#he was the first cat i ever had so i was pleasantly surprised

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Concurrent Resurgence

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

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll make it up to you."

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

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

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

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

His keys suddenly dropped to the floor from his hand. The sound was loud, and would probably shock anyone out of a daydream. Though, a second later, the horrific cry that surely tore his vocal chords was loud enough to make it evidently clear that this was all very real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody was here.

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

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

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

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked huge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stare was unwavering, blinking from his mouth to his eyes before settling on those wretched depths. They swallowed you whole, scrutinizing your own visage. His smiling had long since ceased, a stern neutrality overcoming him even as you drew your fingers back and wrapped your arms around his neck to press your bloodied lips onto his.

The urge overcame you, tongues battling against one another messily. The remnants of your blood mixed between your lips, a soft moan of delight escaping you.

You never thought you'd be kissing this maniac. It sent heat coursing through you, borderline delirious from the feel of being so wrapped up in a being that was so dangerous.

Your passion resumed, hips lifting enough to feel the drag of his dick in your tight heat, before gliding back down with a light slap of your ass against his lap.

You were so wet it began to lather your inner thighs, dripping down your legs and coating his balls.

Your desire began to reignite, no longer a simmering heat and instead increasing to a boiling wave that overcame you. You grinded your hips, breaking your lips apart to gasp at his depth.

Art became watchful of your eager display, letting you pleasure yourself with his body. You leaned back, arms around his neck and extended straight so that you still had some leverage, and moaned wantonly as your position changed and his cock began to stimulate that lovable spot deep within you.

"Oh fuck--mmm--", your head lolled back, tits bouncing rhythmically as you increased your pace. You could barely hold your moans in now, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his length hitting you just right.

Art recognized the increase in your pitch and the way your body moved desperately upon his, and grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, gripping handfuls of your jiggling ass and beginning to meet your movements with his own, fucking up into you hard.

"Yes, right there, oh my god-", your legs were no longer folded below you, resting back on your knees. You had swiftly moved them, sitting fully into his lap now with your legs extended either side of his waist. This added even more depth to his movements. You could no longer grind your body against his, simply taking whatever he gave you.

"It's so deep, oh-" you began to quiver, needing so much more,  but all he could do was smirk down at you amicably, as calm as ever, watching you fall apart as each thrust directly pummelled into that spot.

You felt like ripping your hair out in frustration, body squirming upon his own in distress. Each thrust was like a shot of an addictive drug, filing you up and making you feel so high, but you needed that unrepressed carnality that you craved.

Shaking your head with a pinched expression of dismay, you leaned forward to wrap your arms fully around his neck once again, head resting on his shoulder as you whimpered.

His rigid length bruised against your cervix, hands on your hips and holding you down just to get that inch deeper. You were shaking, exhaling little 'ohh's into his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't care anymore; Need it harder", you whined pathetically, warming his neck with your hot breath; you were starting to crack. "Please fuck me. Need you so bad. Making me feel so fucking good-Oh--"

Your waist was gripped in a bruising force, lifting your body up and down like a pliant doll, fucking you vigorously. Your sweet admittance sent a thrill through his body, so he supposed out of the kindness of his heart, he could cease his teasing. For now.

Art gave you a lascivious smirk, eyes twinkling mysteriously. With a slight shrug and a nod, he seemed to silently agree with himself that it was time to get serious.

The world around you blurred as you were thrown onto the bed, hips forced into position. Your body bared itself on hands and knees and you tentatively peered upwards towards the mirror, fists clenching into the quilt in anticipation.

You watched the large, looming clown settle behind you, swallowing your body whole. With a playful wave at your watchful gaze, Art thrust forward and buried himself within you.

Your breath escaped your lungs in a silent gasp, body lurching forward from the force as he held you in place and began fucking you deep and fast.

He didn't tease you this time. Everything that had happened previously had been leading up to this moment, and it was mind shattering.

Repetitive 'uh's and 'ohh's sprung from you at each thrust, his cock splitting you open well and good just like you've craved for so long. He felt massive in this position, your velvety insides hot and tighter.

Gliding out until the tip, he'd push back in smoothly, coated in your arousal. It drove you wild, the lewd smacking of skin and wet squelching that increased more and more as he drove in faster, harder.

Your knuckles were white from how hard you gripped the bedding, unintelligible praises falling from your lips at the way he made you feel.

" 'm so full, oh my god-", you cried almost lovingly at the sublime feeling of him tearing through your snug heat, near enough bruising your cervix.

With a cynical pout down at you, mockingly awed by your kind praises of his ample size, Art reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, wrenching your body backwards so your back bowed enticingly. It made your ass look rounder, made it jiggle and ripple more against his unrelenting thrusts. It hypnotized him, his cock rock hard.

