her cold touch sending waves of heat through Y/N's body as she unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts. The air in the room seemed to thicken as they both stepped back to admire their handiwork, their eyes raking over her exposed flesh with a hunger that was both terrifying and thrilling.

"You're so beautiful," the female clown purred, her voice a sweet siren's song that made Y/N's heart flutter. "We're going to have so much fun with you."

The male clown's hands slid up Y/N's bare stomach, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her breasts. She could feel her nipples harden in response to his touch, and she let out a whimper as the female clown's cold, painted mouth closed around one of them, her tongue swirling in a way that sent shockwaves through her body. The male clown chuckled darkly, his breath hot against her ear.

"You like that, don't you?" He murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her very bones.

Y/N could only nod, the sensation of the female clown's mouth on her nipple sending tremors of pleasure down her spine. The male clown took advantage of her distraction, his hands continuing their exploration, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down her hips. He stepped closer, his body pressing against hers, and she could feel the hardness of his arousal through the fabric of his costume.

The female clown released her nipple with a wet pop, a line of saliva connecting her mouth to Y/N's skin. She slithered down to her knees, her eyes never leaving Y/N's, a mischievous grin playing on her painted lips. The male clown stepped back, allowing his partner to take the lead as she kissed a trail down her stomach, her tongue flicking out to taste the soft flesh. Y/N's legs quivered as the female clown reached the apex of her thighs, her fingers deftly parting the damp fabric of her panties.

The room was a whirlwind of sensation, the male clown's hands roaming her bare back, his nails digging in just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps as the female clown's tongue began to explore her most intimate area. The combination of the cold metal studs on the female clown's costume and the heat of her mouth was exquisite torture, and Y/N found herself pushing her hips forward, eager for more. The clowns' eyes met over her, a silent conversation passing between them that spoke of dark intentions and mutual enjoyment.

The male clown's hands slid down to her hips, his grip firm as he held her in place, giving the female clown free rein. Her tongue flicked and danced, finding the perfect rhythm to make Y/N's knees buckle. Y/N's breathing grew ragged, her eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure mounted, her body trembling with each stroke. The female clown's painted smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with victory as she watched Y/N's reactions, her own excitement palpable.

Without warning, the male clown spun her around, his hands now cupping her breasts as he took her mouth in a bruising kiss. The taste of her own arousal on his lips was heady, and she moaned into his mouth. He pushed her back onto the table that she hadn't noticed before, the metal cool against her overheated skin. The female clown wasted no time, her mouth returning to its previous task, her tongue now lapping at Y/N's sensitive clit with an urgency that sent her spiraling towards the edge.

Y/N's eyes flew open as the male clown stepped back, revealing his own costume to be a mere guise for his true form. He had shed his oversized pants, revealing a long, thick cock that matched the rest of his terrifyingly alluring persona. The sight of him, so primal and powerful, sent a jolt of fear and excitement through her, and she couldn't help but whimper as he stroked himself, watching her reactions with a knowing smile.

The female clown, her mouth still occupied with Y/N's pleasure, reached up to tug at the male clown's costume. He allowed her to remove his shirt, revealing a lean, muscular chest adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight. His skin was cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the heat building within Y/N's core. The sight of him was like a dark fantasy come to life, and she couldn't look away.

With a final, lingering kiss to her inner thigh, the female clown stood, her eyes never leaving Y/N's. She stepped aside, giving the male clown full access to what he desired. He positioned himself between her legs, his cock standing tall and proud, a silent demand for her to submit. Y/N's eyes grew wide, a mix of fear and excitement clouding her judgment. But she was too far gone, too lost in the thrill of the moment to resist.

The male clown leaned in, his tongue tracing a path from her navel to her neck, his teeth grazing her skin just hard enough to leave a hint of pain. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider, and she could feel his cock brush against her, thick and insistent. She gasped, her eyes locked on his, the anticipation unbearable. And then, with a single, swift movement, he pushed inside her.

The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced—a blend of fear and pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. His strokes were deliberate and deep, his eyes never leaving hers as he claimed her. The room was alive with the sound of their heavy breathing, the slap of skin on skin, and the occasional giggle from the female clown, who watched from the side, her own hunger evident in her eyes. Y/N's nails dug into the table as the male clown's pace grew more frantic, his movements powerful and unyielding.

Her body begged for more, her hips bucking up to meet each thrust. In that moment, she knew she wanted everything they had to offer, every depraved act they could dream up. She turned to the female clown, her voice strained with desire. "Sit on my face," she pleaded, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she had even fully formed the thought.

The female clown's smile grew wider, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She stepped closer to the table, her skirt riding up to reveal her own arousal, a dark wetness that glistened in the candlelight. Without hesitation, she straddled Y/N's head, her legs draped over the sides of the table, her painted toes curling in anticipation. The male clown chuckled, his rhythm never faltering as he continued to fuck her with an intensity that stole her breath away.

Y/N eagerly parted her lips, her tongue reaching out to taste the female clown's sweetness. The sensation of the female clown's sex pressing down on her face was intoxicating, and she felt a strange thrill knowing she was pleasuring this creature of the night. The male clown's grip on her thighs tightened, his pace increasing as he watched his partner's reaction. Y/N could feel the tension building within her, her body responding to the dual assault of pleasure from both clowns.

The female clown's musky scent filled her nose, a heady aroma that only served to drive her desire higher. She licked and sucked with a fervor she had never experienced before, her tongue delving deep into the other's core. The female clown's thighs tightened around her head, her moans growing louder with each pass of Y/N's tongue. Y/N could feel the clown's wetness seep into her mouth, the taste of her arousal adding to the intoxicating cocktail of emotions swirling within her.

As she brought the female clown closer to climax, the male clown's rhythm grew more erratic, his grunts of pleasure echoing through the velvet-covered walls. The room spun around her, the candles casting a strobe-like light across the scene of debauchery. The female clown's nails dug into her shoulders, her hips bucking as she rode Y/N's face, her movements growing more frantic with each passing second. The pressure inside her built, threatening to burst forth at any moment.

The male clown reached down, his hand wrapping around the base of his shaft, his thumb brushing against her clit with a precision that made her scream into the female clown's sex. The female clown's thighs tightened even more, her body shuddering as she reached her peak, her juices flooding Y/N's mouth. The male clown groaned, his hips jerking as he followed her over the edge, filling her with a warmth that seemed to fill every part of her being.

Y/N lay there, panting and trembling, her body still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure. The clowns stepped back, their grins now wide and genuine, their makeup slightly smeared from the passionate encounter. They were no longer the terrifying specters they had once been; they were two beings who had shared something primal and intense with her.

The male clown leaned down, his eyes searching hers for any signs of regret or fear. "How was that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very core of her soul.

Y/N took a moment to catch her breath, the tremors of pleasure still rippling through her body. "It was... amazing," she murmured, the words barely audible. She had never felt so alive, so consumed by a moment.

The male clown's smile grew even more sinister, if that was possible. "Ah, but what fun is a night of pleasure without knowing the names of your... entertainers?" He stepped closer, his hand still gripping his softening cock, the painted-on smile never leaving his face.

The female clown chuckled, her laugh a dark melody that danced around the room. She leaned down, her breath hot against Y/N's ear. "I'm Polly," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "And this handsome devil is my partner, Chaos."

The male clown, Chaos, gave a dramatic bow, his grin never fading. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "We've been waiting for someone like you."

The female clown, Polly, slithered off the table, her movements liquid and graceful. She reached for her discarded clothing, her painted smile still in place. "We don't get many visitors who can appreciate the finer things in life," she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction.

Chaos followed suit, his cock now flaccid but still impressive. He picked up his oversized pants, sliding them back on with a wink at Y/N. "We're not like the other actors here," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. "We like to offer... extra services to those who dare to seek them."

The sound of an intercom crackling to life interrupted their conversation. A staticky voice echoed through the chamber, calling for Polly and Chaos to return to their posts. The spell was broken, the reality of their situation crashing down around her. Y/N sat up, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall. "Shit," she murmured. "I have to find my friends."

Polly giggled, a sound that sent a fresh wave of arousal through Y/N's body. "Don't worry, darling," she said, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. "They're probably still wandering the house, scared out of their wits."

With trembling hands, Y/N pulled her clothes back on, the fabric feeling foreign against her sensitive skin. Chaos stepped forward, his movements fluid and predatory as he helped her fasten her bra. His eyes held hers, a silent promise of more to come. Polly handed her a small slip of paper, her grin never wavering. "For when you're ready to play again," she whispered, her eyes glinting with something that could only be described as evil mirth.

Y/N took the paper without a word, her mind racing. She couldn't believe what had just transpired. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, her body thrumming with the aftermath of the encounter. But she had to find her friends. She had to get out of this twisted wonderland before it swallowed her whole.

With a final shared look that spoke of unspoken agreements and the thrill of the forbidden, the clowns turned to leave, their laughter fading into the distant screams of the haunted house. Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead. She had to find her way back to reality, to the safety of her friends' arms. But deep down, she knew she would never forget this night, the way the clowns had made her feel so alive.

Stumbling through the fog, her senses heightened and her body still humming with the echoes of pleasure, she managed to find her way back to the main path. The dim lights from the exit sign beckoned her, a beacon of normalcy in a sea of madness. As she approached the room where her friends had last been, she could hear their muffled laughter and the sound of their footsteps. The anticipation grew, a mix of fear and excitement for the questions that would surely come.

"Y/N! There you are!" Alex called out, relief etched on her face as she emerged from the shadows. The group gathered around her, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. "What happened to you? You've been gone forever!"

Her cheeks flushed, the warmth of embarrassment mixing with the lingering heat of arousal. She tried to formulate a lie, but her mind was a jumbled mess of clown smiles and whispered promises. Mark's eyes widened as he caught sight of the smudges of paint on her neck, the crimson and blue hues a stark contrast against her skin. "Looks like you had quite the fright," he said, trying to keep his voice light.

Alex raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking from the marks to Y/N's flustered expression. "Or quite the... adventure?" she suggested, her tone teasing.

The group shared knowing smirks, their eyes sparkling with curiosity. Y/N managed a shaky laugh, her voice strained. "Yeah, you could say that," she said, her heart racing as she tried to come up with an excuse for her absence.

"Well, you don't look too worse for wear," Mark said, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made her skin crawl. "But we're almost at the end. You didn't miss much."

Y/N tried to laugh along with her friends, her mind still reeling from the encounter with the clowns. She glanced back over her shoulder, hoping for one final glimpse of Polly and Chaos, but the fog had swallowed them whole. "I just... got lost," she stammered, her cheeks flaming under their curious stares.

The group continued through the house, the horrors feeling almost mundane in comparison to what she had just experienced. Y/N walked with a newfound awareness of her body, every step a reminder of the clowns' touch. The air grew cooler as they approached the exit, the fog outside seeming less menacing now that she knew the true monsters lurked within.

As they stepped out into the night, the sound of laughter and shrieks still ringing in their ears, Y/N couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. The haunted house was closing its doors for the night, and she knew that she was leaving a piece of herself behind in that velvet-covered chamber. Her friends chatted about their favorite scares, their voices a distant buzz in her ears as she replayed the night's events, her body thrumming with the memory of Polly and Chaos.

The cool autumn air was a slap in the face, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the haunted house. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself, but all she could think about was the slip of paper in her pocket, the promise of more nights like this. Her friends were eager to leave, their adrenaline wearing off and the chill of the night seeping into their bones. They piled into the car, the ride home a blur of streetlights and shadows that danced across their faces.

Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that she had just walked away from something incredible, something that had touched her in a way she never thought possible. She kept her gaze out the window, watching the passing scenery, lost in thought. The clowns' whispers seemed to echo in her mind, beckoning her back to the velvet-walled chamber. The memory of their touch was like a drug, leaving her craving more.

#clown smut #clown x reader #halloween smut #monster fucker #would this be considered monster smut?

159 notes · View notes

multch · 3 months ago

Text

Art the Clown head cannons.

Art has no definition of cleanliness. He gives off racoon vibes where he'll live in absolute trash yet still do his laundry regularly.

Favorite holiday is Black Friday. He finds amusement in seeing people rip each other apart for sales. (He also participates in the violent holiday as he has very little spare change to spend on snacks)

Since he's immortal, I imagine he has picked up a few languages over the years- Russian, Dutch, etc, etc..

Art doesn't need to eat but regardless, he loves to. He tried sugar cookies once and killed 4 people that day from the sugar rush he felt (super festive…)

Definitely drinks Alcohol often but never takes drugs since he has no idea how a stimulant might affect his occult powers.

During the festive season, Art drinks almost exclusively eggnog, whereas, usually he drinks cases of cheap beer before going out on murderous killing sprees.

Art is crazy about Christmas- If Halloween didn’t give him a great disguise, he would go around dressed like Santa all year round. (Unfortunately going around commando all the time makes being a Mall-Santa quite conflicting..)

NSFW BELOW CUT OFF [18+]

Art is 100% into torture porn and doesn't refrain from using violence on the person he loves to get himself off.

If his partner has boundaries against kinks like knife play or blood, Art settles for small bites instead.

He loves leaving his mark on you.

If he's allowed to hurt you, he will. He loves creating small cuts along your thighs and smearing little hearts out of the blood that spills out of your wounds.

If you're a romantic partner (maybe even a partner in crime…) he shapes both your sexual and romantic experiences to your preferences. He doesn't care- but if you do, he would do anything to make it a reality. Even if it is a bit unorthodox…

He definitely DIY’d sex toys to use on you and they definitely broke.

Art's the type of guy to pull up with a dildo duct taped to a drill that's still covered in blood from the last time he drilled it into someone's skull and still give you that cheeky grin like its attractive.

160 notes · View notes

jokeringcutio · 1 year ago

Note

Helloooo I have a Halloween request for Arthur Fleck x female reader

I was thinking it could take place on Halloween while he's working for Ha Has, so he's walking home in his clown costume not realizing it's Halloween until he's passing a house/apartment party and gets invited inside by someone assuming he's their friend who also dressed as a clown. Maybe he goes along with it because he's never been to a party he wasn't performing at, but doesn't know how to act. Maybe the host pulls him to introduce to the reader and he has to come clean that he's not the guy everyone thinks he is. And she's just really sweet relieved because she didn't like the guy she thought he was, and tells him how she's never dated so people keep trying to set her up.

So they bond at the party and meet up for coffee or something later. Bonus points if they lose their virginity to each other and fall in love.

Sorry if that's too long or not specific enough. I just like a sweet, supportive, Disney princess type girl that brings out the best in Arthur and vice versa 💞

Arthur Fleck x Reader - Sweet Halloween (contains smut)

AN: Follow me for more Halloween Reader Inserts. More stories will follow this month.

Fandom: Joker 2019 Pairing: Arthur Fleck (as Carnival) x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: You mistake him for somebody else, but that might be the best thing that happened to the both of you, for you end up losing your virginity to each other.

Warnings: Sexual content, Virginity/First Time.

Those downtrodden streets with their faded yellow lights that made everything seem grey and bleak were familiar to Arthur. As he walked his usual route home, hands buried deep inside of his pockets, clown shoes kicking dirt and thrown-away wrappers and cans. He stared at the potholed pavement. There seemed to be more of a buzz around him, more noises. But he gave it no thought.

His Carnival costume hung loosely around him, his body too thin and too slender. He hadn’t had a good meal for the past God-knows how many weeks, and the lack of food was starting to have its effect on him. Arthur had grown easily tired and vexed and felt as if his hunger had left him completely. And so he kept his eyes pointed at the street, careful where to place his feet in case he might trip over the too-big shoes he had been too tired to swap for his ordinary pair. He would do it at home, he figured. He’d wash off the makeup there.

Being completely focused on the ground in front of his feet, he didn’t notice how he approached a house with an open door. A few young people stood on the porch, observing him as he neared. He felt their gazes, however, and made himself smaller than he was. His shoulders up high, hands even deeper inside his pockets and turned into fists – invisibly to their eyes. He tried not to draw too much attention to himself, eager to pass by without being picked on, laughed at, or even worse – beaten. He knew he was an easy target like this. And though the people he passed usually didn’t care, sometimes they would.

“Ah, there you are.” Before he had time to react, a gentle hand laid firmly upon his arm and he was ushered between the youngsters, pushed passed them, and into the house. It all happened so swiftly, that he had no idea how to react.

Soft hands pushed the small of his back, urging him into a hallway where they paused. Low thumps of music came from down the hall. There definitely was a party going on here. He tried to turn around and protest, but everything was happening way too fast.

