#diggy graves

[feralhoekage]

🫠😍 the way I would fall to my knees for this man!

[shaythelittlefay]

[2voodoo4u2b]

[dijidweeeb]

Motivational Music in the Morning ... #DiggyGraves, #TheGrimWeeper [Official Lyric Video] (2023) #MMitM1

[evan-at-deaths-doorstep]

when you get this ask you have to answer with 5 of ur fav songs and then send this ask to 10 of ur most recent followers :)

(Not in order)

1. Villano by Anthony Ramos

2. Non-Stop by OBC of Hamilton

3. Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift

4. The Deep by Clipping

5. Circus Psycho by Diggy Graves

[witchyirishgal]

This has been stuck in my head for days

[froggybangbang]

got tagged by @tsnbrainrot to list my top five songs on repeat at the moment. One of which is 100% their fault. Here they are.

I'm literally tagging everyone reading this coz i want all of the music recs! Tag me i really do want this!

If you don't pay for spotify, and therefore can't listen to just one song, they are amongst the song on my Right Now playlist here. I promise all the songs are good? Some are on the slow side cos i often listen to it as i go to bed (muse and spice girl songs especially).

[2voodoo4u2b]

[dijidweeeb]

Motivational Music in the Morning ... #DiggyGraves, #CircusPsycho [Official Lyric Video] (2023) #MMitM1

[yoongisjuicebox]

Welcome to the late night circus where you can be a freak on purpose 😈

[zalrin]

Late Night Circus

CapCut template: “#BW GRAFITTIWLYRICS” by souphatra

[rosie-baybie]

❤️🔥❤️Obsession

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Sub!Art the Clown x Sex Worker Reader

Prostitution, menstruation/blood kink, oral sex (Reader receiving) cum eating, ass eating

You don’t know his name, or if he even has one. The first time the clown came to you for your services, he seemed almost shy. His appearance was startling, confusing to say the least. He didn’t say a word, didn’t make a move to touch you. Instead, he rifled through the black garbage bag he’d brought into the hotel room with him and pulled out a pen and pad of paper. He scribbled something quickly onto the paper, then turned it to face you so you could read what he’d written. “CONTROL,” was the only thing the clown had written. You were unsure of his meaning till he pointed at you, then himself to explain. His eyes were wide and almost innocent. He wanted you to be in control of him. And every time he’s come to you since, it’s been with the same request.

He goes to his knees before you, his face tilted to yours above him. There’s a strength inside him you can feel; you know he could hurt you if he wanted to, but something restrains him. In those private moments he spends with you, his need to be dominated overpowers his sadistic urges to maim and kill. Moving closer, you spread your legs around his shoulders, and gently sink over the clown’s wide, painted mouth. He always visits you on the third week of every month, the week you bleed. One thing you learned quickly about the clown is that he has a powerful appetite for blood. It’s almost as if he worships it. You can feel his adoration in the way he eats you, how he savors the rich red color oozing from between your legs. He rises to his feet and takes your hand, excitedly pulling you with him to the bed. Lying on his back, Art beckons you on top of him. You climb over his long, lean frame, spreading your legs over the clown’s face.

He reaches for your hips, impatiently lowering you onto his tongue. He never touches himself, but his erection is prominently tenting the black and white fabric of his costume. You tried once to lower your mouth over him through the fabric in this position, but it earned you a painful smack on the ass that bruised for weeks. He didn’t want your mouth on him, not yet. The smack on your ass was a reminder that while the clown had requested you be in control, the dominance you held over him was an illusion. He was still in control, no matter how much ‘power,’ he allowed you.

You settle over his mouth, swallowing his tongue inside your tight heat. A surprised whimper leaves your lips when he swirls his tongue inside you, licking your insides in a circular motion. Your thighs begin to shake, eyes drifting closed as you start humping the clown’s chin on instinct. His hands slide up your body, groping the soft skin of your belly and tits before making their way back to your hips. He squeezes the fat of your ass just enough to hurt, spreading your cheeks apart. The clown’s tongue laps backward across your pussy to your asshole, washing the small hole in your juices and his spit.

You shiver as he penetrates your ass with the tip of his tongue, his hands busily working your clit. Your pussy is sopping, a mix of blood and cum dripping down the clown’s face, making a mess of the bed beneath you. You desperately want to touch him, to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel. You watch the outline of his cock twitch, precum wetting through the silk fabric of his costume. You want to taste it, but you know he won’t let you. He makes you wait till he’s finished, as he always does. You feel your climax building as the clown’s fingers bully your swollen clit, his tongue sinking deeper inside your ass. Your thighs grip his face as you come undone, gushing rhythmically over his chin as you rut against it.

His body tenses under yours, his fingernails digging marks into your hips where he holds you. Through cloudy vision, you watch his cock pulse, a pool of creamy liquid blooming through the fabric covering it. He pulls his tongue from your asshole, giving your right cheek a playful swat before bringing the same hand up to the back of your head. He grabs a handful of your hair and presses your face downward, smearing your lips against his release. He bucks his hips for emphasis, silently commanding you to eat it. You do as you’re told, sucking the clown’s cum through the soiled fabric. Lewd wet sounds leave the space where your lips are pursed against his crotch, tugging the salty sweet liquid into your mouth.

Once you’ve finished, the clown slides his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. He returns to the trash bag, digging inside it for something. His eyebrows lift happily when he finds what he was looking for, and he makes his way over to the dresser. The clown places a couple of crumpled, dirty hundred dollar bills onto the dresser, along with some loose change. He hoists the garbage bag over his shoulder, taking a step for the door. Just before he leaves, the clown turns to acknowledge you, a wide grin on his face. He tips his black hat to you, a silent gesture that you now recognize as his way of saying “see you in a month.”