Your upper body was suspended by the hand in your hair, and you could now clearly see how ravaged you looked in the mirror. The looming Santa behind you dwarfed your figure, all jagged smile and wiggling eyebrows at your pleasured expression.

Your tits bounced prettily in the reflection, witnessing the way his normally piercing gaze faltered and darted down to the erotic scene, before darting back up to your face. His smirk appeared lascivious at being caught, and he gave a comical, light shrug.

For some reason, an infernal fire roared within you at that; This creature was evidently attracted to your feminine form. It made you moan louder, reaching forward to play with your round globes teasingly, jiggling them with your incessant fondling, biting your lip at him in the mirror.

You were becoming feral for him.

Art cocked an eyebrow, head tilted in rampant interest at your display. That same jagged smile returned, and almost as a reward, he leaned forward and circled two calloused fingers over your sensitive clit.

Your reaction was instantaneous, legs shaking and body jerking at the intense pleasure. It made you nearly collapse forward if not for the grip in your hair, his cock still relentlessly spearing you.

"Fuck, just like that, ohh--", you cried blissfully, shuddering. Arts expression appeared sternly concentrated on your exclamations and the way your body sucked him in greedily. His thunderous expression was terrifying, but it only served to increase the heat within you tenfold, your body pliant and melting into his ministrations.

He shattered your equanimity, your mind turning to mush and only thinking of his thick hands and his fat cock-

Your thighs were violently quivering, struggling to not collapse. Your moans increased in pitch, high and breathless and weak.

" 'M so close, your cock feels so fucking good and I'm going to cum, im--ohh!"

Your body was roughly dropped, a violent hand forcing you into the bed. Your ass remained high while your cheek laid itself upon the blankets, face contorting in mindless, pleasurable relief as those murderous hands gripped at your hips and began fucking into you so expeditiously you wailed.

His heavy balls slapped your clit with each filling thrust, teasing the bundle of nerves to the point your knees began to quake, on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck, fuck!", you shrieked in repetitive succession, breathing erratically as his thick, long, veiny cock fucked you so good that you just burst-

Your knees did collapse this time, but firm hands kept your hips situated perfectly to receive his godly pistoning. With a high, keening noise you didn't know you could ever make, so desperate and whorish, your pussy contracted and gushed.

Your thighs were soaked and dripping, your bedding ruined. You could feel the way his grip tightened bruisingly on your hips at the feeling of your insides pulsating steadily, milking him, demanding he fill you up like you craved.

Your self consciousness and any semblance of pride were shattered into a million pieces at the mind numbing euphoria you felt. It enveloped your entire body in a blanket and made you feel like you were floating. Your insides fluttered intensely making your breathing erratic and short.

Your face was forced even further into the bed as you reached two arms back, planting a hand on either side of your round cheeks.

With a flushed, fucked out visage staring back at Art from the way your face was turned on its side, you spread your enticing cheeks apart, moaning. "Need you to fucking fill me, need you to fuck me so full please please-"

Art couldn't deny the intense arousal that shot through his body and engorged his cock unnaturally further. Your dainty fingers spread your cheeks so far apart he could see the way your hole split around his length, the muscles parting forcefully at his intrusion. Your virgin, tight puckered hole caught his attention the most, and he moved a thumb to rub the area tenderly, a promise that he'd make you scream yourself hoarse the day he managed to fit his cock into that narrow passage.

You'd cry, he'd make sure of it, and the thought and the visual in front of him was enough to have him seizing your hips so strongly that they would bruise, fucking you brutally and hearing your sobs of pain and pleasure, before his hips stuttered once, twice against your cervix and a flood of hot, ropey squirts painted your insides.

He filled you so deeply it made your body think it needed to pee, if only to expel the amount of cum within you. It was unnatural, but he wasn't a mortal. If anything, the absurd amount made you melt dreamily into the bed, thoroughly fucked and bred and satiated for the time being.

You felt the clown retrieve himself, sliding out with a lewd squelch. Your hole gaped and quivered, his cum oozing out of you messily and coating your thighs. You moaned pleasantly at the feeling of two fingers scooping out the sloppy mess, coating his fingers with it before pushing them into your mouth. You accepted the gift, a noise of delight escaping you.

It made you want to suck his cock and have him fill your mouth until you choked. The thought was arousing, clitoris pulsating lightly as you reached down and rubbed it in lazy circles.

His body moved behind you, two hands gripping your ass cheeks before a hot, long tongue nudged your fingers aside and lapped at your clit. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips back into his ministrations, feeling that heat invade your abdomen again, signalling another orgasm.

"Oh God, fuck, your tongue feels so-feels so--", you cried out as two fingers sunk into you to the knuckles, pushing the sloppy cum back into your hole dirtily, all the while his tongue lapped at and lathered your clitoris, licking broad, rough stripes up the bundle of nerves until you were a whining mess.