“Josh, you can find Emma in the kitchen. She’s busy prepping the punch,” Arthur heard a female voice say from behind. It was a pleasant voice. One that sent sparks of warmth down his tummy.

He slowly turned around to face you, prepared for anything but you. A princess in every sense of the word. From your voice to your looks. You were even dressed in one of the prettiest dresses he had ever seen. Surely, if you were to come to work for Ha-Ha’s you’d be paid maximum wages. You’d have a booking every day. You-

You must be mistaken, he realized crestfallen as he watched you breathlessly. His shoulders slumped, his green eyes upon you. You didn’t want him here. You expected someone else. Some kind of Josh. What should he do? What should he do next?

There was a warm smile on your face. “Come on, let’s get going. I know you came just to see her, and I promise, no one is going to come in between the two of you tonight. This house got more than enough rooms for a bit of privacy.” You smiled at him and, once again, placed your warm hands upon him, pushing against his belly, probably to usher him in the direction of the kitchen. Then your eyes turned wide. Had you spotted he wasn’t Josh?

“Oh, gosh,” you gasped. “You really need to get some food in you. There’s some great apple and cinnamon pumpkin-shaped pies.”

So you hadn’t realized your mix-up, he thought. He followed your gaze as your eyes slid down his form. What must you be thinking of him, he wondered? This shabby clown, tired after a long day’s work. Your eyes darted lower and he followed your gaze. “Your shoes are so big. How can you walk without tripping?” The words spilled from your lips, melodious to his ears. Then your eyes sought his again. But instead of the judgment he had expected, your eyes sparked with joy and admiration. “They are amazing,” you said, warming his heart once more.

He blinked at you, confused. “I- I don’t think,” he started, voice too soft and being drowned out by the loud music that came down the hall. The realization came that you hadn’t heard him when you gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder and smiled.

“I know. Size matters! Well, you have an impressive girth,” you joked.

And then you were gone. The crowd had swallowed you, like a phantom. A ghost.

Arthur stood baffled. Had that just happened? As if in a dream, he glanced around him. The hallway was getting crowded as more people seemed to arrive at the party. He looked desperately but found no clue of you ever having been there. Had he entered the house himself? Had you been another delusion?

He leaned against a wall, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. Taking deep breaths, he tried to steady himself. Another delusion, he thought. Another dream vision.

But then, an unfamiliar girl came to stand next to him, dressed as a pirate in a very revealing short array. Her red bouncy curls danced around her when she reached up to pull him into a hug.

“Ah Josh, glad you could make it,” the girl said with a smile. Arthur could see how the lipstick on her lips cracked at the motion. “Come on over, there’s food and drinks waiting.”

Luckily, she let go when Arthur started to feel the hug was getting too suffocating, and then she gestured ahead, urging him to walk into the next room which appeared to be some kind of large hall, decorated as a ballroom. He felt the girl’s eyes upon him for a little longer, but when he glanced behind him she seemed to have turned away. He saw her at the far end of the hall. Not a vision then. But not the woman he had dreamed of either.

Carefully, Arthur, still dressed as Carnival the Clown, entered the festive hall. The chandeliers were adorned with bats and cobwebs. Tiny fake ghosts hung from the ceiling and pumpkins filled the corners, all with faces like clowns. He could not help but chuckle when he saw what a wonderful room he had walked into. Everywhere, people were dancing.

Had he held any hesitation, it vanished when he saw the pumpkin pies the princess of his dreams had told him about. They stood on a table in front of him, looking every bit as delicious as you had told. For once, he thought to himself, you deserve this. “Well,” he nasally said to himself. “I suppose one bite won’t do any harm. After all,” here he suppressed the upwelling laughter that threatened to leave his lips. “They invited me in.”

The Halloween party was in full swing, the room bathed in a dim orange glow from the flickering jack-o'-lanterns lining the walls. Laughter and chatter filled the air as costumed guests mingled and danced. You expertly wove through the crowd, your body swaying to the haunting beats of the music. You were no stranger to dancing; it was an outlet that allowed you to escape the challenges of your life.

As you moved across the floor, a man dressed as a clown caught your eye. The colorful frills of his costume juxtaposed against the dark atmosphere of the party. You’d seen him before. At the time you had believed him to be Josh, that friend that Emma had invited because she wanted to date him. You knew better now. The real Josh had appeared half an hour later. It made you realize you’d invited a stranger into the house.

But this stranger, this man dressed as a clown… he was fetching. There was something about him that lured you in. Now that you knew he wasn’t Emma’s to claim, you became bolder, more daring. Moving closer to him, you deliberately started moving along with him, feeling the beat of the song resonate within you. When he noticed you, his eyes lit up like fireworks, surprise and delight radiating from his gaze.

The clown began to challenge you with his moves, his hips gyrating to the rhythm of the music. He had good moves, you noticed. Every gesture was graceful, like dancing came as natural to him as breathing. The rotating of his hips, while his eyes rested firmly upon you, was an invitation you accepted without hesitation. You danced closer, enticed by the mystery behind the painted face. His movements were fluid and surprisingly graceful, drawing you in even more.

As the song continued, you found yourselves dancing together, his arm snaking around your waist as he twirled you effortlessly. Your bodies pressed close, the heat emanating from him warming you as his scent – a mix of cologne and something uniquely his – intoxicated you. A sense of desire bubbled within you, fueled by the passion of the dance and the enigmatic connection between you two.

He twirled you around again and then pulled you in close, until your back was pressed against his front. You could feel his hot breath tickle your ear. His fingers splayed on your tummy, holding you like a lover’s embrace as you sensually pressed your hips against his. Your bodies fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle, and you had to suppress a moan.

The sensation of your bodies colliding with each beat was overwhelming. The dance became a sensual exploration, your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understood. And when the song came to an end, you lamented the fact that Emma stood several feet away, beckoning you to help her bringing the snacks from the kitchen. You reluctantly pulled away, feeling the sudden absence of his warmth. "Sorry,” you whispered, unsure if he could hear you over the starting tunes of a new beat, “I need to go help a friend.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you saw the Clown’s lips twitch into a smile. You assumed he had heard you, and quickly turned away, unaware of how the clown doubled over as he watched you go, grabbing his stomach as he tried to bite back the laughter that threatened to spill from his lips. He failed though, and in an attempt to escape the judging gazes from those around him, he turned around and pushed his way through the crowd.

By the time you returned with the snacks, your eyes wandered to find your mysterious dancing clown, but found no trace of him. Crestfallen, you put the snacks down on the table and scanned the room once more. Your clown seemed to have gone. But the tingling sensation deep inside of you still lingered, reminding you of the dance you had just shared.

Time slipped away, the evening deepening as laughter and chatter filled the air. You found yourself wandering outside to get some fresh air. The cool night breeze was a welcome respite from the heat of the party. You’d almost given up on finding him, almost convinced yourself that it didn’t matter, that this stranger you had met was someone you would never see again. But then, there he was.

Sitting on the porch and smoking, was the clown who had captivated you earlier. The sight of him stirred something within you – curiosity, desire, and an undeniable connection that you couldn't shake. You watched him for a moment, silently admiring his enchanting silhouette. Then you stepped closer to him.

"Hey," you called out softly, drawing his attention. “Are you alone?”

His eyes widened in surprise, the cigarette between his fingers momentarily forgotten. As he looked up at you, you caught sight of his vibrantly green eyes and your heart skipped a beat. So beautiful, you thought. You felt your cheeks flush.

"You're a really good dancer," you quickly said, smiling warmly at him.

The man seemed to hesitate, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights, but he quickly recomposed himself. His shoulders relaxed again. "Oh, uh, thank you." He seemed almost embarrassed by the compliment, his cheeks flushing beneath the white face paint.

"Mind if I sit with you?" you asked, gesturing to the empty spot beside him before bunching up your skirt. If you showed him a little leg, well, that wasn’t entirely an accident. You could tell he had seen it, that he must have spotted your bare legs underneath your skirts, perhaps even the outline of your panties, for his cheeks flushed and he quickly glanced away. But you’d seen his pupils dilate.

"Of course not," he replied, snuffing out the cigarette. For a moment he stared ahead while you settled down onto the wooden steps. The warmth of his body radiated through the thin fabric of your costume, sending shivers down your spine.

“I thought I'd dreamed you up." His words caught you by surprise and you stared at him with eyes open wide. When he finally turned to lock gazes with you, his lips carried a shy smile. Almost as if he was afraid to admit it.

“Not a dream,” you assured him. "Definitely real."

For a moment, his smile broadened, an imitation of your own, and you were lost in his eyes. Their depths, their vibrancy… This man made you feel warm and alive.

But then his smile faded like snow in the sun, and he tore his eyes away from yours. Shyly, he looked down at his hands. A deep frown appeared on his face, twisting his features. "I'm sorry,” he said, voice hardly more than a low mumble. “I’d better go.”

He shifted, jumping up to his feet without a warning, but you grasped him by the sleeve, preventing him from stepping away. He turned to look at you, surprise visible on his face.

“Why would you leave now?” you asked, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. Didn’t he feel the same? You could swear he did. You’d seen it in his eyes, how the two of you had been lost in each other’s gaze.

The clown hesitated. You could see the thoughts running wildly inside his head, the deep frown when he licked his lips before he shyly admitted, “Because I am not who you want?”

“Nobody said that,” you smiled, the grasp on his sleeve diminishing until your hand just laid gently upon his arm. There was no pressure there. If he still wanted to leave, he could.

“But I,” his voice had turned nasal, like a whine. Whatever was going through that pretty head of his was making him worried. “I know you mistook me for a friend of yours," he finally admitted, a frown still on his features.

You shook your head and smiled, your hand slipping from his arm for a moment. But he did not run away. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot, standing there, looking down at you with eyes full of uncertainty. It was obvious he wanted to stay. And you did not want him to go.

Your hand reached out once more to gently touch his arm. "I want you to stay," you whispered.

In the dim light of the Halloween-lights, you could see how his eyes widened in surprise. You felt his body grow slack underneath your hand. "All right.”

Slowly, he sat down again. His hip slotted against yours, the warmth instantly returned, making you breathe a sigh of relief. He was here again, where he needed to be.

“My name's Arthur, by the way," he hesitatingly said, as if he were shy to introduce himself to you.

"Nice to meet you, Arthur," you replied, your heart racing as you studied his face. Beneath the makeup, there was a vulnerability that drew you in. Your thoughts raced, emotions swirling as you tried to make sense of the magnetic pull between you two.

"The boy I confused you with, he is Emma’s new friend,” you confessed, your gaze drifting to the ground. "She’s always dating, never able to go without a boyfriend for long, so I hadn’t really seen him yet.”

Arthur remained silent, just watched you, his gaze enough to encourage you. “She keeps trying to set me up, but it never feels right," you quietly admitted, feeling how Arthur shifted by your side. He placed his hands in front of him, fingertips touching.

“Truth is, I've never had a boyfriend before," you continued, voice a soft whisper. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I've never even dated.”

Your eyes gently slid back to seek his. He was still looking at your face, his eyes desperately seeking yours. And when your gazes met, you could tell there was a quiet understanding in his. A deep warmth.

“How come,” he started, but had to pause to clear his throat. His voice was hoarse, filled with emotion. “How come no one ever claimed you as their own? Who wouldn’t want you?” he asked you, warming you up inside because that was a high compliment. Who wouldn’t want you? Who would? Then again, you shrugged and shook your head.

With a small smile, you looked up at him again. “It’s not fully up to them, is it?” you said, a small smile curling your lips. It took him a moment to understand what you were saying, but then his lips curled into a smile as well, the red of his makeup curling upward even more.

“You didn’t want any of them,” he concluded, and you let out a sigh of relief that he caught your meaning.

“Never really felt a click with any of them,” you admitted. Your eyes drifted down to his hands. Carefully, you sought out his hand with your own, placing your palm on top of his. He allowed you to touch him, even waited till you liked up again before he flashed you another smile. Emboldened by his reaction, you gently squeezed his hand.

"I meant what I said earlier on,” you started, shyly but suggestive. “Maybe we could, uh, find some privacy inside?" Your voice was playful, teasing. "There are plenty of rooms."

Arthur's eyes sparked with mischief as he met your boldness head-on. "I'd like that." He returned the squeeze with his hand, then carefully rose, holding your hand in his own. He waited for you to lead the way, an unspoken invitation that sent a thrill through you. With your heart pounding, you led him back into the house, your warm hands still touching. You could hear his rapid breathing and realized he was excited too.

Upon entering one of the unoccupied rooms, you closed the door behind you and locked it, your heart pounding with anticipation. The room was clean enough, pleasant enough for sure. A cream-colored bed, ordinary and plain, invited you to take this further. If Arthur hadn’t wanted to go this far, he would not have followed you in, would he? And so you turned to face Arthur, who stood there, hesitantly shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Go on," you urged gently, "take off your costume."

He looked at you oddly, as if you had said something preposterous, but then slowly started to unbutton his waistcoat. “You want to do more than just talk,” he murmured, and you blinked at him. For a moment he had you confused.

“I mean,” you started, suddenly feeling insecure. Where you going too fast for him? Was this the right thing to do? “Only if you…”

A deep groan tore from Arthur’s lips, interrupting you before you could finish. The waistcoat slid down his shoulders and without hesitation, he started to unbutton his fly. “You think I’d say no?” his voice was husky and low, thick with arousal. Hearing it sent a spark of lust deep down your core, making your pussy slick and moist at the sound of him.

“Oh no, my beauty,” Arthur continued, the words drawn and a low hum. His hand revealed his aching cock, firmly stroking up and down the hardened flesh. “No, pretty girl, I am going to make you all mine.”

Your mouth had turned dry at the sight of him. So eager. So wanting. “You’re beautiful,” the words spilled from your lips, earning you a groan as Arthur squeezed his cock hard.

“Don’t lie to me, princess. I am not much to look at,” he grunted, moving his hand up and down his shaft. His eyes never left your frame though, silently undressing you with his gaze. “Too thin, too meager. Not much of a man at all.”

“I disagree,” you said without giving it a moment’s thought. Your hands moved up your sides, slowly peeling the dress from your body, revealing all that you had hidden beneath it. His eyes lit up at the sight of your skin, then darkened with sinful desire. "You're more handsome than you give yourself credit for, Arthur."

He blushed at your compliments, his cheeks warming beneath the fading clown makeup. Despite his thin frame, you were drawn to him, captivated by the vulnerability in his eyes. The dress pooled at your feet, and then you stood there in just your underwear. His eyes roved over you, eager to take you all in. You loved it, loved the way his eyes took you in as if he wanted to remember all of you.

"Come here," you whispered, beckoning him closer. And when he was within reach, you cradled his face in your hands, looking deeply into his eyes before pressing a sweet, lingering kiss upon his lips, uncaring of the makeup that would surely smudge your own.

When you broke apart to catch your breath, the words that escaped you were a whisper.

"I want you to be my first, Arthur."

Something seemed to shift within him then, as if your words had unlocked a hidden desire. His restraint vanished, replaced by a hungry passion that matched your own. Arthur's hands found their way to your back, pulling you closer as he returned your kisses, tracing the contours of your body.

The two of you moved together as if you were dancing again. His body fit perfectly against yours, his hands led the way. You didn’t even notice that he had led you toward the bed until you felt the back of your knees bump against the mattress. His wig cap tumbled off his head, revealing brown curls underneath. It suited him, you thought. He was gorgeous.

Another kiss as his lips met yours hungrily. His hands ran past your skin, fondling your breasts eagerly, squeezing a bit too hard but making you feel exceptionally good.

Breaking the kiss you were sharing, you murmured against his skin. "Be gentle with me."

His green eyes sparked as he lay you down on the bed. The world outside the room ceased to exist; all that mattered now was this intimate connection between you and Arthur. The way his hands ran past your body and his fingertips danced down your skin, the way his scent enveloped you entirely like an embrace, the way he sunk deep into your core, letting out a shuddering moan.

If there had been pain initially, it soon ebbed away at his gentleness. He allowed you time to adjust, panting heavily above you while his eyes sought out yours. When you felt he was able to move again you gave an encouraging nod. He followed your command without a pause, gently thrusting his hips, first shallowly but deeper and deeper as time and your body allowed.

There was an experimental thrust of his hips, followed by another moan from his lips. His eyes squeezed close and his face contorted in ecstasy. As he slowly started to pick up a pace, murmuring obscenities about how good this all was, you suddenly realized that this might be his first time as well. As your bodies entwined and he gently rocked inside of you, you arched your back, spreading your legs to give him a little more access to rock deeper inside.

Arthur bit his lip and grunted. Another thrust, this time firmer, bolder. He hit a delicious spot deep inside and your walls fluttered around him as a result. It tore another deep moan from him. Again.

“There,” you pleadingly said, “there.” He obliged, seeking the right angle and thrusting inside of you with deep strokes.

“Is that good, princess?” You heard his low voice rasp. He sounded nearly dangerous now, voice drenched with lust. “Do you like my cock deep inside your pretty little cunt?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, hardly able to speak as pleasure overtook your body. Your pussy clenched down hard on his cock, gripping him like a vice, making him grit his teeth and groan.

“Hmm, too tight, princess,” the low murmur sounded near your ear. He was bent over you, rutting into you like a frenzied animal. You loved this wild side of him, his forceful thrusts. They helped sent you over the edge.

The intensity of your shared passion was overwhelming, yet you both navigated your newfound intimacy with care and tenderness. Your breaths mingled, hearts racing in unison as you reached the peak of your shared experience, an exhilarating crescendo that left you both breathless.

Exhausted and content, you held each other close, your body pressed against Arthur's as he cradled you in his arms. As the adrenaline subsided, you looked into each other's eyes, warmth and affection radiating between you.

"Was this…your first time too?" You gently ran a knuckle past his cheek, caressing him as you softly whispered your question.

His green eyes held yours even as he nodded, barely able to speak as he muttered, "Yes...” A pause, a bob of his throat as he swallowed. And then an admission. “I love you so much."

He buried his face against your shoulder, cradling you close to his chest. His brown curls brushed past the skin of your jaw. A smile formed on your lips as you basked in the feeling of being held in the afterglow. It felt good to be held by this man. It felt good to have been pleasured by him and to know you’d given him pleasure in turn.

You knew that something truly special had just transpired, a moment of beautiful vulnerability shared between two souls in a world where such tenderness was all too rare.

“Happy Halloween,” you whispered.

~ Fin ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) ♡ Support me on Ko-Fi ♡ Love you all

#reader x arthur #arthur fleck x reader #joker 2019 smut #joker x reader #arthur fleck #reader insert #carnival x reader #clown x reader #clown smut #halloween smut #prompt fill #reader x joker #Arthur fleck x you #Joker x you #joker 2019 x reader

229 notes · View notes

abysswalkerastraea1 · 3 months ago

Text

Sporadic Contingency

The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. Death was yet to come for you, perhaps it was because you had a lot to offer the clown; he in turn reciprocated. Perhaps he thought you were amusing, for now.

Your morals must be twisted because one thing was for certain: There was no denying the unshakeable, terrifying tension building between the two of you.

12,400 words

Slow burn

Rough sex (obviously!!)

Art being a fucking dom

The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. In fact, thinking back through foggy thoughts, you couldn't really trace back to where this started.

You supposed fate aligned correctly for you. Logically speaking, you had a lot to offer the clown, and he in turn reciprocated favours.

Living within the vast forest adjacent to miles county, not many people ventured into the thick greenery. You had resided here for some time, at first with your father and then on your own once he passed.

You're grateful for the fact that your father had such a lively business. If not for that, you doubt you'd ever be able to live so well and comfortably all alone on the outskirts of the county.

You lived in an old cottage with ample firewood to stay warm and luscious land that stretched afar. A lot of it you used to keep animals.

You were accustomed to fattening the pigs up through spring while they birthed their young and slaughtering them in the winter for food supply. It was just another day at work for you; not that you had to work. You could live amiably without any need of strenuous hard work like farming, but you enjoyed it.

It was more of a passionate hobby than a job.

You travelled into town for any necessities you may need in your fathers old truck, but largely remained to yourself and a chunk of the townspeople knew that.

Some called you crazy for living in nature while that killer was on the loose, but you moving into town didn't necessarily change your chances of survival.

Thus you stayed put.

It wasn't until one clear night just after Halloween did you hear a disgusting squeal coming from one of your pigs. It was the sound of a slow death, and it startled you enough to grab your late fathers shotgun and storm outside courageously to see just what the hell was stealing your livestock.

You expected an animal. What you found instead shocked you.

A man, tall and lumbering and clad in a monochromatic clown costume kneeled hunched over one of your pigs, it's body twitching and steaming as it's hot innards met the chill of the outside air.

You heard the wet sound of his hands delving into the pigs guts and gripping a handful before bringing the meat to his lips.

This stranger was eating your livestock. Devouring them like an animal, raw and uncooked and grotesquely bloody.

You remained frozen, shotgun pointed, glancing at the black bag that lay beside him full of various menacing tools stained crimson.

If your father taught you one thing, it's that you should treat people with kindness, especially the strange ones.

The weirdos are the most dangerous, and living out here all alone meant that if one ever wandered into your land, it was probably best to treat them as a guest and act amicably, if only for your own safety.

Steeling your nerves, you cocked your head at the man, seeing the gap appear in the pigs abdomen as it's organs were devoured.

"Might want to cook that, stranger." You spoke gently, shotgun lowered to the floor.

The freakish clown paused, fingers laced in guts, head turning slowly and deliberately to the side.

"Tastes better that way, personally. Cooked, I mean." You shifted nervously from foot to foot, the chill of the autumn air getting through your pyjamas.

Maybe coming out here in nothing but some bottoms and a vest wasn't such a good idea.

The mans side profile was lanky even while crouched. His face held extremely prominent features, and you began to wonder if they were prosthetic or not.

You dared to step directly behind the stranger, his blood shot eye staring at you from the corner, pig entrails held frozen. They were cold now.

"Come with me. I can cook that right up for you, throw a few herbs and spices in and make that a great dish."

The clown let the guts slip through his fingers, gloves tainted red, and stood to his feet slowly. Your breath froze in your throat at the way his height seemed to grow and grow as he extended fully, back straight and rigid, and turned around almost menacingly to stare down at you with a dirty grimace.

Apart from the bizarre clown face paint, he appeared incredibly beat up. His one eye was completely red, and you wondered if it was simply shut from injury or if it had been gouged out. It was hard to tell with the amount of blood covering it.

He had a few large gashes littering his body in various places too. His clown costume was ripped terribly.

You both stood silently, your body shivering lightly at the blustery wind and your hair tousling gently. The clown remained unperturbed to the elements.

His good eye was narrowed into a glare, face contorting in an ugly fashion, eyeing your bare feet, your lowered shotgun, up to your bare shoulders and then finally back to your face.

An ominous smirk began to stretch across the strangers visage. It was actually rather unsettling, even without the pigs blood covering him. Merely the smirk alone set your nerves on edge.

You cocked your hip, hand resting on it comfortably as you stared up at him. "So, what do you say? It's a cold night, and you're looking a little worse for wear. Come on in, I'll help you out." Your words were true, and you think the stranger sensed that, but he seemed keenly aware of the way your voice shook.

You don't know how you knew that. Maybe it was the way his lifeless eyes shined dimly at the way it shook. Eventually, the clown nodded slowly, wordless.

You offered him a smile and a nod of finality. "Great. Follow me, if you would." You dared to turn away from this maniac, though you supposed if he wanted to kill you he could easily do that while you were looking at him; He was huge.

Not in the muscular sense, but in height he was at least a head and a half taller than you. Incredibly lanky and thin but from the way he was devouring that pig, he definitely had strength.

Walking a few steps, you paused suddenly and spun around, your silent guest directly behind you. It startled you but you tried not to let it show. "Mind grabbing the rest of the pig? Wouldn't want it going to waste. I'd do it myself, but you know how a lady gets.", you chuckled breathily; it was hard to speak when his void eyes were staring at you, smirk still somehow present and frozen on his face.

"--Don't want to dirty these pyjamas, they're my favourite. And, pardon me for saying but you're already dirty, and you'd no doubt be able to pick it up with ease, so..", you finished lamely, smiling as genuinely as you could.

It felt forced that time. He was starting to unnerve you.

Finally, the clowns expression fell into one of light thought, doing a visual sweep of your stature. It embarrassed you slightly, maybe he was judging your pyjamas. They were simple, but your favourite. Or maybe he silently agreed that yes, he could easily pick the animal up compared to you.

Dead weight was heavy, after all. And he was a big guy, in a sense.

The clown grinned this time, large and sharp, showcasing bloodied teeth, before nodding vigorously. Clapping excitedly, he hunched down to gather up the pig remains and nodded at you, as though to say 'lead the way'.

Smiling in return, you turned and led him to your home.

As soon as your back faced him, your expression morphed into one of doubt and anxiety.

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

That was some time ago. It was mid winter now, and Art - the odd clown that had spelled his name to you in blood on your window - was no where to be seen.

You hadn't seen him for two weeks, he often appeared when he wanted and left for days on end too.

You had both settled into an accord of sorts.

The clown was a maniac, yes, and had often tricked and teased and terrified you with knives and hammers, pretending to finally put an end to you only to stop millimeters from your face, laughing silently and slapping his knee dramatically.

You screamed each time, gripping your chest in terror but forcing a breathy laugh to escape you, shaking your head. "Got me again, Art. When will I ever learn?" You tutted, voice shaking and body trembling.

You knew it was only a matter of time before he killed you, surely. So, you did things to keep him happy.

Like offering your old, worn out barn as his work place to fix up his weapons or create new traps. It was dingy and damp, but Art didn't even mind. His mouth opened into a perfect 'o' shape, eyebrows high in surprise, pointing to himself and then to the barn.

"Yes," you had confirmed to him, "the barn is yours. Do what you like with it, I.." you had paused. Art sensed something was left out and cocked his head at you with a menacing smile, hand under his chin as though he was ready to listen to you spill a secret.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Art. Im happy to give you the barn, you do what you want in there and I won't ask questions, but in return I was wondering if now and again, when you're free to of course, if you could help me around the place?", you asked softly, sweetly, your round eyes staring up at him so innocently he often wondered if he should pinch your cheeks until the flesh tears off or flail you.

Maybe not yet. He liked having you around for now. You were sweet and entertaining, and cooked good meals.

Art tilted his head left and right in deep thought, eyes rolling up to the sky as though truly debating with himself, before his large hands suddenly slammed down onto your shoulders heavily, causing you to gasp aloud, eyes wide.

Art began to silently laugh, lifting a finger and thumb to roughly tug at your cheek, before nodding excitedly.

You sighed in relief. Well, you couldn't very well ask him to spare your life as a favour, so you supposed asking him to help you with chores was your only option.

In a way, you think he was amused by how ballsy you were. He was terrifying, after all.

Thinking back to the present day, you hadnt seen him for two weeks, which meant he was either out on a killing spree or recuperating after a nasty fight.

You've since gathered that this man, this thing, isn't really human. He eats because he enjoys it, but you've seen him go weeks without food. This thing you've allowed into your home was demonic, and its sick how fond of him youre growing.

Sighing, you felt fatigue catching up with you as you had spent the last few hours tending to the fields, animals, and other chores such as gathering wood and cutting them into pieces.

Mindlessly lost in thought, you bent down to pick up a log, putting it into place and heaving the axe up ready to cut it. Your arms were shaking; how long ago did you eat? Well, it was around 4pm now, and you've been busy since around 7am, so it's been far too long, and you were ridiculously sweaty even in the mild winters day.

You lifted the axe, elbows suffering and shaking, before huffing loudly and dropping it back down. You really needed a break but you also really needed to start getting this wood ready for the cold winter nights.

Determination taking over your features, you lifted it again, fatigue overwhelming you but to hell with it because you had things to do before nightfall. Inhaling deeply, you lifted it high, stumbling forward as you let the axe split the wood sloppily; it was very off mark, and if your father was here right now he'd make you do it again.

The axe embedded itself into the surface below, and with both hands you gripped the handle to try and wrench it out but to no avail.

Huffing agitatedly, you gritted your teeth and tried again.

The sound of a honk startled you, your entire body jumping and a yelp escaping your throat as you spund around with a hand held to your chest.

"Art!", your tone held accusation but you still laughed. "How long have you been standing there? Please dont tell me you witnessed my horrible attempt at cutting wood.."

Art shrugged, picking up the pathetic attempt at cutting the log in half and scrutinizing it. He shook his head and closed his eyes as though disappointed.

You flushed in embarrassment. "Yeah, that really was a sorry attempt..", you turned back to the axe, gripping it and tugging. It didn't budge.

Suddenly, a pale, gloved hand gripped the handle and ripped it out with ease. You blinked at him in shock, watching at how he slyly looked down at the axe in his hands and then at you, rolling his eyes as though to say 'have I got to do everything around here?'

For a speechless clown, he was sassy. And terrifying.

You smiled tiredly. "Thanks. I'm so hungry and sweaty and gross and ugh--", you shook your head, "ignore me. Are you hungry? I'll go and--"

Fingertips touched your lips to silence you, and then a finger shot into the air, telling you to wait. The clown eagerly knelt down to rummage through his bag of..mysteries.

He excitedly rubbed his hands together as he found what he was looking for, and delved in to grab it tightly.

The clown spun around to face you, item hidden in box, and closed his eyes dramatically, then stared at you pointedly.

"Oh, um..Close my eyes?", the clown nodded happily at you being able to understand.

Your pulse increased, fear gripping you. You wouldn't refuse him. Closing your eyes slowly, you held your hands out. "I-I trust you, Art. No funny games, okay? Please.", you pouted.

Art cocked his head at your pouting lips and shaking hands. He had that unexplainable urge to squeeze you tightly and also cut your lips off with a scissors. You were adorable, he'd admit that. He wondered if a day would ever come where you'd flutter your cute eyelashes at him and he'd grab a knife and burst your dazzling blue orbs.

Maybe one day, but not today.

It was only on rare occasion that you'd catch the sadistic killer of miles county choosing to not act with violence.

You were the only rare occasion.

Pushing those tempting thoughts away, Art held the box excitedly and tip toed over to you dramatically. He was eager for you to see his gift.

Firm hands gripped your own as a box was dropped into it, only a small box.

You smiled uncertainly, eyes closed, and felt the box with your hands. Art poked at your eyelids gently for you to open them.

The box was black. Tattered. You lifted the lid slowly.

A multitude of emotions filled you. You didn't know which ones to show. Art watched eagerly, excitedly, though you could still see the sharpness of his eyes.

The box was filled to the brim with Beatles. They were squirming and hurrying over one another in an ugly display, some spilling out onto your arms before falling on the floor. Luckily, you weren't terrified of insects.

Looking at Art, he began mimicking holding an imaginary box and shaking it hard, then pointed at you.

You shook the box hard, the Beatles scattering everywhere, and gazed into the box.

Your blood ran cold.

A decapitated fox head stared at you, eyeless and bloodied with its tongue cut out and shoved into one of its eye sockets. Beatles crawled throughout its skull.

"A..Fox."

Art nodded aggressively, pointing animatedly at your chickens cooing in their pen, then at the fox, then at himself.

"Oh! You killed the fox that has been hunting my hens?"

Art clapped silently and his eyes dazzled as though screaming 'bingo! Finally!', then pointing and laughing at your pale expression and wide eyes. His gruesome smile was held wide, cutting sharp, as he buckled over in silent laughter.

Your mouth quirked upwards in amusement. Well, he was certainly keeping his end of the bargain. The fox was a pest, after all, even if his method of killing was a little..unorthodox. Not that you'd ever complain.

You couldn't help but giggle at this absurd man. "Thank you, Art. I appreciate that. Now with my hens remaining alive and well, I can make you some more of those pancakes you like once they lay their eggs."

Arts mouth opened in surprise, eyebrows raised high. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly fashion, nodding at you as though to say it's a job well done. You agreed that it was.

Putting the box down, you gripped the axe once more, ready to return it to the shed. "Well, I'm going to have a quick shower, then how about I make us some supper?"

Art wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, and heat lightly warmed your cheeks. Before you could reply, the axe was ripped from your hands and Art had already gotten to work with cutting some more wood. He did it flawlessly.

He shooed you away dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows one more time before chopping through the wood efficiently.

Conflicted in how easily he embarrassed you, you made your way tiredly to the bathroom. You really needed that shower.

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

You let the hot water wash away the stress of the day, eyes closed as you nourished an apple smelling conditioner through your hair.

You sighed, feeling ten times better already, muscles sore from the strenuous chores you barely managed to finish today.

Standing in the warm confinement of water and steam, you began to wonder if Art was still cutting wood. This led to thoughts about how bizarre it was having a murderer in your residence while you showered vulnerably. He didn't appear to want to kill you yet, and you wanted to keep it that way.

Wrapping a towel around your hair and body, you stared at your tired complexion in the mirror and frowned.

You really shouldn't be so comfortable with his ominous presence, but..

There was something quirky and charming about him, you guessed.

You soon froze at the sound of an alarm blaring.