"Fuck, fuuuck, don't know if I want your tongue or your cock more, mmm-"

Art chuckled into your sodden pussy, eyebrows low and sinister. You were shameless, your pleasure ridden brain void of anything else other than the need to be fucked dumb.

A high pitched cry of pleasure tore him out of his condescending thoughts about you, his mouth drenched in your splattering orgasm. His fingers curled within you, brutally fondling that area that had you outright weeping into the pillows.

Little 'too much!'s and 'stop!'s were cried out to him desperately, your body convulsing as though you were possessed. Wiping his mouth, Art sat back and admired his work.

You were panting, pleading in a high pitched, pathetic tone. Your body was overwhelmed, tired and bruised, and Art sat back on his knees and thought for a moment, hand to his chin.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in brief contemplation, and then he shrugged, situating himself behind you again.

You whimpered at the feeling of him forcing his sturdy cock into your puffy walls once more. The sound you made was strangled and weak, drool dripping down your chin shamelessly, body losing function of itself. You were crying openly, brought deeper and deeper into a submissive sort of headspace.

He grinned sharply, his cock hardening at the sight of your pathetic state. He bet he could make your body lose all inhibition and piss itself. You'd be so ashamed, and he'd make you lick the liquid off of his cock; a good girl for Santa.

He began to fuck you, patting your messy hair adoringly. You whimpered and wailed, pleading for more, pleading for less. But he found that he wasn't finished with you just yet. You wanted this, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

With a comforting stroke of your hair, Art smiled mockingly down at you, pouting his lips out at your cuteness. He couldn't go back on his word; he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root. Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Epilogue

You had fallen unconscious. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you to the point that you begged him to stop, crying so much that you couldn't breathe. Art adored your tears, awed and fascinated by them. The only reprieve you were given was your exhausted, slumped body falling soundly asleep. It was exquisitely blissful, but too much to bear.

You awoke with a weak groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position. You were naked in the blankets, but Art seemed to have the decency to clean you up slightly, your inner thighs dry and not at all the mess that they were a few hours prior. That was oddly sweet of him. And unexpected.

You wrapped a dressing gown around your body, wincing as you stood on shaky legs. Your insides felt battered and bruised, your hips dark with fingerprints. Making your way downstairs, your eyes were sleepy and lidded as you switched the kettle on to make yourself a coffee.

You had a moment of peace to yourself, or so you thought.

In came strolling that demonic clown, looking as fresh as a daisy and wide awake as he bounced preppily over to you, plonking his cup down beside yours in a silent request that he, too, wanted something hot to drink. Preferably hot chocolate.

He no longer adorned his Santa costume, instead dressed as he usually was in that monochromatic suit, face paint as immaculate as ever. He smiled down at you dazzlingly, or as brightly as a demonic entity could, patting your head like you were a golden retriever before grabbing the hot chocolate that you had barely stirred with your spoon and taking a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.

You eyed him warily, exhausted, and felt a small amount of embarrassment flourish within you at how normal he was acting and how drained you felt and looked and..

Not to mention the memories of last night either. You promptly locked them away in a box and threw away the key for now.

You reached up to grab a box of cereal from the shelf and sighed. You couldn't be bothered to eat right now, even though your stomach was grumbling noisily.

What you didn't expect was for a white hand to flash in your peripheral, grabbing it for you, before gripping your hips and spinning you to face him.

The pressure on your hips made you visibly wince, and Arts expression turned to one of shock, mouth an 'o' and eyebrows high. You frowned weakly at him before pushing his hands off of you with barely any effort behind it.

"Hurts." You pouted up at him, shaking your head lightly. You felt so weak, you really needed to replenish yourself and eat something.

Art cooed down at you, pinching your cheek lightly. You scowled now and moved away from him, thoroughly drained. He could sense that your usual fire had been doused at the moment, and held a finger up to represent a lightbulb moment.

Before you could contemplate it, you were picked up bridally and sped into the living room, making you squeal and giggle breathily. Art dumped you onto the settee, turning the TV on and putting on a horror film.

He jumped beside you, blanket covering both yours and his legs, and you couldn't help but smile dreamily at him.

He fucked you good and hard last night, and now wants to watch one of your favourite horror movies? What a gentleman. Art deadpanned at your bizarre expression, clicking his fingers in front of your eyes to snap you out of it. You only smiled wider, eyes crinkling.

"You know, you're sooo sweet when you want to be."

Art comically guffawed at your admittance, shaking his head swiftly to deny such a thing, lifting a finger to the side of his head and twirling it in a clockwise motion to signify you were crazy for ever thinking something like that.