You ran to the bathroom door, tearing it open. What was--

Was that your fire alarm blaring? But why? You had meat in your slow cooker, yes, but--

Panic surged through you as you darted out of your bathroom and bolted down the stairs. You didn't know how or why but you prayed that your kitchen was in tact.

Barreling through your living room and into the kitchen, you scrutinized the area, seeing no smoke, no fire, nothing.

Eyes wide, you ran to the slow cooker and switched it off. There wasn't even any smoke coming from it, how had your alarm gone off? Bending to check in your oven, you confirmed what you already knew - there was nothing in there.

Standing straight, hands on your hips in annoyance at that blaring alarm, you sighed aloud. Your towel remained upon your head, however loose hair had managed to escape and fall upon your shoulders from your erratic movements.

Glancing around desperately, Art was no where to be found. With his height, he could probably reach the alarm on your ceiling and deactivate it. You spent no time waiting for his possible arrival and grabbed a chair.

Lugging it over to the centre of the room, you gripped the top of it and shakily stood tall upon the chair. Reaching up high, you fiddled with the alarm, attempting to get a good grip to be able to remove it.

You huffed, making a sound of aggravation as your towel somehow remained firm around your figure, even if it was short. The water from the shower was cold on your body now and it only seemed to worsen your mood.

Finally managing to rip the damn thing from the ceiling, you removed the batteries and tossed it to the floor with a scowl. Stupid faulty alarm.

In a less than desirable mood, your hand gripped the chair to steady yourself. Before you could even put a foot on the floor, a honk sounded so close to you it had you yelping; you hadn't even sensed him let alone heard him.

Wide eyed, you stared down at the clown. His shoulder was practically brushing your outer thigh as you stood high. "Oh, Art, I didn't see you--"

A hand being thrust out to you interrupted you. He was offering his large hand to you, and although uncertain, you couldn't deny that he had a peculiar charm. Smiling, you gripped his hand with your own to steady yourself, lifting one leg to put on the floor.

Except you never did. You barely caught the malicious grin the clown gave you, eyes narrowed into slits and teeth bared as he lifted one foot backwards and kicked the chair out from under you.

The leg of the chair shattered from the force, splintering and bending as you began to topple to the floor. You screamed, eyes squeezed shut.

You thought you had whiplash at the way your hand was wrenched painfully towards his body, your figure pressed up against his as your head butted into his chest.

He had an arm around your waist, suspending your weight in the air against his body with no difficulty.

The clown remained frozen, grin still as wide and terrifying. Your feet barely brushed the floor. "Art!", you screeched, body shaking from adrenaline, hair towel fallen to the floor.

The clowns eyes snapped to yours disturbingly. Before you could berate him further, you were tossed upwards until dexterous hands rested at your shoulders and below your knees. He was holding you bridal style and it terrified you.

You cried out in shock, gripping his clown suit between white knuckles, bath towel beginning to slip ever so slightly. You felt a mixture of terror and embarrassment at being in the brutal arms of the county killer.

And the terror only increased tenfold as the clown removed his grip from supporting your shoulders for mere seconds, your body heading straight for the floor, before securing his arms around you again before you could make impact, shoulders moving in silent laughter.

You truly screamed that time, legs kicking out and arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. Your eyes squeezed shut, towel slipping even more; it mortified you.

"Oh my goodness, Art, you terrified me! And I bet it was you that set off my alarm?", you accused in a high pitched, shaky tone, grasping him incredibly tight as you felt his fingers teasingly loosen just to scare you.

Art nodded vigorously, proud and excited that he had been caught, and snapped his head down at you. His grin of sinister glee slowly morphed into a knowing, filthy smirk.

You blinked up at him vulnerably, wide and glassy eyed, rigid in his arms, before realising that oh my God, you were in a towel this entire time, a short towel that surely moved during the commotion--

He must have noticed the sudden panic in your eyes, for his lecherous smirk stretched terrifyingly, eyes narrowed.

Surprisingly pervertedly, Art glanced down at your body swiftly. Once, twice. An indication that you should probably take a look. His eyebrows wiggled, and without needing to look, your cheeks reddened, lips parted in shock.

Head snapping down at yourself, a flush spread from your neck to your cheeks. The towel had dropped so low your breasts were threatening to spill out obscenely. It didn't help that you were of ample size.

And although everything else vital was covered, the way your upper thigh was exposed had you squirming desperately to try and make some distance.

"Ah!", you cried, "my towel! Put me down!" You demanded helplessly, overcome by embarrassment as Art snickered silently at your need to protect your intimates.

Art dropped the arm holding your legs, letting them crash upon the floor painfully. The sudden downward motion had you squealing, gripping him hard. You were grateful that he supported your upper body, you supposed.

The way your body dropped had your towel falling fully for a split second before you ripped it back up to cover your modesty.

You tore yourself away from him - he let you - and stared at him with wide eyes, chest panting in fear and fluttering peculiarly.

Your hands shook as you gripped your towel, knees knocking together, withering under the intense stare of the clown as he foregone his usual dramatic, knee slapping laugh and instead almost seemed to chuckle in amusement, brows as low as they could go, head tilting in fascination at your half naked state.

He expected anger, frustration, undeniable fear at his actions towards you. What intrigued him was the way your round cheeks flared crimson and how your eyes, usually relatively confident when regarding him, fluttered everywhere but him.

Yes, he decided, head tilting left and right slowly, deciphering. You seemed incredibly flustered.

He felt lust, often. For blood, violence, but rarely sexually. Pain was sweeter than pleasure, he thought, but regarding you now, languidly staring at you from head to toe, an idea struck his mind...

An idea you couldn't decipher, but the way his eyes lit up and his eyebrows rose pleasantly sent heat flaring through you.

You didn't allow it to consume you any further as you darted up the stairs and into your room.

On the way past him, you saw his shoulders moving in a silent, mean laughter.

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

That had been two days ago. Since then, you continued on as normal..

Or as normal as can be.

Art remained busy in the old barn, the sounds of hammering and God knows what else permeating the quiet air at all hours of the day, and oftentimes there would be silence; He had left.

It had been a full day and a half since you last took sight of him. It was unusual how domesticated you felt, preparing enough food for two with a little extra leftover, keeping only the dark towels in the bathroom from when he no doubt came strolling in covered in blood and took a shower.

You came to notice he was meticulously clean about things he deemed worthy, such as his clown suit and himself. He loved to bathe in his victims blood, yes, but after a fun days work, you often found him spotless. Well, apart from his teeth. Bizarrely, he didn't utterly stink, and you come to the conclusion that he chose his terrifying mouth to look that way on purpose.

That was good. You appreciated that even if he didn't necessarily do it for you.

The only thing you had gently persuaded him on was allowing you to at least dry his clown suit before putting it on. With a roll of his eyes, he allowed it.

There were very few things he allowed genuinely, and you seemed to believe he had grown accustomed to your gentle naggings of 'Art, please don't touch that with blood on your hands', or 'There was no need to trail bloody footprints all over my kitchen'

You never demanded. That probably helped. Of course he had days where he'd grin mischievously and smear blood across your mirrors and door handles, knowing you'd have to touch it and clean it.

You could live with that. Thankfully, after a night of killing, he was reasonably tame, eating whatever food you kept in your cupboards with a calm expression.

That wasn't to say that he wasn't unpredictable. He could snap on times and come at you with a knife, chasing you around the kitchen as you screeched and whined for him to stop, all the while watching him laugh with glee.

And on real scary nights when he seemed bored, well..

Anything could happen then. Even still, Art remained tame as of yet in comparison to the things he is capable of. He clearly saw a need in you, and repaid your generous cooking, cleaning and fixing up his costume for him with keeping you alive and leaving you mostly unharmed.

A cut here or there, yeah, and definitely a bruise but you were alive and well.

The only real affect he had on you was terror, he did enjoy popping up randomly in the dark when you had got up for a glass of water, hand roughly pushed over your mouth as your screams muffled into his hand before realising who had caught you.

Or the times you'd check on him in the old barn, just to see if he was around for dinner, calling his name out. Venturing in, you'd freeze as the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the entire area, only for the sound of a flame thrower igniting near you making you scream and cover your mouth in terror.

Each time you'd ramble something like 'Art, stop it! I-Im making beef for dinner and I just wanted to check that you wanted some!'

The clown would tug on your cheeks with both hands, patting your head as though to say 'how adorable are you?' before pushing you surprisingly gently towards the door and shooing you away.

You'd run back to the house with your chest beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears.

Presently, you were wearing a cute brown dress, tights covering your legs as you cleaned around the place. Loving the winter, you brought out your cosy candles and fairy lights, loving the gentle glow as the nights grew longer and the sun faded earlier. It wasn't quite time to decorate for Christmas yet, so this will do.

In fact, having a little break from the clown had allowed you to really tidy everything up, get your chores done, see to the animals and bake some brownies in the oven.

All in all you felt refreshed and well, truly in your element. It allowed you to push.. peculiar thoughts of Art from your mind.

Time carried on, and the brownies were cooling on the baking tray as you sat comfortably on your settee, a white blanket decorated in pumpkins covering you. You loved Halloween, too.

Dropping off to sleep, your mind felt at peace until a muffled sound was heard from outside. Lifting your head, you didn't react as you awaited Art to barge in at any moment, only..nothing.

Sitting up, you waited silently, hearing that muffling once again.

You frowned. Art was a master of silence, if he didn't want you to even hear the rustling of his bag, you wouldn't.

So why did you hear leaves crunching loudly, and..

Oh.

That wasn't Art.

You could hear voices mumbling now, close to your window, though unintelligible. You wondered who it could be. You had no known close relatives, and no friends, really.

Not close enough to appear unannounced on a late Friday evening, anyway.

Living in the middle of no where, you learned to be cautious of such sounds. You had no neighbours, and hardly anyone ever passed your cottage. Those that did tended to knock politely, not skirt around your perimeter sneakily.

Aside from Art; he's different.

Standing swiftly, you opened a drawer, gripping a handgun. You could never be too careful out here all alone, and you doubted it would go down easy if you stood with your shotgun aimed at them.

Handgun it is. Hiding it furtively, you stepped outside with confidence.

The sight of two men dressed head to toe in black greeted you, peeking through your curtains.

"Can I help you?", you began politely, causing them to bolt upright and spin around to face you. You couldn't see their faces.

They weren't amicable strangers, that was for certain.

"That truck yours?", the tallest indicated with a nod of his head.

"It is."

"You, uh..you live alone?"

You smiled.

"I do."

The two men sprung into action. "You do, do you? Be a good girl and chuck me the keys."

"Why would I ever do that?" You remained calm, pulse elevating, adrenaline begining to grow.

"Why?", the other repeated with a scoff, and swiftly pulled a knife out from his pocket, "because I want to see your round ass walk away like a good bitch, so go grab those fucking keys before I cut your face off."

Talk about overboard.

Nodding politely, you backstepped. "I understand. I don't want any trouble, give me one moment, please."

You backstepped further into your house, keeping the door open.

As you did, you heard one of the men hiss 'im not a fucking murderer, let's just get the truck and fucking go!'

You had a few options here.

You could run, hide, call the police.

You shook your head and steeled your nerves. Hell no. This was your damn property.

The two men looked around cautiously, impatient. "Where the fuck is she? We should've gone in with her."

"She's terrified, bitch probably can't find the keys."

They heard the sound of a gun cocking. Loudly.

Turning back to the door, you supposed they never thought to see a shotgun aiming directly at them. You could see their eyes widen behind a black robber mask.

"Woah, hey, keep the fucking keys--", one began, hands in the air, knife dropped to the floor.

You remember holding this very shotgun the night you met Art. You smartly lowered it, knowing true evil and terror when you saw it.

But these two? They had nothing on Art. Just average men, trying hard to terrify a woman. A nasty smirk broke out on your face, one of anger and satisfaction.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen. You're going to get the fuck off my property before I blow a hole in your chest. How's that sound?"

The scared one nodded vigorously, hands jittering as he backstepped, ready to bolt. The other, however..

"You wouldn't do that. You don't have it in you.", the other tried calling your bluff, taking a leap forward. It started you, but you remained strong.

"Wouldn't I? Out here in the middle of no where, who'd ever come looking for you?"

The man shrugged. "You might be right, but whose going to look for you?"

Before you could respond a hand grabbed from behind, reaching out and gripping the barrel of your shotgun and forcing it to the sky.

You instinctively pulled the trigger, sound blasting through the forest loudly causing birds to flutter away.

How the hell did he get in the house?

The assailant was stronger than you, tearing the weapon to the floor before gripping you by the hair roughly.

You grunted in pain, hands frantically searching for the handgun on your person as the man at the bottom of your steps began coming at you too.

You managed to shoot him in the thigh, hearing him cry out and collapse.

The scared one took off in a sprint, never turning back.

The aggressive one currently ripping strands of hair from the root wrestled you to the floor after shooting his friend, boot pressing firmly on the hand that held the gun and kicking it away.

He got on top of you and held you down as you struggled and fought against his hold, head reeling to the side as he back handed you, hard.

Furniture and anything close by moved and was tossed over as you fought back, unwilling to let him pin your hands to the floor, punching a fist into his groin to get him to crumple slightly so you could lug him off with all your might.

You scrambled to your feet and made a dash to the door, barely getting halfway before a strong body wrestled you back to the floor, your hands aching from the wall as he ripped your dress from the back to keep a hold on you.

You continued scrambling ahead, reaching out for anything, hands gripping the large sewing needle you had lost some time ago and turning to stab it into his cheek.

The man hissed, face turned into an ugly snarl as he staggered back in pain, holding the wound.

You up and ran, panting and panicking as you frantically made it outside.

The man didn't let up, he ruthlessly grabbed your hair causing you to cry out and slapped you so hard across the face you saw stars.

Blood dripped from your mouth as you stumbled back, held upright by the man's grip on you.

He grabbed your cheeks hard, squeezing the blood from your mouth, snarling. "Pretty thing, I'm going to put you in your fucking place--"

You cried out a sharp 'no!', kicking him between the legs and pushing him away.

You both fought tooth and nail for a while, you managing to run a short distance before being dragged back and hit even harder in the face.

This time you gasped helplessly for breath, blood spurting out of your nose and down your mouth.

What scared you the most was a hand gripping your thighs and trying to spread them.

"I'm going to fuck you before I kill you, bitch. And it's going to hurt." The man seethed the ugly promise, tearing your dress up high and grabbing your tights to rip a hole in then.

You cried out, kicking him in the jaw but to no avail. Without any weapons you had no chance in winning against his strength.

You saw an opening as he stumbled back at your kick and bolted it as fast as you could towards the trees. You knew this land well, so you knew where to hide.

Frightful and shaking, tears littered your cheeks as you heard the sound of the man getting to his feet to chase after you.

You gasped painfully, unable to breathe, and all but screamed bloody murder as you ran directly into a chest.

An arm wrapped around your struggling body, a hand smothering your scream as you fought and cried out desperately against another assailant. This one was like a brick wall, unmovable to your attempted attacks, even if he himself wasn't attacking you.

Two hands gripped your shoulders and shook you hard, causing you to look up at his face in terror only to pause, wide eyed.

That familiar, monochromatic clown tilted his head down at you in a thoughtful frown, mild confusion pooling in his irises as he studied you from head to toe, moving a gloved finger to wipe at the blood trickling down your chin.

"Art!", you cried, chest heaving up and down, "Theres--These men--attacked me and--and tried to-to--"

You could barely get your words out, watching as Art cocked a surprised eyebrow up and attempted to decipher your rambled sentences.

He didn't really need to. Upon further inspection, he could see the bruising of your face, the very blatant tear of your tights which showed a lot of skin, and how your dress had been ripped.

He knew something was off when he heard the sound of gunshots. He knew you had guns, but for you to use one meant something was amiss. Something compelled him to come and look, dropping the dead body he had been mutilating in the woods, eager and..somewhat impatient, to get to you.

That was a foreign feeling, and now having actually studied your shaking hands that gripped his costume and the amount of blood that covered your face as tears dribbled down fatly, staring up at him in utter relief, he was unused to such an expression, and truly didnt mind it coming from you.

Gazing outwards at the forest, an intense ire began to build in him. You weren't going to die today, he doubted you ever would because you were his, and only his.

Having finally made a decision, Art grinned cruelly, fingers eager and twitching excitedly to meet this so called attacker.

Letting his arms drop from you, he took a step forward to make his way to the house, stopping as you gripped his arm in fear.

"W-wait, please don't leave me--"

Art held up a hand calmly, shushing you, and went through his black bag, retrieving a hammer. He patted your head, as though telling you not to worry, and made his way towards your home. He walked excitedly with a bounce in his step.

You knew what that meant.

You were so happy to see him, as fucked up as that is, but he clearly made the decision to protect you. You felt relief and fondness, sitting against a tree with your knees up to your chest, waiting.

You wanted them dead, truth be told, but may God have mercy on them for what Art is about to do..

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

You remembered hearing gut wrenching screams and splatters of vomit as various tools were used to maim the trespassers.

You remember your body moving on auto pilot as you entered your home, Art briefly stopping his flaying of the man who threatened assault on you, to lift a hand and wave at you, fingers dancing playfully.

You waved back slowly, trudging up the steps and into your home where your living room was a mess from the commotion. There were patches of your blood on the floor, a lamp upturned and glass shattered messily.

Body and mind exhausted, you laid down on the settee and fell asleep dreamlessly. You didn't even awaken to the sounds of a chainsaw and guttural screaming.

You don't know how long you slept for. You were in and out of consciousness for a while, waking up to your ribs aching from the attack, or your lips burning from being split, the blood drying on them and irritating them.

You were still a mess, hair dishevelled and face bruised, dried blood flaking off your face and your clothes in almost tatters.

Your face was still puffy from crying, eyes opening slowly and slightly bloodshot. Moaning weakly, you stretched your legs out and hissed as your ripped tights dug into a deep cut in your thigh.

The TV was on. You barely registered the comforting hum of some early Christmas film that was on, volume low and tranquil.

Slowly standing, you made your way to the kitchen. Your chest fluttered at the sight of Art, sitting calmly at the table with a plate of sweet treats you had in the cupboards, including biscuits and cake, and what looked to be a cup of hot chocolate.

He was eating them very civilised, too. You were proud of that. It wasn't like he needed to eat, at least you thought, but he really did enjoy sweet food. Same as you.

Clad in a surprisingly clean clown suit, he waved at you, his hands stained red. He must have cleaned himself up for the most part, and..looking around, you sighted a mop bucket, so he must've really made a mess and cleaned up after him.

That was oddly..sweet. It made you smile.

"I must have been asleep a while." You gathered aloud, taking a seat at the table across from him.

The clown shrugged, held up a hand with 4 fingers. So you slept for about 4 hours then.

You rubbed your eyes, exhausted. The clown tilted his head at you slowly, frowning softly in thought with a finger to his chin.

"Yeah, I'm a mess. I can't believe those guys." You huffed, glaring down at yourself. Your anger spiked at the sight of your attire.

"He ruined my favourite fucking dress!" You exclaimed, arms folding frustratedly. You were a mixture of huffs and mutters as the clown cocked a calm eyebrow - how had you both switched places? - and listened to you curse and swear which he had never heard before.

It made him chuckle silently, head in hand as he watched you. Feeling eyes on you, your frown softened. "Im sorry, I'm not myself. I thought I had it all under control when I saw the two of them."

Your gaze dropped lower to the floor, reminiscing. "I didn't really notice the third. I have no idea how he got in." You almost whispered defeatedly, eyes misted and glassy as you remembered the way that man treated you and touched you.

You suddenly felt incredibly dirty. What if you hadn't managed to outrun him? He was about to violate you. And what if Art had never showed up? He'd--

Your thoughts draw to a pause as Art taps your hand gently, points to himself and does a stabbing motion, then points outside.

It made your lips quirk. "Their dead?"

Art nodded excitedly, grinning wide as his fingers tickle your hand. You begin to giggle, and grip onto his hand. "I'm glad you turned up. I mean, I managed to fight him off barely, but imagine if..."

You froze, eyes staring at your intertwined hands, and shook your head. "Assholes."

Art suddenly lit up like a lightbulb, face making one of surprise as he held a hand up to wait. Comically running out of the room, you awaited his return as he came near you with one of the robbers mask. Something was wrapped inside it.

Art got down on one knee and presented it to you with arms outstretched, wiggling his eyebrows, and you giggled again. Gripping the fabric, you found it soaked with blood. Opening it, a human heart stared back at you. It was relatively fresh.

You blinked slowly, not at all feeling usual feelings of repulsion and fear. Instead you felt..warm. The symbolic meaning of presenting you with the heart of your attacker wasn't lost on you, and as fucked up as it was, you blushed faintly.

"I.."

You smiled incredibly gently, Art thought. It made him happy to see your face finally light up after those filthy, rotten humans dared to touch what was his.

"I'm incredibly grateful for that. Thank you, Art. Who'd have thought you'd make such a great protector?" You winked playfully, laughing when he returned it dramatically with a nod.

"Oh! I almost forgot!", you rose and grabbed a nearby dish. "I made brownies!", you pouted at the fact that they weren't warm and delicious anymore, and Art thought that if you kept acting so cute he'd have to hurt you. In a good way, of course. He was still confused about that.

Art revealed one of his rare smiles, lacking it's usual slyness or sinisterness, and grabbed a brownie delightedly. It made you beam.

There you both sat, his hands bloodied and your face bruised with a heart sitting between you both as you shared the brownies.

There was an undeniable connection, and as you cuddled up in your blankets after a fresh shower, staring up at the ceiling, you thought about that.

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

The dynamic had shifted. Art could still be sly and mean in his ways of scaring you, but he certainly toned it down. He seemed to want to hear your laughter more, launching tickle attacks on you until you were a squealing mess on the settee, wriggling and fighting against his grip as tears of laughter wet your cheeks.

"Please!", you squealed, "no more! You win!", you'd shriek, body contorting until his fingers finally stopped and he stared down at you smugly.

For a moment, you both stared in silence, you catching your breath and him observant as ever.

With a burst of excited energy, you fled his slack grip and bolted to the other side of the living room, jumping in your spot. "Just kidding! I got away so I won!" You giggled ecstatically, watching as the clown slowly stood to his tall height.

Your laughter died down, nervous excitement replacing it. He held a glint in his eye that could only mean trouble. Art tilted his head dramatically, finger to his lips as though saying 'Oh, you've won, have you?'

You shook your head in panic, hands held up in surrender. "i-i didn't mean that! Honestly!"

Art mimiced your panicked face, holding his hands up in surrender as he jumped towards you. You jolted, stumbling back as an uncertain laughter bubbled up.

"Believe me, I know I could never outrun you..", you glanced towards the kitchen door, plotting.

Art lifted a hand to his chin, silently humming in thought, before holding up a hand with fingers spread wide.

He dropped a finger, holding up 4.

Then 3.

"Wait--wait why are you counting?!"

Art froze, grin held wide as he remained unmoving. You shifted nervously, about to say something before Art suddenly came to life again and darted towards you.

You screamed and bolted away, running instead to the stairs that were closer and hoping to make it to your room.

You did, and as you ran through it and turned to slam the door shut, Art was already in the doorway and wrapping his arms around you as you shrieked and cried out apologies for challenging him.

Art showed you no mercy, throwing you to the bed and holding you down with ease as he assaulted your ribs again with his fingers.

He laughed silently at your torture, gleeful and delighted at your non stop screaming and laughing.

"Art! Wait! I can't take it anymore!--" you wheezed, grabbing his wrists and pushing as hard as you could.

He didn't even budge. He was like a stone wall. Art paused, cocking his head down at your futile efforts and back up to your terrified face.

You froze, realising that you just challenged him again.

With a flash of black and white, Art jumped atop you, straddling your hips as he held your wrists down with one of his hands, watching you squirm and whine.

He chuckled evilly, silently, eyebrows low and grin spreading wide.

But there was that same look from the other day again. Peering down at you, he watched you analyse the position you were in, eyes fluttering up to his face in shock as a flush tainted your pretty skin.

Art knew that look. He was very meticulous when it came to the human body and the emotions it can feel.

You were panting, chest fluttering and warmth radiating off of you as Art smirked down at you knowingly. He raised his eyebrows, hand to mouth in shock as though to say 'Are those dirty thoughts in your head?'

Although silent, it was as though you knew that he knew what you were thinking. You felt dazed, so red and undeniably enjoying the vision of him above you, holding you down.

There was no denying the guilty thoughts you had had of him in the privacy of your bedroom at night, faceless men turning into monochromatic, super natural clowns each time you reached your peak.

You felt vile at first. But after his protection against those men the other day, your feelings definitely shifted, and since then you couldn't stop your thoughts from trailing to him..

The sexual ones, too. The private ones where you thought about pale, strong hands holding your head down against the bed as you were taken from behind.

The ones where your head was wrenched back by an iron fist in your hair, too euphoric to the point that you could only babble words.

You knew he could take you there. And his incessant flirting in real life, where he'd wiggle his eyebrows at you if you passed in a towel or if you bent over, or where he'd stand teasingly in your way of a doorway, forcing you to squeeze past him as he smirks and winks. Those things made the thoughts all the stronger, and at times you wondered if he knew what you were going to do once you got back to your room.

Sometimes, the way he smirked and waved at you with a wiggle of his fingertips just after you finished getting yourself off made you wonder. He must've known, this freakish demonic man.

The memories brought heat spreading down to your neck, your tongue tied as you struggled to break the tension. You struggled to get a word out, eyes fluttering in nervous anticipation. It was hard not to romanticise this charming clown.

"I--"

The clown leaned down close, void eyes staring into yours that were so full of emotion, raw and naked. His strong hand that was capable of such violence began tracing your jawline delicately, as though you were porcelain.

You inhaled shakily, feeling the digits drop to your neck, pressing against your fluttering, rapid pulse.

From anyone else, that would feel uncomfortable. But Art doing that felt so suffocatingly intimate you didn't know how to react, eyebrows drawn together in mild confusion at your feelings.

The way Art smirked made you realise he knew exactly what he was doing. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he gripped the glove with his teeth and tugged it off, freeing his pale, veiny hand and bringing it to your cheek, thumb tenderly rubbing the area.

You felt like your head was going to burst from how red you were. You think its because the utter shock at having Art act in a way that wholly juxtaposes him and touch you delicately made you feel so exquisitely special that you didn't know how to register it.

How can a mere innocent touch melt you so much?

His fingers traced the lines and curves of your face in fascination. There was no doubt a morbidity to his thoughts, but there was also mild, genuine adoration in his lifeless eyes.

Your pulse quickened, butterflies dancing in your belly at the thumb that now traced your plush lips. Body reacting faster than your thoughts, your tongue wet the tip of his thumb.

A glint began to shine in his eyes, ferocious and wanting. He tilted his head down at you, unsmiling but not in a scary way; he appeared quite tranquil, and something else.

His thumb dipped into your mouth slightly, experimentally, and he was pleased at the way you wholly accepted him in, swirling your tongue intimately around his digit.

Your eyelids drooped, overcome by this display of raw connection, your lips glistening as he slowly retrieved his thumb, giving your lips one final stroke before gliding his hand down your neck again, tickling the skin with gentle fingertips before moving down to your collarbone.

You held your breath, biting your lip as the usually menacing clown above you glided further down, and down, until his hand brushed the outline of your breast, barely skimming across your nipple.

You inhaled sharply, how were you this sensitive? You could feel heat pooling between your thighs already.

Art tilted his head, examining the large, soft globes that hid beneath your clothes. Eyes flickering up at you, Art smirked before gripping the front of your shirt and tearing it open with ease.

You gasped aloud, eyes wide and mouth agape as your breasts bounced free, nipples hard and begging for attention.

You flushed so deeply red that your face began resonating heat. You were so embarrassed at being half naked in front of him, and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the teasing way he winked appreciatively, removing the other glove from his hand swiftly before grazing your breasts barely, hands gripping handfuls of them boldly soon after.

His thumbs skimmed over your pebbled nipples, watching your head loll back against the pillow as you inhaled and exhaled shakily. Bolts of arousal were shooting to the junction of your thighs every time his calloused thumbs teased your perk nipples.

Art was entranced by your visible display of arousal, so sensitive and so wanting; he had never felt this way about a person. Even he knew he was being unnaturally kind, inducing you with pleasure that was sure to have you tingling.

Art never did things unless he wanted to. He didn't want to hurt you. No, his dominance and roughness that he could just tell you craved would come later. For now, he wanted you wet and yearning.

He was proficient in knowing how to hurt the human body, which means he's acutely aware of how to pleasure it; that simply came hand in hand.

And, glancing down at you, having been brought from his thoughts by your breathy exhale, he could tell that what he was doing was incredibly pleasurable. You squirmed, legs widening and relaxing unconsciously below him, your pretty green skirt riding up your thighs.

"Art-", you whined in a whisper, nerve endings alight and tingling, begging to be touched.

Art flashed a smile, head tilting once more as though wondering what to do with you. He could leave you here, undeniably wet and sticky and yearning, begging sweetly, or he could indulge, nudge your pretty thighs apart and fuck you like you've wanted him to for a while now.

You didn't hide it well, especially after touching yourself mere minutes before seeing him, pupils blown wide, hair tousled and sweaty, legs lightly shaking. You should probably stop leaving your wet, soft underwear on your bedroom floor too. That's a big give away, if you didn't already know.

The sarcastic thought had him grinning, and after moving his head back and forth in thought, weighing out his options, he flicked his thumbs over your nipples a few more times, watching you react immediately and arch your back towards his hands.

"Ah-", you gasped, shuddering, gnawing at your lip with hooded eyes.

Art rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, then shrugged lightly to himself. He wasn't necessarily a sexual creature, but he was still in the body of a man. Tweaking your nipples teasingly, Art nodded.

He wanted to fuck you, hard.

But he wanted to tease you first.

Arts eyes dropped to the way your legs had spread for him, dark underwear on display from the way your skirt had ridden up your thighs.

Trailing a hand down your waist and to your hips, Art studied you as his hand moved lower, teasing your inner thighs, pinching the fatty flesh there before pressing two fingers against your apex.

You reacted immediately, shuddering a breath in and out as your legs spread fully, bent at the knee.

Pale fingers traced your soft, wet lips through your underwear, tickling from where your hole would be and up towards your pulsating clit, circling the bud with light pressure.

You moaned quietly, legs squirming slightly as you yearned for a direct touch, his teasing becoming relentless. Your hands balled into fists as white hot tingling sensations barreled through your stomach and your clit, demanding to be touched but to no avail.

Art knew this, and pressed two fingers firmly against your clit, circling.

"Oh--yes--", you whined, looking fucked out with your head lolled back when Art had barely done anything. He wondered how you'd react to the plans he had for you later if this is how you were after a few strokes.

His teasing continued, trailing down to your hole and dipping in slightly, soaking your underwear, before running his finger to the edge of the useless garment and hooking two fingers in, tearing it apart.

This time, Art used both hands to grip your thighs, spreading them far. He studied your pink, exposed slit with incredible interest. The mess of wetness was excessive, coating the length of your sex, your inner thighs and gliding down to your tight rim.

You squirmed in his hands at his staring, to which he tightened his grip, making you shudder.

"Art..", you whined

His eyes snapped up to yours expectantly.

"Please, I--", you gasped at his fingers tracing maddeningly around your labia, refusing to touch you directly. "Please touch me. Please, I--..I need it so bad.", tears filled your eyes with frustration, "so fucking bad, you have no idea.."

But Art did know. He's always known, and just to prove his point he searched for something in his pockets, retreaving it and dangling it in front of your face.

You froze. It was your used underwear from yesterday, when you masturbated before a shower, throwing the garment to the floor. You thought you had imagined throwing it to the floor, because upon coming back to the bedroom, it was gone.

You looked mortified, hands covering your face. "You've known all along?" You whined, unable to face his grin. You felt humiliation creep up your chest at being caught red handed, biting your lip hard to ground yourself. Pathetic tears threatened to fall in frustration.

You gasped as two hands gripped your own and pinned them above your head, using one to keep them there while the other hand wagged it's finger back and fore, Art shaking his head and tutting silently.

You were forced to face his smug, teasing stare, your own face pouting. Art lifted two fingers, wiggled them, before bringing them to your lips.

You accepted, swirling your tongue around them, before they were retrieved swiftly. Wiggling them again, Art made a show of demonstrating just what he was about to do to you to bring that smile back.

Winking in a way that had you melting in a puddle of embarrassment, Art pressed two fingers to your wet entrance, grinning before gliding them into your wanton hole.

Your reaction was instantaneous, a keening 'oh!' torn from your throat, back arching as you squirmed beneath the hand that pinned you down.

Art began to thrust his fingers deeply, pulling out to the tip before delving back in, watching you writhe and gasp. You were desperate for more, hips lifting higher.

Art pulled his fingers out of you, showing the wet lubrication that coated them, scissoring them apart to watch the way it attached his fingers with stringy gooeyness.

You released a frustrated whine this time, fighting beneath his one hand. "No, no don't pull them out, please--" you pouted pathetically, desperately.