The overly dramatic, rare expression had you giggling again, soft and sweet. Art rolled his eyes at you, waving you off as though to say 'yeah, okay, don't get used to it'.

Seeing this as a prime opportunity to tease, you were swiftly silenced as a slice of cake was shoved into your mouth. You don't know..where he got that, but he was a clown, after all, and it tasted edible.

Sighing contentedly, you chewed the sweet treat slowly, watching as the scene on TV displayed a possessed woman in the shower, scorching water melting her skin as she carved her mouth apart with glass.

You loved this movie, and Art seemed intrigued, cackling silently beside you. Wrapped up in the blanket, you leaned against him comfortably, and he seemed unperturbed by it, eyes honed in on the screen.

You don't know why he was being so gentle with you. Art never did things unless he wanted to, and that was enough of an answer for you; he simply wanted to act this way right now. Even still, it made you feel warm, and you supposed living eternally together wouldn't be so bad.

Well, that was until you fell asleep, awoken by the chill of having your thighs spread apart and cake smeared all over your puffy, abused folds.

"Art! What the hell are you doing?! I told you I'm in pain--"

Art chuckled evilly, leaning down to lick a gentle stripe up your icing covered lips, savouring the sweet taste.

Your breath hitched, but you still held your hands against his shoulders, faced etched with nervousness. "P-please don't. Can't..can't handle it right now."

Art tilted his head a fraction, staring up at you in awe. You had retracted to that submissive headspace again, and he found that he relished it. Repressing a cheeky grin, Art held his hands up placatingly, schooling his expression to one of neutrality, or rather barely masked amusement, and used his finger to draw an imaginary X over his heart.

"You mean you won't..be too much? Really? I'm having a hard time trusting you, you're literally grinning at me right now..." You huffed, expression incredibly wary.

Art covered his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth clenched as he grinned and laughed. Even still, he coughed once, face falling flat to prove he was.. moderately serious about being gentle with you.

In truth, he just wanted to eat your juicy pussy and hear you moan his name again. He bet he could get you to ask him nicely to fuck you.

For added effect, Art splayed his wide hands on your thighs and tickled the skin with either thumb, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh. Again, you had that dopey, dreamy expression on your face, and he began to think he really did damage your mind last night.

"Fine, just..be gentle, okay? I'm in no mood to quarrel today."

Art shrugged lightly. He kind of felt the same. It was refreshing hearing your soft voice instead of your screeching one of anger, or seeing your fluttering eyes at him rather than your stone cold ones.

Who knew that fucking you silly would make you so tame, so pliant. It was rather funny. Guess it proves that all you needed was a bit of dick to calm you down.

And Art was feeling surprisingly generous today. With a quirk of his lips, he settled between your thighs and placed them onto his shoulders.

Tongue darting out to lick up from your hole to your clitoris, he lathered the nub gently, lowering his lips to suckle it.

You gasped softly, widening your legs for him and biting your lip. The pleasure was instant, a heat boiling in your abdomen and fluttering down to your toes.

He was good at playing the part of devoted and gentle, and gripped at your hand delicately, lacing his fingers with your own in an intimate display. He watched you blush a pretty pink, mouth parting in awe at his uncharacteristic tenderness.

As you stared into his smouldering eyes, he smothered your clit beautifully, making you moan and buck your hips up into him.

He knew the moment your moans turned deep and sultry as he prodded a finger at your entrance, that you'd soon be backtracing your words and pleading with pouty lips that he fuck you gently.

There was an undeniable connection between you both; you were bound, after all, and even he wasn't immune to the effects of it. He'd still aggravate you, and absolutely wreak havoc on your wanting body, but he also rather enjoyed the peaceful tenderness of these moments, save for your breathy moans and the sounds of someone dying on the TV.

It made him feel peculiarly content. With a smirk into your sodden folds, Art thrust a finger into you deeply, standing between borderline pleasurable and 'too much', as you had said.

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

Within a few minutes, you were a mess down there, soaked and sticky with cake. He remained true to his word, not at all being rough, and instead holding you delicately in warm hands as he sucked and licked at your glistening folds.

"Art, it's the best part of the movie- Ah--"

He rolled his eyes at you, though did spare a single glance at the screen when he heard the sound of a chainsaw.

In no time, you were panting and reaching your peak, soft cry breathed into the air as his fingers curled and pumped into you, tongue massaging your clit. You gushed down his wrist, quivering.

Art smiled innocently up at your flustered self, imitating dabbing his mouth clean with a napkin. He jumped up and sprung beside you once more, pulling you into his sturdy lap and leaning back comfortably.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, fully focused.

You shifted, wiggling to get comfortable and felt his hard dick pressing against you. You bit your lip and glanced at him guiltily - you had just proclaimed that you were in pain today, and now you were having thoughts of him fucking you?