Art wanted to torment you more, but his desire to see you screaming in pleasure outweighed that at the moment. He wanted to break you.

Shrugging innocently as though to say 'well, you asked for it', Arts two fingers sunk into you to the knuckle, pumping in and out firmly and roughly, curling rhythmically against that spongy area he knew would have you seeing stars.

"Oh--Oh!", you cried, hips tilted up into his assault, the lewd sound of your wet hole permeating the air as his fingers went in and out, in and out, restlessly and roughly, giving you exactly what you wanted.

Art smirked darkly, increasing the pace rapidly, so fast he had to hold your kicking legs down as he brought you too much pleasure, too much torment in the sweetest way he could give.

You cried out loudly now, unable to hold your voice back, body convulsing lightly as your peak approached.

"A-Art, Oh, Ohh--" you moaned, panting and thrashing back and fore as his fingers forced an orgasm out of you, intense and sudden, squirting down his wrist and soaking your bed.

You gasped for air, legs falling slack as your mind felt like it was floating.

You didn't have any time to think as Art gripped your hips tightly, flipping you over effortlessly and pulling your ass into the air. He smoothed the skin gently, before giving it a slap, watching you jolt.

You were soaked, legs quivering as you braced yourself. Your knees knocked together, staring back at him desperately.

You had dreamed of this for some time, you thought, gnawing at your lip anxiously. Judging by the sudden, bare feel of his hard cock against your folds, you knew you were in for a ride; he felt huge.

He was definitely thick, but even more than that is that he was incredible in length. He wasn't an ordinary man, so you shouldn't be surprised, but a tingle of fear and excitement gnaws through you all the same.

"W-will that fit?", you whispered in awe, salivating, and Art merely shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows as though to say 'ill make it fit', before putting a hand on your head and pushing your face into the bed.

You felt arousal course through you at his actions, being pinned down and bared for him to use. You pushed your round ass into him as much as you could, desperate and whorish, feeling his body judder with silent laughter.

He teased you at first, pushing the tip in, then retrieving, only to push just a little bit more in, and then retrieving again.

You huffed, unable to hide your frustration, but choked on it as Art slowly pulled out, then slid all the way in to the hilt.

You cried out loudly, hands balled into fists in your blanket, head pushed into the bed hard as Art gave you no time to adjust and began fucking you.

Your insides were on fire, pain and pleasure at his large intrusion mixing together, pulling moan after moan out of you. You could barely breathe, struggling to say his name as Art now gripped both of your hips and bred you.

A hand was lifted from you before coming down hard on your jiggling flesh, one stroke after another, getting harder and harder until you were writhing and whining.

He didn't stop, testing just how far he could go, switching to the other cheek when he felt your screams were getting particularly painful.

The stinging was unbearable, but it made you so wet, so pliant for him to absolutely manhandle you into the bed, gripping a fistful of your hair before he ravaged you just the way you wanted.

You were already a babbling mess, cock drunk when Art had hardly done anything. He rolled his eyes at you, though he was definitely amused at the unintelligible song you sang for him, something about his large cock and something else about breeding you.

You filthy girl.

Arts hand tangled rougher into your locks, before he gripped it hard and wrenched your head back, spine arching.

Your whines increased, becoming incredibly high pitch and feminine for him as he forced your head back.

Your neck was burning, but you loved this feeling, having a firm hand tug your hair back and an incredible, curved dick hit your insides just right.

The way he fucked you hard made you want to pretend to be bratty in the future, just so he could put you in your place. In fact, maybe one day when you're feeling particularly moody or low, you could get him to fuck it out of you, sweeten you up. The thought of being forced to take him deep as he fucked the brattiness out of you had you sopping, thighs drenched and shaking and barely standing.

"Ahh--Art, it feels so-", you moaned brokenly, thighs collapsing as the demon above you took to forcing your face back into the bed, other hand forcing your wrists above your head.

Having your thighs together now made his cock feel utterly massive, forcing the air out of you as he glided in between your plush cheeks, invading your sodden hole.

It made you feral.

"Oh my God oh my God--", you cried weakly, sobbing. Tears rolled down your cheeks in over stimulation, and Art leaned his body over yours, pushing you into the bed as he used one hand to smother your mouth, hooking his fingers into it.

You babbled, sucking his fingers desperately as you drooled down his wrist and your chin.

His fingers stuffed your mouth, thick length now ramming into you harder. You could barely hold your head up anymore, resting weakly against his wrist as you cried and whimpered, mascara blackening your eyes and cheeks messily.

Suddenly your hips were gripped and your body was forced onto it's back. You whined at the loss of him inside you, legs wrapping obscenely around his trim waist, needing more.

"Fuck me, please fuck me-", you breathed, head lolling back as fat tears burned your eyes, soaking your cheeks. Your lips were formed into a frustrated pout, fists clenched as though you were about to have a tantrum unless his dick resumed fucking you.

Art grinned truly maniacally down at you, gleeful and amused at your cries. It was a stunning sight, seeing your usual reserved self acting like such a slut.

He pouted right back at you, holding two fists up to his eyes and rotating them back and forth to impersonate dramatic crying. He was mocking you cruelly, laughing at your fucked out expression.

Forcing his fingers into your mouth again, Art pushed them down your throat, watching your eyes widen as you gagged and choked. Saliva pooled in your mouth excessively, and he scooped it out with both fingers to smear it messily over your cheeks and down your chin, laughing silently and pointing.

"No, please stop mocking me..", you whimpered quietly, lips wobbling as you pleaded at him with your big eyes. Your hips bucked desperately, thighs sticky and warm.

Art dropped his grin and rolled his eyes at your antics. You really wanted him to fuck you? Sure.

A malicious glint lit up his eyes, tenderly wiping the black tears staining your cheeks from your makeup.

Before you could blink, a strong hand was wrapped around your throat roughly, and a moment later his hot cock was pummeling into you mercilessly.

You couldn't even scream, sounds trapped in your throat and escaping in high pitched exhales, your head falling back against the bed as he strangled you.

It terrified you, but as your breathing became less and your head became clouded, a sudden, indescribable pleasure ripped through you so powerfully your eyes rolled back into your head, drool openly gliding down your cheek.

Your body felt weak and unresponsive, unable to even grip at his wrists for some reprieve, but the pleasure..

The fucking pleasure was mind numbing.

Your eyes drooped, face turning almost purple as he fucked you so deep you felt sick.

You couldn't gasp anymore, weak breaths barely getting past the brutal grip on your throat.

You were delirious now, feeling in a dream like state, ecstasy exploding behind your eyes and lighting your nerves on such a burning fire. You felt like your soul was ripped out of your mortal shell, experiencing the biggest high of your entire life.

Art cackled madly, silently, a sick adoration twisting in his eyes at the way your consciousness began to slip. He held your neck dangerously tight, tighter than he planned but judging by the way your hot, wet pussy gripped at him, he knew you loved it.

The sounds of your joining bodies was obscene and lewd, squelching and loud as his cock forced your lubrication out of your body.

Art gritted his teeth at the morbidly stunning view of you drooling excessive saliva, tears soaking his hands and mascara clumping your eyelashes, your eyes now bloodshot and heavy.

They rolled back, and soon you become quiet.

Bringing you to the very edge, Art removed your hand and allowed air to enter your lungs.

You gasped painfully, choking and sobbing as you were given no time to inhale greedily, instead getting ravaged inhumanly fast.

You couldn't lift your head, eyes blinking dazedly up at Art, who lifted a hand to wave at you mockingly.

You tried to speak but couldn't, mouth held open in permanent ecstasy. Your hips snapped upright as fingers roughly rubbed at your engorged clitoris, abusing the greedy nub.

A cry tore from your raw throat, head thrashing side to side and legs shaking violently as your orgasm rendered you incoherent.

You screamed out, squirting almost violently down your quivering thighs and over Arts rigid, brutal cock.

You sobbed, face screwing up pathetically as genuine, uncontrollable cries wracked your form. You could barely intake breath, body and nerves unable to handle the level of soul wrenching pleasure and borderline pain that was inflicted upon you.

Art gripped your shaking thighs and lifted them above his shoulders, face devoid of his usual smirk and instead scowling down at you with smouldering eyes. He fucked you harder, faster, animalistic before his hips stuttered once, twice, and a hot, thick load of cum filled your gaping pussy.

The amount was unnatural, not human, but your body lapped it up all the same as your insides convulsed and quivered. You moaned weakly, keening in a higher pitch as your lips wobbled and your eyes remained misted and delirious.

You didn't even feel Art pull out, stuck in a dream like state as aftershocks lit your body up. Your legs were dropped from his shoulders, falling unceremoniously to the bed, wide open.

You babbled incoherently, arm covering your face. Art stared down at you serenely, gazing from your dick dumb espression to the mess of cum coating your thighs, globs of it dripping down to your asshole. Your hole gaped and twitched, greedily gulping up all that it could take, thoroughly fucked and bred.

You felt two fingers scooping up the mess and pushing it filthily back into your pussy.

You whined, dropping the arm from your eyes to finally look at the demonic clown that had surely taken grip of your soul and tore it out.

Art smirked down at you, winking playfully. He revelled in the mess he made of you.

"Art that was--I--Mmm--", you moaned, responding to the gentle caress of your clit with his fingers. You were so wet and full of cum, biting your lip.

You didn't move as you felt his form pull away from you. You were so out of it you felt drunk.

You didn't feel him tucking you into bed, only remembered being beneath the blankets as he tilted his head down at you contemplatively.

He felt something foreign, that was for certain. He felt a possessive adoration over you, wanting to break you into a crying, sobbing mess, strangle you until you stood on the precipice of death like earlier, but also..

Watching you now, eyes drooping as you gripped his hand softly, tiredly, he made the final decision that he wanted more tender moments like this.

You were the rare occasion, the only occasion.

He was going to consume you whole.

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

3K notes · View notes

doeidawn · 7 months ago

Text

18+ MDNI

simon has told you countless times before that civilian life is tough for him. every time he comes back home from deployment, there's a tension in him that's hard to soothe. as rough as military life was, it gave him a purpose, made him feel like everything he did—down to the food he ate—was for something. it's not like that back home.

he doesn't like to sit around and do nothing all day. and you've told him that he owes it to himself to relax, to just sit down and enjoy the mundane. that's what being home is for, you'd remind him. but it's hard for him.

you've found it's a little easier for him to relax if you're doing it with him. so you'll invite him to watch whatever you've got on the tv, or ask if he wants to take a midday nap together. it gradually gets easier over time. he resists less each time you ask.

but you don't fail to notice how much he fidgets, like his very being is uncomfortable with sitting still unless it's for work. he's always moving somehow, fingers itching to do something.

the solution he came up with? he's got his hands on you whenever possible. it's easiest to relax when you're moaning in his ear.

even now, when there's a movie playing on the tv in front of you, simon has you sat on his lap with your legs spread in front of the screen. his head rests in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses on your jaw, and he's still able to keep his eyes on the screen so you don't scold him about 'not paying attention' later.

of course, it's not like you're paying attention either. hard to when he's got two of his thick fingers knuckle-deep inside your slick cunt. he pumps in and out at a steady pace that has your toes curling and your head falling back against his shoulder. the wet squelches that sound out every time he pushes in and curls his fingers is more enticing than the people on the screen, anyway.

"gotta take care of my girl," he'd coo in your ear. his fingers slide out and up to your swollen clit. he presses gentle circles around it before patting your sensitive skin with just enough force to make you squirm. "and gotta make sure she's gettin' enough attention, too, huh?"

right now, his only focus was on making you cum hard. he knew that angle to take to make sure his fingers hit deep inside, making your back arch off of his chest. your slick walls hugging and pulsing around his thick digits until you're squeezing tight and flooding his hand with your cum.

"that's it, baby," he groans, panting with you like he'd cum in his pants from just the sight of you. his fingers spread you open, sliding through the obscene slickness. "such a pretty fuckin' sight."

regardless how much you mewl and moan and whine, he doesn't stop until you're shaking, until you can't give him any more. but when that happens, he moves his hands off of you, letting you get comfortable so you can doze off with your head in his chest while he rubs your back in soothing strokes.

#writer's block is KILLING MEEE screams #clown writes #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #cod #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod smut #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader

7K notes · View notes

hvhvmoc · 3 months ago

Text

♡♡♡

Characters : Art the Clown (Terrifier), afab!reader

Warnings/CW : blood, talks about murder, domesticity, HARD smut, overstimulation, spanking, hair pulling, squirting, oral (f! Receiving), Art himself, silly stuff, cussing, reader has a poochina, a lot of words, etc etc

A/N : IM BACK and OBSESSED with Art rn yall r gunna get sm of this clown omgggg (he looks so hot in that gif)

It's 8:50pm.

You're laying on your couch, your head on one armrest, your feet resting on the cushion. You're dressed in your pajamas, a soda on the coffee stand and a bag of chips in your arms. You watch your favorite show on the TV. Almost every light is off around you, which would scare anyone. Especially where you live, and knowing what- rather whos- been creeping around the streets recently. Lucky for you, you're dating him. So you'd say you're pretty safe. At least you hope so. The only light on is a small kitchen light, and the light coming from the TV screen.

There was three knocks at your front door, which was a couple feet away from where you're laying down. You recognized those knocks. "It's open!" You shout and shove some chips into your mouth. The door opens, revealing your murderous clown boyfriend, Art. He walks in, a frown on his face for a second before his grin returns. He shuts and locks the door behind him and he drops his bag full of weapons by the couch.

Art walks up to you happily and reaches over to hug you. That's when the familiar (too familiar) smell of blood hits your nose and you stop Art from hugging you. You get a better look at him, now realizing that he's covered in blood. The clown sulks a bit when he's rejected affection. "Babe, you need to shower."

Art rolls his eyes and leans back a little in the process, putting his hands up in a fake surrender. He looks side to side a couple times before he tries to hug you again, huffing dramatically when you again, refuse to touch him. "Go shower and we can cuddle." His mouth forms an "O" shape and his eyes widen. He nods vigorously and turns on his heels and speeds to the bathroom. You laugh and focus back on the TV and your snacks.

♡♡♡

After a while, you're still laying on the couch, sipping your soda and eating from your almost-finished bag of chips. Suddenly, right next to your ear, a loud squeak sound startles you. You jump (or if you're like me, you scream too) and look behind you where the noise was. And there he was; your boyfriend. He leaned back in silent laughter, pointing at you, still holding the horn he loves so much that he used to scare you.

You roll your eyes and laugh with him a little. Instead of his usual clown attire, he has a black T-shirt on, with the word "cunt" across the chest in white and black sweatpants. He still has his usual clowny makeup on, just now it's cleaned of blood. When laughter dies down, Art suddenly lunges at you, hugging you over the couch, tightly. You hug his arm. "Come around so we can cuddle." He instantly shoots up and scrambles to walk around the couch. You didn't have time to fully open your arms before he laid down on you. His arms wrap around you and he nuzzles his face in your chest.

You wrap your arms around Art, just as tightly as his arms wrap around you. His hands slide down your back and to your ass, a huge grins on his face, thought he's not looking at you. You let him feel you up and watch the TV. Until you feel Art squeeze your ass a couple times. He finally looks up, his shit-eating grin not leaving his face. "Art-" you look down at him. He maintains eye contact with you as he gives you a couple more squeezes, wiggling his eyebrows a little.

You press your cheek against his head and laugh a little with him. "I love you," you tell him softly. He squeezes you tighter and kisses your collarbone. "Do you love me too?" He nods vigorously as a response, then sits up a little, outstretching his arms, seeming to say "this much", his smile not leaving his face. You smile up at him and he collapses again into your arms, squeezing you tight.

You continue to watch TV as Art snuggles against you, clinging onto you and locking his eyes onto your face; not once looking at the TV. You play with the tag on the back- inside of his shirt as his arms stay fully wrapped around your waist, forcing your back to arch a bit. You look over at the clock. 9:56 pm.

"Baby," you reach for the remote and turn off the TV and sit up a bit, "lets go to bed." Art wiggles his eyebrows at that and you just scoff as a reply. He gets up and so do you. Art bends his elbow to you, offering to hold your arm, almost like a butler would to the princess. His other hand on his hip and he continues to smile widely. You hook your arm into his and he happily guides you both to your shared bedroom. He opens the bedroom door and reaches in to find the lightswitch, his tongue sticking out in an almost cartoonish manner of concentration. His smile returns when he flicks on the light and he fully opens the door, let's go of your arm, and gestures you in, in a "ladies first" kind of manner. You tiredly laugh and walk into the room. Art shut the door behind him when he enters too.

You tear off your bra and pull down your pants, then climb under the covers. Art climbs into bed with you, immediately snuggling close to you, burying his face in your neck. After a while, he pulls away and points at his cheek. "Kiss?" He nods and you kiss where he pointed. He turns his face to show his other cheek, pointing to it too, and you kiss it. He turns again and points to the cheek you kissed first and you lean in to kiss it again, when he moves his head at the last minute, making you kiss his lips. He silently laughs, pointing at you, silently saying "gotcha!". "Hey!" You laugh.

You flip eachother over, getting on top of him. His mouth forms an "O" shape for a second before his grin returns and he wiggles his eyebrows, his hands tracing your back. "If you wanted a kiss, you could've just asked." You kiss his lips and Art immediately presses his hand on the back of your head, tilting his head opposite of yours. You hum as you two kiss. You pulled away from the kiss, which makes Art frown, and he pushes you back into his lips. You smile and laugh a little bit kiss him back.

Arts hand goes down once again, giving your ass a playful squeeze. After a while of kissing, you two pull away and you lay on his side, looking up at him. How you loved this man. This sick, sick man. You both look at eachothers eyes, the only sound being heard is your breathing and an occasional car driving past coming for outside. You can't even hear him breathe. It's not like he's human anyway.

Art blows you a kiss, which you reply back with the back of your hand against your forehead, in a dramatic fashion, throwing your head back. Art holds you closely and buries his face into your neck, grinning. He looks at you, an eyebrow raised, as he slips his hand under your underwear, his hand now on your bare ass. When you look at him, silently questioning him, his eyebrow raises further up. "..finee." you roll your eyes and smile down at him.

Arts eyes light up instantly and he gets on top of you. He kisses your neck, rougher than his other kisses earlier that night. He grabs onto your hips and hoists you up so your head lays against the headboard, his body between your legs. Art dips his head down between your legs and bites your pantyline and tugs it off with his teeth, and painfully slow. He maintains eye contact the whole time and when you lock eyes with him, he wiggles his eyebrows in a playful manner, which you reply back with a breathy laugh.

Art pushes your legs back as far as they can comfortably go. He finally breaks eye contact to stare down at your pussy, licking his lips in an- again- almost cartoonish manner. He stays staring at it for seconds too long, making you look away a little embarrassed, feeling too exposed for too long now. Suddenly he dives in, not even going easy first. Your thighs tremble and you moan in suprise, your hands grabbing onto the bedsheets. Art goes from roughly sucking on your clit, shoving his tongue into you, and making out with your pussy, roughly moving his head side to side as he does. He occasionally looks up to watch your reaction to his movements, then looks back down at your pussy. He pulls away, making you look down at him. He uses one hand to point at the hand holding your legs apart. You caught the gist, replaces his hands on the back of your knees, opening your legs, with yours.

Once his hands are free, he licks his lips again and dives back in. Art uses his thumbs to spread you open, giving him more access. He goes faster and faster and you moan louder and louder. Your thighs tremble and Art continues eating you out. Art pulls away every so often, licking around your pussy, your inner thighs, and your ass; licking up your juices. He locks his lips around your clit and sucks roughly, moving his head side to side.

You moan louder and louder, warning him of your upcoming orgasm. He continues his movements, his hands gripping your hips and pressing his mouth impossibly closer to you. You grip onto your own thighs as your head rolls back, as your orgasm hits you like a train. You moan loudly, calling out his name, your legs threatening to close but your strong grip on them keeps them open. Art slows down just a little bit, but does stop. You squirm a little from the overstimulation as he continues.

After another minute of Art making out with your pussy, he pulls away, sitting up. His eyes stay locked on your pussy, his fingers teasing and tracing it. His hand goes to your thigh as you let go of your legs and they relax. Art grabs your chin, roughly but not enough to hurt, and he looks at you darkly. That stare would've scared anybody. But you've gotten used to it. You can tell what his eyes are telling you, rather than what his mouth can't. He kisses you roughly, and you taste yourself on his lips. How you're not covered in his face paint is beyond you. Maybe it's not face paint. Maybe it's just his face. Who knows?

Art pulls down his pants as he kisses you, your arms wrapped around his neck. He keeps his pants still on, but pulls it down just enough to where his dick is now exposed. He gives you no warning before he enters you, then wasting no time to start moving. You struggle to kiss him back, while you moan louder than you did when he ate you out a couple minutes ago. His hands grip your hips and he fucks into you roughly. You grip onto his arms as your back arches. Art bites down onto your neck, occasionally kissing it too.

Your head starts to go fuzzy as he continues his almost brutal pace, your hands on his back now, nails digging into his back. "Art...art- baby..." you moan out, making him look up at you. His expression looks relaxed but hungry, which was rare but not unusual. "Faster...I want more... give me everything you have..-!" You begged, but before you can finish your sentence, Art does exactly what you asked of him.

His pace is almost unhuman, and brutal. But really, that's all he is: unhuman and brutal. But it hurts so good. Your legs try to close, but with Arts body between them, they stay open. His eyes never leave your face as he continues. His signature grin returns- with no time for you to question the sudden expression change- and he delivers a couple rougher, harder thrusts into you, going deeper and deeper into you with each prolonged thrust.

You look up at him and he silently laughs before diving back in to attack your neck, and his fast, hard thrust come back. Your brain feels fuzzy, to the point where you're now just babbling nonsense into his ear as you moan. Your eyes roll back and your thighs tremble. After a bit of Art raming into you, seemingly, unmercifully and attacking your neck, you again warn him of your upcoming orgasm. His movements don't slow down, or speed up, as you cum for the second time that night. Even when the feeling subsides, he doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow down. He just sits up and looks into your eyes as he overstimulates you, again.

He picks up your legs, pressing your knees on either side of your chest as he continues. Drool collects a little on the corner of your mouth. You grip onto his arms as he (borderline creepily) smiles at you, showing no signs of stopping. You couldn't tell if you wanted to beg for more, or beg for mercy. "Art! Fuuuck!" You borderline scream, your nails digging into his arms as you cum again, this time squirting, making a mess on his shirt- that he was still wearing- ,his pants, and the bedsheets under you.

Art looks down as you make the mess, almost like in a trance. Your legs tremble in his grasp and he finally stops. He pulls out and looks up at you tired, fucked out face. His face looked suprise and points to the mess. "What?" You question, panting. He looks between your mess and your face a couple times, surprised. Art grins and flips you over to your stomach. You lay your head on pillows as Art lifts your hips up. His hands never leaves your hips, knowing your wobbly legs wouldn't be able to hold yourself up.

He enters you once again, making you moan, this time muffled by the pillow. His harsh pace from before starts up again and your eyes roll back and back arches. You moan loudly- again muffled by the pillow- as he continues. After a while, it seemed like Art didn't like how the pillow muffled your moans, so he digs his hand into your hair and pulls your head back. You continue moaning, blabbering his name, along with nonsense.

In the midst of your incoherent blabbering, you begged him for more, which he caught onto. Art throws your head back into the pillow and grip your hips harder. He goes harder, matching his speed, so much that it hurts. You moan loudly and your legs threaten to give out but Art keeps you on your knees. You turn to your head to look back at him, and he's grinning, like usual, looking at your reaction.

Art let's go of one of your hips, his hand roughly smacking your ass as he continues. When he heard your loud moan of a response, he deliveres another rough hit to the same spot. And another. And another. And a final one. He massages the spot he abused, not slowing down his thrusts for a second. You mutter to him that you're close and he continues his pace against you. You moan loudly as you cum, again.

And like everytime, he doesn't stop when you came. You reach back and grab onto his hand. He keeps going with his pace you again, make a mess on him and the bed. Your moans now sounding more broken and tired, but still loud. Even after you squirt for the second time tonight, Art didn't stop. He keeps his harsh pace until you feel him finish inside you and pulls out. Your body relaxes, but tenses up again when Art shoves two of his fingers into you, moving them in a rough pace.

You let out broken, sob-like moans as he continues, your thighs shaking. He keeps his pace steady and harsh until he sees you starting to squirt again. He quickly pulls out, and dives his face into your pussy as you cum, drinking your fluids. He grips onto your thighs as he cleans you up and sits up, finally. He flips you over so you're on your back, and stares at you face; red, lips puffy, eyes wet, and the corners of your mouth wet too (whether that be from drool and from he made out with you after he ate you out).

Art points at his now wet shirt, pants and the bedsheets, then pointing an accusing finger at you, moving his hands to rest on his hips as he nods, like a disappointed parent. "Your fault," you tiredly spit back. Art throws his hands up in a fake surrender and leans back a little and rolls his eyes. "Go change you're wet-" He grins at that. "That's what she said," You speak for him. Arts grin stays on his face as he gets up from the bed and changes clothes. Once he's changed and you slip your underwear back on, he crawls back into bed with you, covering the two of you in your blanket. He hugs you tightly, his grip more innocent now, his head on your chest. He traces a heart on your back, his own way of saying "I love you".

"I love you too," you whisper to him and he holds you tighter. "...so much." You mutter before falling asleep in his arms. Legs hurt, stomach aches, brains static, but hey, you're laying in bed with a torturous, brutal killer clown and you're alive. And loved by him. And every "pain" he does give you is always in bed. And you love it. ♡

I'm sorry if there's spelling mistakes I wrote this at 11pm, fell asleep, and finished it when I woke up 😭😭

#fanfics #x reader #female reader #gn reader #art the clown x reader #art the clown #terrifier #terrifier 2 #terrifer 3 #art the clown x you #smut

1K notes · View notes

strangererotica · 3 months ago

Text

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader smut | blood, cum play, choking, dubious consent, victim reader, vaginal fingering, rough oral (reader receiving) only read if comfortable consuming dark content

🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️ 🤍🖤♥️

The last things you should have remembered were the feel of his fingernails digging into your throat, the hot wash of his breath across your face. Your consciousness began to fade, the details of the world around you melting into an inky well of nothingness, of peace. Of Death. But just as you’d grown comfortable in the palm of eternity’s hand, it released you. Hell wouldn’t have you so soon, and neither would Death. Because despite your body’s weary yearnings, the Devil wasn’t finished playing with you yet…

Lurching back to consciousness, your eyes snapped open onto the clown. His black gaze, framed in stark white, carved through your skull like a rusted dagger. His sick smile, painted black, spread wider over his blood-spattered face. You shivered in his grip, his hands still wrapped around your throat, effortlessly pinning you in place against the bathroom wall. Without freeing you in the slightest, the clown removed one hand from your throat and let it drop to his side. He stared at you, unmoving, watching in silent amusement as you writhed under his grip.

Slowly, methodically, the clown dragged his lowered hand along your hip. His fingers played with the plump flesh there, pressing into the softness covering your bones. His touch was curious, experimental; he was studying you. With your back still fixed against the wall, you couldn’t drop your eyes to see what he was doing; but you felt everything. The clown’s hand dipped between your legs, his blood-slicked fingers nestling around the curves of your cunt. In a twisted act of betrayal, your body responded to his touch, your clit pulsing against the clown’s filthy touch.

His smile never wavered, and you found yourself unable to meet his eyes, knowing you’d see your own aroused, shameful expression mirrored in their dark reflection. He teased his fingers between your lips, gently spreading you. The crusted fabric of his gloves scratched just right against your clit, and you found yourself lightly humping at the friction, chasing the stimulation and hating yourself for it all at once. Without warning, he sank two fingers inside you, his eyebrows twitching in delight as you moaned in response. He continued to fuck you, one hand around your throat and the other inside you, till your legs were trembling against the wall he had you pinned against. Warm liquid dripped down your inner thighs, and whether it was blood or cum, you couldn’t have cared less. Growling weakly under the clown’s control, you allowed the sick, forbidden pleasure of his touch to guide you to climax. Bucking on top of his hand, you came with a guttural sob as he continued to hold your throat (and life) in the palm of one hand, and your cunt in the other.

He tore his fingers from inside you, enjoying the way you winced at the sting. Pulling you down by your throat, the clown had you on your knees in front of him. The sound of fabric tearing was followed immediately by a dull pressure filling your ears as the clown shoved his member between your lips. Your vision was blurry, a mix of black and white lurching together in front of you as the clown brutally took your throat for his own pleasure. That feeling of fading returned, consciousness dimming in your peripheral as he once again denied you oxygen. Your eyelids fluttered, gaze drifting upward and meeting his, drops of sweat and blood trickling down his forehead as he fucked you within an inch of life.

Ripping himself suddenly from your throat, the clown threw you onto your stomach. The cold tiled floor stung as your bruised, bare skin made hard contact with it. He ripped at the already-torn fabric of your tank top, exposing your back completely as he crouched over you. Thick, warm drops of semen spattered your skin, the clown panting softly as he relieved himself onto you. Moments later, you felt his fingers gliding over your back, manipulating his release into what felt like curves and shapes on your skin.

The clown rose to his feet over you, admiring his work. You heard him take a step backward, and looked discreetly to see what he was doing. Reaching for a large black garbage bag, the clown slid the knife he’d used to pierce your skin earlier inside it. You felt a rush of hope suddenly, seeing that he chose not to retrieve any new weapons from the bag. He tucked his cock back inside his clothes, the tear he’d made to fuck you visible in the front of his costume. He slung the bag over his shoulder, the metallic clinking of knives and god-knows-what-other kinds of weaponry sending a shiver down your spine, along with his cum growing cold on your back. With a final flash of his sick, wide grin, the clown waved goodbye and left the room.

You waited a good ten minutes to make sure he was really gone before you dared to move. Clutching the sink for support, you shakily lifted yourself upright, your thighs trembling as you willed yourself to stand. You reached for a towel from the dispenser, running it under some warm water and bringing it behind you to clean yourself up. But before you wiped away the cold, jellied cum from your back, you were able to clearly read what the clown had used his fingers to write in it: “A-R-T.”

1K notes · View notes

bunnis-monsters · 2 months ago

Text

NSFW

a/n: someone requested soft morning sex with silly the clown!

In the soft morning glow, you looked beautifully to Silly the clown. Now that he had you all to himself, he couldn’t help but stare at you every morning, watching as the sun shone down on your barely clothed body.

He had been lonely for so long, and for a while he believed that the rest of his life would be spent with only himself for company in an empty amusement park.

So who could blame him for adoring you?

When you stirred, he softened, leaning down to kiss your forehead. The sleepy whine that left your lips when you opened your eyes had him swooning.

“Still tired?” he murmured, his forehead leaning against yours. All you could do was nod, still half asleep.

“Sweet thing…”

His hands slipped down your body, one of his fingers gently rubbing against your clothed clit. “Pretty girl, lemme make you feel good okay?”

You whimpered as he lifted your thigh, pushing your panties to the side so he could sink his fingers into your fat cunt.

“Look at that, all wet for me already, hmm? Such a a good girl…”

He pumped his fingers in and out, kissing along your neck before biting down on a particularly sensitive spot.

His tentacle cock was already straining against his pants, begging to be set free… but he wanted to please you first.

“Love… you’re beautiful, you know? Utterly gorgeous…”

His free hand moved to grope your breast, his fingers fiddling with your nipple through the thin fabric of your top.

“All mine… how lucky am I?”

Your clit twitched when his thumb brushed against it.

“Mmm… that’s nice…”

It felt good, being pleasured through your sleepy haze. You could feel him add another finger, stretching you out a bit so you’d be able to take his cock with ease.

“That’s my girl… doesn’t that feel nice? Such a good girl… being so patient with me.”

He pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt, slick sticking to the wet digits as he slid them into his mouth. “So good… god, you taste amazing…”

If he hadn't been so hard, he would have moved between your legs to taste you from the source, but he had waited long enough.

He needed to be inside of you, right this second.

His cock twitched and squirmed against your cunt, wriggling it’s way inside of you.

You were just stretched out enough for it to slip in easily, but tight enough for Silly to let out a grunt against your neck, his hips lightly smacking into yours as he began to move.

“Tight… so warm, so good…”

His rambling were incoherent, and you could feel his inhuman qualities slipping out. His tongue became longer than normal, lapping at the shell of your ear before he tilted your chin so he could kiss you.

You were still in between sleep and consciousness, letting out a bratty whine as he interrupted your sleepy state. Once he got a taste of you, he pulled back and kissed along your neck.

His tongue felt different, more slimy and squirmy, almost the same texture as his tentacle cock. It made you shiver, but not in a bad way.

His hands fumbled for your clit, his hips picking up the pace as he groped at your breasts again. It was strange… you could feel his tongue wrapping around your nipples, but how could he do that when he was kissing at your neck?

You didn’t question his strange anatomy, simply letting pleasure overtake you. The orgasm came in waves, and you let out the cutest mewl when you felt his thick cum spurt into you.