You settled back against him, flushed and buzzing with arousal. The film was almost over. Art grinned behind you, eyes ablaze with mischief. He knew what you wanted, but like you said, he was missing the best part of the movie.

Maybe if you're lucky, he'll fuck you later. But for now, you'd sit tiredly spent against his chest, chuckling at the brutal massacres on screen. More cake miraculously appeared, which always helped. It was pressed against your lips forcefully and you were more than happy to take it, humming in delight.

"Who'd have thought that you killing me all those years ago would evolve into this.", you smirked at him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're actually really cute. No idea how I never noticed it before." Your girlish expression lit up your face, eyes sparkling.

Art looked exasperated at your comment and shrugged. He smiled cheekily, pointing at himself as if to bashfully say "who, me?"

Your giggles rung throughout your home, his silent laughter making your body move. You felt a sense of contentment - a partner in crime to maim people with and to fuck you dumb.

Your eyes swirled black, corrupt and tainted, and promptly shut sleepily.

What could be better than this?

i need him so bad. this is pure smut. i made an epilogue to add fluffy things but it turned into smut 💀

also this isn't related to sporadic contingency at all, its just a standalone fic x

[soullumii]

sleepyhead | gale dekarios x afab!reader

(18+!!!) afab!reader. second person pov. literally just smut: oral (f receiving), piv, dirty talk, consensual somnophilia. gale lives to please as always

my first gale fic... this man has taken over my entire life.

2k words

Gale’s lips press against yours in the dark, gentle and coaxing. A push and pull. You blink blearily awake from slumber as his hand finds your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleep shift. His brown hair falls over the two of you like a curtain, shielding you from the terrors of the darkness.  

“Mm hello,” you purr against his lips. “What time is it?” You ask when he pulls back. He looks a bit wild, pupils blown wide, his eyes practically look black even in the dim candlelight. He’s breathing heavily, his gaze traveling over you, heated, like the air surrounding fire. He doesn’t answer. 

“Gale?” you repeat, warmth pooling in your belly at the pure desperation on his face. At the want curling in his eyes like a flame.

“It’s late,” he murmurs, voice rough, as though he’s parched. “Though I cannot stop thinking about you. I must…” he trails off, mind moving faster than his mouth can.

One thing you love about Gale is his ability to talk for seemingly hours on end with such eloquence and poetry. But when he’s like this…already hard against your thigh, slowly rutting his hips in circles, captured within pleasure, the words seem to leave him. You love it just as much, if not more. 

He leans in and runs his nose along your throat, breath ghosting over your skin. His teeth graze you, and his tongue follows, licking a stripe up your throat. You moan shakily, cunt clenching around nothing. 

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, though it’s more breath than substance. Your brain is already beginning to short circuit, especially when the hand on your waist travels down to your thigh, fingertips pressing into the muscle there. 

“You just looked so beautiful on the battlefield today… I tried to contain myself because we had so much to do, but… fuck,” he breathes this against your neck, desperate. He hardly ever uses such vulgar language. “I need you, love.” 

“So you really weren’t lying when you told me you were turned on by my fighting,” you say, surprised.

“I am a lot of things, darling, but a liar is not one of them.”

The sound of his inhale as he leans down to kiss you again sends more molten pleasure swirling through you. 

His hips press against yours, grinding against your clothed cunt in a steady rhythm. You moan into his mouth, your hands reaching up to clench at his sleep shirt stretched over his broad back. 

You’re still sleepy as his hand drifts to the hem of your shift. He slowly pulls it up your thighs, up over your breasts, revealing your undergarments. He paws at your waistband like a cat begging for food. You lift your hips so he can pull them down over your ass. He undoes the ties to your bralette and slides it off your shoulders. 

Gale kisses his way down your body, stopping to close his warm mouth over a nipple while his dexterous hand squeezes and tugs at the other. You moan lightly, pleasure easing through you. He hums appreciatively against your skin, and the vibrations travel pleasantly through you.

“Gale…” you half murmur half moan as he moves his mouth to your other nipple. “I can hardly stay awake…” You feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness. The gentle chirping of the crickets outside your tent doesn’t help.

“Of course,” he says, leaning back. “We can stop.”

“No—no wait,” you stop him with a hand curled around his wrist. “You can keep going while I’m sleeping, I don’t mind.” 

His eyes darken, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips. “Really? Are you quite sure?”

You nod with a sleepy smile and settle back comfortably. “Mhm.” 

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, pressing another kiss to your lips. 

Your eyes flutter shut, your breathing slowing as you succumb to your exhaustion. Your limbs feel heavy, even as Gale continues his way down your body. 

“You’re so gorgeous, so perfect,” he whispers into your skin. His fingers curl into your thighs before he slowly pulls them apart, baring yourself to him.