It was warm, and always oozed out of you so deliciously. You could feel his tentacle cock settle, nudging at your g-spot to force you into clenching around it.

He always stayed inside of you long after you were both spent, cooing to you softly.

“Did so good, took it all so well… precious little thing, you mean everything to me…”

You yawned, letting out a satisfied hum as his fingers toyed lightly with your clit. “Mmm… still sleepy…”

“I know, love. Sleep all you want, when you’re up I’ll run us both a bath…”

His eyes softened when you turned to face him, nuzzling your face against his chest. “Wanna snuggle for a little longer…”

It made his heart race, or well… the organ he had that functioned as a heart. You were the only being that he wanted to mate with, that made him feel anything other than loneliness.

If he hadn't met you, if you didn’t randomly decide to come visit the abandoned amusement park, he may have never gotten to feel what humans described as “love”.

No one would ever be able to pry you away from him.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

957 notes · View notes

pinejayy · 26 days ago

Text

╰➤Riding Them || One Piece

featuring: doflamingo, corazon, buggy, mihawk and ace

a/n: finally a third part for this series!! thanks for the love and support guys!! <33!! // hugs and kisses to everyone!! uwu

summary: riding these beautiful one piece men because I’m whore when it comes to anime men. 😩😩 // part 1 ,, part 2

warnings: doflamingo, nsfw, riding, buggy being a bottom, mihawk being a top, face fucking.

✦•·················• 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃!! •·················•✦

Doflamingo

This man is ruthless whenever you’re riding him and despite him being the bottom he still has his ways to dominate you and your feelings. And this man will degenerate you in every way possible. He’s spitting either god awful dirty things at you or sweet words. Such as !! “Such a dirty whore, you love riding my cock? Can’t get enough of it?” Or “Such a good Princess. Keep making me feel good, such a good girl.”

He gets even more rough with you when he’s had a long and hard day. He’ll just make his way towards your direction and shove you slightly towards the his private room. He doesn’t care if you’re in a middle of conversation. And once in the room he’ll sit on the bed and patted his leg. “Sit. It’s been a long day and I need a good fucking.”

And once you end up on his lap his hands are all over your body, squeezing anything he can grab. And he isn’t gentle, not wasting time he’s always striping you from your clothes, and he’s already stripping himself from everything…well besides his sunglasses. Placing sloppy kisses across your neck . “Come on princess.” He whispered, as he stroke himself. “Sit on your throne and ride away.”

And he helps you aline yourself with him, and this man is so huge and thick that you wince every time you’re in this position. Whimpering softly, as he allows you to adjust to his size, and he can’t help but have a smug smirk across his face. “So tight. So good Princess…you love riding me. Right?” And to which you moan and nod, looking at his eyes and nod. “Mm so good Doffy…so big…you fill me up so good..”

Doflamingo loves watching you shake in pleasure as your riding him, the way your hips move against his, the way your chest bounces. Everything gets him so hard for you. And sadly you do tend to get tried quicker than him so when you start to slow down he’ll hold down your hips and fuck you to his liking. And you better scream his name, he wants everyone that you belong to him.

And this man doesn’t believe in aftercare…so good luck with that.

Corazon

He’s the quite opposite from his brother, than man is more shy than anything. He’s scared that he’ll hurt you due to his size. After all he’s much taller than you and he doesn’t want to harm you. But after one day of trying to convince him he decided to try it out and he ended up loving this sex position. So he loves when you offer to ride him. “Mm I need to ride you sweetheart. May I?” You cooed out softly, to which he began turning red.

He’s so gentle with you. Treating with such care and with so much love. And whenever you’re on top of him, he loves to admire your beautiful body and face. He’ll run his hands along your waist and hips. “Feel so good…you look so beautiful on top of me..” He moans out. Cora loves watching how your boobs bounce, he can’t help but squeeze them. He loves watching how prefectly you fit him.

He’s always using his devil fruit abilities when having sex with you. Especially when you’re riding him. Because let’s be honest he’s a moaner. He wants to every single noise you make. So when you try to cover your mouth he’ll move your hand. “It’s okay my dear. Feel free to moan my name out. No one is going to hear us.” Because god forbid Doflamingo

He loves thrusting his hips upwards and hitting every sweet spot of yours. He loves how your body reacts to every little thing. The way your head is thrown back moaning his name. “Mm Cora…you feel so good…” And this babey would also praise you. Let’s say you’re getting tried he’ll hold your hips and thrust upwards and take over “It’s okay my dear. I’ll take it from here.”

THIS IS 100% FOR AFTERCARE!! He’ll kiss your hickeys and praise you once again. “You did wonderful my dear.” Also!! He’ll grab your favorite snacks and run you a warm bath!! And after that he’ll cuddle you until you fall asleep. A lot of head kisses and a bunch of “I love you.”

Buggy

This man is a total bottom for you. And he loves to brag to everyone that he’s the top of your guys relationship but behind close doors he’s falling onto his knees for you. He loves it whenever you dominate him. Especially when you ride him because he gets a good fucking and a good view of your tits. He loves squeezing your tits and saying “Honk”

You’ll start off by sitting on his lap and taking his lips against yours into a heated kiss. “Mmm…I need you to ride me again..” He whispered against the kiss. And you gladly accepted his offer. Stripping him from his close, placing small kisses along his neck. And before sinking into his cock you’ll stroke nice and slowly and tease him. “Such a dirty little clown…can’t get enough of me?” Biting his neck, and sitting on his lap.

Buggy has to beg for you to do anything. “Please Y/N…stop teasing me…” And you’ll cut him off mid sentence by pinning him against his back and sinking onto his cock. And he has to bite his lip from moaning out loudly. And you’ll move your hips slowly, until he’s begging for more. “Come on clown. Beg for more.”

You love hearing him moan your name out. So whenever he tries to cover his mouth. You shake you head. “Tch..naughty clown. I want to hear your pretty little sounds.” And he’s a whimpering and moaning mess. The rest of the crew probably hears him and they tease the hell out of him. Poor Buggy.

Buggy uses his Devil Fruit abilities whenever you’re riding him. One floating hand will be teasing your nipples, while the other hand is playing with your clit. “Heh..I make you so good huh?” And speaking of his devil fruit abilities, you’ll make him remove his head and place it across the room and you’ll ride his body. You’re the star of the show and he’s enjoying it.

Pspsps Mihawk and Crocodile know he’s the bottom of your guys relationship and honestly they aren’t so surprised.

Mihawk

This man…this is definitely the top of your guys relationship. He isn’t going to submit to anyone and that also includes you. So whenever you are riding him it’s on his terms and only on his terms. “Hmm I think you deserve a treat my dear. You’ve been such a good girl, how about tonight you take the lead.” And his words are already making you weak to your knees.

Before riding him he’ll appreciate a nice lingerie, he loves to admire your beauty. And you bet your ass he’s going to praise you. “Such a beautiful dear…you’re going to look even more beautiful on top.” He say softly and grab your hand and lead you to the bed and he’ll sit down and pat on his leg. “Sit my dear.”

And once in his lap he’ll place a gentle kiss on your lips. “Just because you’re on top doesn’t mean I’m submitting to you.” He whisper against your lips. Nodding, you place small kisses along his cheeks and neck which will earn your a hum of approval. And once he’s admired your body, he’ll strip his own clothes and yours and stroke himself as he smirks at you. “Now careful, don’t break yourself dear.”

And once he’s inside of you, you take a moment because he feels so much bigger in this position. “Mm Mihawk…so big..” Moaning out, and he groans as he felt your walls clench around him. He gives you a moment to adjust before placing his hands on your hips and moves his hips upwards. And he knows what spots to make you cry out.

Whenever Mihawk notices your getting tried he’ll run a finger along your clit. “Now don’t disappoint me my dear.” He coos, which makes you whimper and move your hips against his until you guys reach each other’s climax’s. And when you do finish, he’ll quickly flip you over. Being on top once again.. “Now, my turn to fuck you my dear.”

Ace

This man is a total switch, and if you want to ride his dick he’s already dragging you to the bedroom. And he’s already kissing you with such hunger. Hands all over body. “Damn..you wanna bounce on my cock again?” He’ll tease you and strip you naked. And once you’re naked he’ll whistle. “Wow, beautiful as always.”

His favorite position is reserve cowgirl style, and to top off the position he’ll make you wear his hat. God…seeing you in his hat makes him cum alone. So this position is top three favorites. And he also loves watching the view…the way your ass is bouncing off of him. “God babe…you know how to drive a man crazy.”

Ace doesn’t bother trying to muffle his moans, if you’re making him feel good then he’s gonna let the whole ship know. And the same goes to you…both of you guys are loud. “God babe…your pussy makes me feel so good…fucking good.” He moans out, smacking your ass which earned a loud moan from your lips. “Fuck Ace…dick so good.”

You guys are so loud that the ship knows you guys are fucking and they have to bang on the door to keep you guys quiet. “You guys fuck like rabbit! Keep it down! We’re trying to sleep.” To which results in you and Ace laughing.

Speaking of dick riding. He loves when you face fuck him. Ride his face…he fucking loves it. And he doesn’t want 10% percent of your body weight he wants you to full sit. USE HIS FACE AS YOUR CHAIR UWU.

842 notes · View notes

clownyclaushoe · 2 months ago

Text

blood red

art the clown x reader 🔞

afab reader, period sex, overuse of the pet name baby, but art is a baby - he's my babie boo. (i know i already added this to my other post and i don't want it to be like i'm spamming the tags but i'm actually really happy with this and i want people to see it. plus i NEVER finish fics this quickly so i'm happy about that. part of me feels like i didn't take this as far as i could have, if that even makes sense idk 😅😭)

you knew you were about to start your period all day. your cycle was always regular and there were the familiar pre-period symptoms like lower back soreness and a particular kind of fatigue. but you swear art could smell its impending presence every time. unsurprisingly, he would become animalistic, unable to satiate the craving over each of the five days of your period. it would've been too much for your drained body, if it weren't for the unshakeable pleasure he gave you each time.

you also appreciated and loved how art wasn't horrified or disgusted, as many men, even friends and an ex-boyfriend, had been at even the mere mention of the dreaded p-word.

art stepped behind you, placing his hands over your hips, moving them around to your bloated belly, his touch firm but gentle. you nearly swooned every time he exerted such restraint, knowing the supernatural strength he possessed, how he could tear your heart out of your chest as easily as one flicks a speck of lint from their sleeve.

you leaned back into his embrace, knowing what was on his mind. "baby, i'm only spotting. i thought we'd just have a quiet, cozy night, hm?" you say, sweetly, looking at him with big, doe eyes.

he nuzzled at your neck, his right hand shifting to the crotch of your sweatpants, fingers flexing just right to press the menstrual pad against your clit. he knew you weren't being truthful. sometimes it was just too much fun not to tease him a little.

"oh, art," you whimper, eyes rolling closed, imagining the grin spreading across his face at hearing you sound so needy for him already. but the truth was no matter how tired, sick, or busy you were, you always were needy for every part of him - and he damn well knew it too - his fingers caressing every inch of your flesh; his mouth pressed against your pussy; his tongue fucking so deep inside you; and his cock -- his long, thick cock, thrusting inside you at an unrelenting pace, able to hit your gspot with ease.

he walked you over to your shared bed, tugging down your sweats and underwear to the floor, pausing for you to sit on the bed for him to remove the unwanted clothes, taking a moment to notice the mess you'd made and to sniff at it, the intoxicating metallic scent filling his nostrils all the more. you lie down and art gets on the bed, kneeling between your legs, gripping your thighs and gazing down at your pussy, blood collecting between your folds. art licked his lips and wiggled his brows.

you laugh, shaking your head at your ridiculous clown boyfriend. "don't make me wait any longer, baby. i know you love how my blood feels, how it tastes."

he nods, tilting his head, his right hand moving to gaze along your puffy pussy lips, fingertips pushing between your folds, and down to slip the middle and ring digits inside you, your wetness and blood making the motion smoother. he curls his fingers to stroke your gspot while thumbing at your clit.

"oh fuck," you circle your hips to meet his hand. "another finger, please, baby, please." art obliges you, knowing how much you love feeling so full of him.

he slips the index in along with the other two, stretching you so much as he continues to fingerfuck you, pushing you closer to orgasm.

"you're so fucking good, baby, ahh. don't stop -- don't you dare fucking stop." you gasp, gripping his shoulder.

he pauses his hand deep inside you, continously pressing against your gspot, and you swear you feel just a fraction of his supernatural strength - the slight pain adding to the pleasure - his face contorting to a snarl with the effort.

you come, your body thrashing - not unlike art's victims- as he resumes thrusting his fingers inside and out, watching his blood covered digits. as the warm flicker of your climax passes, you lie back, catching your breath in the afterglow, orgasm helping ease your cramps.

art pulls out his red soaked fingers, raising them to show them off with a wave, and you can't help but be reminded of the song, red right hand. you tell him and he silently laughs, throwing his head back and smacking his knee. then he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking at the blood, and shimmying his shoulders.

"why don't you put that mouth to better use, baby?" art goes wide eyed, gaping at you, and it could've been mistaken for genuine coyness, but you knew better. it was apparent from your first time together that he knew exactly what he was doing.

he leans down, nearer to your pussy and sniffs the even stronger scent of your menstrual blood, then ducks down to attach his mouth to your pussy, sucking and licking at your labia, ravenous and rough.

"oh, art," you exclaim, on the verge of tears, "you're so good for me, baby. the fucking best."

the praise urges him on, and as much as its true that art does what he wants, when he wants, you've come to learn he also loves following direction and seeking approval - at least from you, laps up appraisal like a puppy.

he flicks his tongue over your clit while staring up at you, the intensity of his gaze almost too much to bear.

"i'm close, baby, you're gonna make me come all over your sexy face."

you let out a squeak as art closes his lips around your clit, sucking hard.

"oh my -- fuck," you gasp, your back arching as your second orgasm grips you like a vice. art's hand trails up your body to squeeze at your tit, and you moan like a whore for him, only for him.

his tongue plunges into your pussy, fucking your hole, and your orgasm intensifies somehow, in a way that only art could do, and you're gushing into his waiting mouth.

art tilts his head up enough to grin and show the smears of blood all over his face, and dripping from his mouth. you giggle at the sight, somehow falling even more in love with him, he endears himself to you so much. he gently nibbles and kisses at your inner thigh, as a sign of gratitude.

"you're welcome, baby. and thank you."

---

hope you all enjoyed! 🖤❤🖤❤

174 notes · View notes

jenniferspet · 3 months ago

Text

#monster fucker #monster smut #monster x reader #werewolf x reader #witch smut #orc x reader #orc smut #clown smut #demon smut

14 notes · View notes

multch · 4 months ago

Text

Thoughts.

Art the clown x reader [18+]

CW: actually smut \ afab masterbation

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

Who knew sewing pays in a good view…

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

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

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

Maybe you should’ve...

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

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

But why?

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

Honk! Honk!

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt special.

Protected, even.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Imagining it made your mouth feel empty..

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

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

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

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

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

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

A fourth finger, then a fifth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh god no…

1K notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 8 months ago

Text

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly

Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface.

Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust.

Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body.

“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck.

“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against.

“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade.

“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more.

“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting.

As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to.

“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior.

“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name.

“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”

He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.

A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release.

“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.”

He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard.

“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses.

“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you.

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock.

You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours.

Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure.

“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight.

“Fuck.”

Sir Crocodile

He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.

“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.

“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.”

Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown.

A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.

Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump.

“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip.

The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion.

He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip.

This was going to be a long and tiring day.

At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.

His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain.

There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours.

“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”

“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his.

“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm.

“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you.

Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface.

Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain.

Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words.

“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew.

Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it.

“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles.

“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him.

“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks.

“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”

He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him.

“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully.

“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes.

“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room.

“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest.

“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion.

“Mine.”

Buggy

“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion.

“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock.

“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response.

“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.”

He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss.

“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in.

“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load.

“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated.

Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock.

“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet.

He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless.

“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room.

A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face.

As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection.

You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully.

Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies.

“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”

“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you.

“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming.

“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious.

“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours.

After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer.

“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.”

As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.

“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers.

“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness.

“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit.

“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.

The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it.

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.

“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks.

He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze.

“I am one for fucking…”

Mihawk

Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip.

“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption.

“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature.

Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.

The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water.

Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.

Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord.

His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild.

So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.

“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.

Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern.

“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him.

His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins.

Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders.

Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin.

Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.

Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated.

And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task.

Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin.

His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface.

Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk.

“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you.

Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.”

You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited.

Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now.

Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality.

2K notes · View notes