He runs his hands appreciatively up and down your thighs, squeezing and kneading before hooking them over his shoulders.

Gale presses a kiss to the inside of your right thigh before retreating. You feel his lips again a second later, just between your thigh and cunt, mere centimeters from where you’re wet and aching for him.

And then you feel his warm breath puffing against your core, and your body squirms impatiently. You peek an eye open to watch him.

He looks so handsome as he glances up at you, eyes soft, mouth twitched into a smirk. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I am,” you reply, closing your eyes again. “Just wanted to admire the view one last time.” 

He chuckles lowly, “Sweet dreams, darling.”

He doesn’t move for a while, and you find yourself drifting off in the stillness. Your breathing slows, your mind growing quiet as sleep takes over you.

---

The moment your breaths even out as your hands fall slack against your sides, Gale presses his face between your thighs. He uses the flat of his tongue to lick a long, hot stripe through your folds. You taste delicious on his tongue, and gods you’re so wet. You’re soaking his beard, and he’s hardly been between your thighs for longer than ten seconds.

He doesn’t care. You keep releasing cute little moans in your sleep as he takes you apart brick by brick. Or rather… lick by lick.

His hands grip your waist, keeping you close. Your hips buck involuntarily to meet his mouth, grinding against his face. Even in your sleep you’re seeking out pleasure from him. 

God forbid he won’t deliver.

He pulls back one of his hands to slide a finger into you. It goes easily. He adds another without any resistance. You’re so incredibly wet. He wants to remain between your thighs forever. Your sweet, slick arousal runs down his hand to his wrist, and he bends his head to lick it off. 

His hips rut against the floor of his tent, the act of eating you out so arousing to him he has to seek his own pleasure to mitigate the pain. He doesn’t mind. He’d rather see you cum over and over again before he ever does.

He slowly thrusts his fingers into you while mouthing at your clit, delighting in your shaky breaths and wanton moans. You look gorgeous, brows screwed together, sweat beading on your temple. You’re going to wake up soon, and damnit he’ll make sure it’s while you’re cumming.

---

Warmth kindles between your thighs, pleasure and arousal pooling deep in your belly, tingling in your toes and rising through you.

Sleep drifts away from you, hanging onto the recesses of your mind, but ultimately not strong enough against the building pleasure you feel. 

You chase the feeling, the promise of sweet release. Your surroundings slowly begin to materialize around you. The feeling of your bedroll clenched between your fingers, the undeniable feeling of a mouth between your legs, the sound of low, rumbling, appreciative moans that vibrate through you.

Even the sound of your own cries are registering in your mind. 

The melting pleasure collapses into one pinpoint. A supernova explodes within you as your clit is sucked diligently while the two, long fingers buried inside you hook to press against your g-spot. 

Your back bows, eyes flying open as you cum against Gale’s warm and inviting mouth with a cry of his name. He guides you through it with gentle laps of his tongue through your folds. He mumbles words of encouragement, but they’re lost against your skin. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Gale.”

“Mm.” You can practically feel his pride radiating off of him from making you come. 

He continues to lick you through it until you’re coming again, hands fisted in his hair as his lips suck once more on your clit, his fingers fucking into you. Your legs quiver atop his shoulders, your mind utterly fucked into emptiness.

When it’s all too much you push him away, breathing heavily, contented tears in your eyes.

“Holy shit,” you huff, trying to catch your breath. “Maybe you should wake me up like that more often.”

His eyes sparkle excitedly. “If that is what you wish, I’d be glad to.” 

“You are such a giver. You really should let me take care of you sometimes.”

He shrugs. “I like giving. It brings me great pleasure to reside between your thighs for as long as you can stand.”

You sigh at his fanciful words, but you appreciate his adoration all the same. He crawls forward as you lean up to kiss him, the taste of yourself on his tongue rekindling the fire in your gut. His hand winds its way into your hair, the other squeezes your hip. 

“I need you inside me,” you whisper against his lips. “Now.” 

He groans, fingers flexing in your hair. Your body jolts with arousal at the sweet tug. 

“Say no more,” Gale says. “Your wish is my command.”

He takes off his trousers then rolls you onto your stomach. His hands grip your hips, pulling your ass up and backwards, and his knee comes between your thighs to press them apart. 

He guides the head of his cock through your slick folds and your hips squirm in anticipation.

He leans across your back, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. “I wish you could see yourself on the battlefield. The way you look with someone else’s blood on your armor… The flush on your cheeks… The way you breathe… You’re so capable, so strong. I cannot help but stare.”

He eases his cock inside you and the two of you moan in tandem at the delightful feeling. Him, at your warmth. You, at the undeniable feeling of being filled. 

He bites lightly at your shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Sometimes I wish I could take you right there. In front of all of our friends and dead foes.”

You clench around him at his words, and he groans, hips snapping forward. You jolt against the bedroll, elbows digging into the feather down material. 

“Gale,” you whimper. 

He hums, “Yes. You’d be saying my name just. Like. That.” He delivers those three last words with hard thrusts, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing in the tent. 

He builds up the pace, fucking into you steadily. Your cheek squishes against your pillow as he fills you, your mind still sleepy but undeniably consumed by lust and love.

“What do you think? Would you like that, love? Would you like to be fucked in front of all our companions?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, please, Gale. Need you—“

“Mm, that’s it,” he murmurs. His hand skates across your stomach as his warm fingers settle over your clit. “As much as I’d love to indulge the fantasy, I’m not sure I’d want them to watch.” 

He begins to circle your clit with reverence, in time with his thrusts as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

“I want you all to myself,” he grits. 

You cry out, melting against him, knees buckling as you reach your release. It rips through you, hard and fast. Unrelenting. A wildfire raging through your nerves. 

Gale chases after his own climax, thrusts growing sloppy and deeper, moans and praises spilling from his lips before he finally cums inside you, hips twitching. 

Your body trembles as the aftershocks roll through you. 

You collapse onto the bedroll, breathing heavily, and Gale pulls you into him. You both lie on your sides, him softening inside you. He buries kisses into your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“Are you all right?” he asks you, his thumb brushing comfortingly along your rib cage. 

“So good,” you respond, brain blissfully empty, as if the tadpole never existed. You already feel sleep crawling across your mind again, pulling you under. You yawn and grin happily, like a cat that’s gotten its warm milk. 

“Going back to bed already?” he teases, leaning up to press a kiss to your cheek. “I wear you out that much?” 

“Mhmm…”

“All right. Go to sleep darling. I’ll clean you up.”

You’re already halfway asleep when you feel his tongue dip into you once more, licking his cum out from inside you—

Oh well. You can catch up on sleep tomorrow.

[bonebabbles]

Ivypool's Heart: Finished

Just completed reading the new super edition! I'm pleasantly surprised by this one. Overall, this was a very good book, MUCH better than the past 3 which were some of the most boring and unnecessary entries to the entire franchise.

If you were on the fence about this one, I'd recommend it. Just take this warning; it does the Warrior Cats thing where it harps pretty strong on parenthood and nuclear families being a borderline essential part of life, including a ton of bashing on how uniquely horrible this makes the Sisters.

If you can get past that, it's a pretty solid story about grief that makes some really fun additions to the WC lore, including the wildcats, StormClan, and a broad expansion to the afterlife system.

Meandering thoughts below the cut;

One of IPH's biggest flaws is pacing, but it's not nearly as bad as the past 3 SEs.

Not to mention, this is a pretty small SE. If you're ever bored, it won't last long.

Before the book introduces the Wildcats, it REALLY meanders. It'll pick up, but you will have to wade through relatively uninteresting scenes of the cats traveling and talking about their feelings unprompted.

A lot of "quicktime events" happen out of nowhere to fill pages with cats running away from random bullshit.

There's a horse carriage, an apple picker, dogs, weasels, foxes, a storm, traffic, humans, boats, sandwhiches. It's endless. My eyes glazed over during most of these scenes.

I know a lot of people were dreading Ivypool being nasty and unreasonable during this book, but honestly? I was hoping for it and didn't really receive it.

I find her most compelling when she's holding a grudge, acting on her anger, and generally working through messy issues. But aside from her just thinking about being annoyed or angry, she's really not snappy at all.

I feel like there could have been a lot more interesting and organic conflict between Icewing, Dovewing, and Ivypool's personalities instead of boring Quicktime Events. In fact, I felt like Icewing and Dovewing were kind of underutilized.

The conversations often feel quite stiff, especially in the first half. Everyone is very understanding of each other, respect boundaries and knows not to push too far, resolve their personal issues very easily, etc. It's kinda... unnatural.

Personally, I found that disappointing because I WANTED to see the cats actually process their grief over the course of the book. Watch them act out, maybe get in an fight or two and resolve it for the sake of the mission, have them come to a greater understanding of each other, etc.

Because Icewing and Dovewing are both so motherly and gentle and we're in Ivypool's POV, we don't really get to see them process their grief because of that.

They're not TOTALLY neglected though! I just... wanted more from this group.

However. I wanted LESS Rootspring.

I understand he's there to process the loss of Bristlefrost with Ivypool but god, every time he was on screen I wanted to push him aside and talk to Icewing lmao.

Stop trying to sell me "cool, mellowed from grief" Rootspring. He's a silly little hyperactive man and you will never be able to convince me otherwise.

As a silly little hyperactive semi-manthing myself, it would have been a lot more cathartic to see a clown like me going through grief. Not to mention just generally make for better chemistry with the group.

Between Ice and Dove who are already quite chill as characters, Whistle could have used someone more goofy to bounce off of.

I REALLY didn't like the whole implication that Rootspring is going to move on from Bristlefrost and "find a mother" for the kittens he wants so badly, though.

Erins PLEASE remember that adoption exists. He does not need a wife to be a dad. I'm beaming myself directly into your brains and telepathy-ing directions to the nearest cat adoption agency

aaaaaand on that note.... yeah. I did not like the way that this book leaned so hard on the whole "nuclear family" dynamic. Ivypool has had like two major interactions with her husband and one JUST happened in this book.

It especially bugged me that they leaned into Ivypool having been a very active mother, when we saw very little of that in the ACTUAL book. It wasn't even mentioned that Fernsong was allegedly the primary parent of the kittens when they were young.

But... I was able to look past it and just accept the book in a vacuum. There's a lot of good here.

Like the wildcats.

While I'm still wary of these being Scottish Wildcats and reserve my misgivings about the misuse of species that are very unlike domestic cats... I LOOOOVEEE the culture they've set up for them

I LOVEE the way that individual spirits reach out to the kits, guiding them through life

I LOVE the connection to StormClan

I LOVE their idea of the elements and general spirituality

And I LOVED the fact that a big part of Ivypool coming to terms with her grief was the expansion of her worldview. The way that she realized the religion she was raised with is quite small, and that there is an immense beauty in coming to understand other cultures, accept their advice, and see the world as they do.

I just wish the book had been able to tie that to a flaw that Ivypool has expressed since her very introduction back in OotS-- that she's smallminded.

It would have been a FANTASTIC way to really tackle and address that flaw, and pay off literal decades of set up. I really wish she had been messier in this book because of that!

But, digressing.

I'm over the moon that the team's actually playing with the series' spirituality! After such a long time of them outright avoiding some of the weirder elements in the series, like Rock and Midnight, it's exciting that they're finding some freedom in making new magic lore for themselves.

Hopefully, in the next few super editions, we'll be able to get some more insight to StormClan and the Wildcats.

The book really hits its stride in the second half because of this, and the ending chapters are actually fantastic. Some of the best stuff that's come out of the series (on purpose) in a loooong time.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

spill hcs on how u think baji first starting loving animals

Ok here's how I think that started!

Ryoko is the one who first introduced him to different types of animals and taught him about them.

Ryoko actually loves animals too, so, she also fed the local cats, as well had bird feeders and helped any injured animals she found. 

Little Baji learnt a lot through watching her

He was a bit too loud/ excited at first though, as well as not being gentle enough (in the way kids are) but he learnt over time how to better be around animals.

One of those early times included him being scratched by a cat. Baji actually reacted pretty positively though, apologising to the cat for startling it. He understood why the cat scratched him and actually liked how fierce the little cat was.

He also loved animal books ever since he was small, he couldn't always read the words but he always liked the pictures.

Went through a phase of constantly asking Ryoko for a pet.

One time him and his mother rescued a very hurt cat and was so upset because he was sure it was not going to make it. But was pleasantly surprised after they took the cat to the vet and it was fine. From that day on he decided he wanted to do the same for animals, to save them.

Had (and still has) a habit of talking to animals, especially when he's frustrated about something and needs someone to vent to 

There are so many photos on every phone he's ever had of animals.

He took over feeding the cats from Ryoko as he got older (that's why she's ok with having stray cats in the house). 

[seaswallovvme]

I see you wanted some request... May i suggest Baldwin laying his head on reader's lap and sharing a romantic moment? Maybe reader reading some poetry for Balwin and some soft kissses in his gloved hand. Just if you want, of course.

Have a nice day ♡

Shallows

A/N: This is inspired by the song “Shallows” by Daughter just in case you wanna listen to it! Also the poem is a shortened version of “Anim Zemirot” which is a Jewish liturgical poem. I thought it fit nicely cause often the love we share with others brings us closer to God and sometimes God reflects in other people to bring out the best in us🤍

The stifling Jerusalem heat was something she would surely never get used to.

She was born in a place far from the holy land, raised in a land that was so far she doubted she’d ever see it again.

A land where snow would fall and cover the mountains and endless meadows in a thick coating of white.

Sometimes she missed her home which now seemed impossibly far away, and everything in her new home couldn’t have been more different.

The first few months she had cried a lot, she had been homesick to a point where she could hardly eat, unsure about her fate of being the new queen of the kingdom of heaven.

It was such a heavy weight that lasted upon her shoulders at such a young age.

It was burden that threatened to crush her whenever she would wake in the mornings and yet, when she thought the sun would never rise for her again, a single ray of light made its way into her heart.

Her husband had always been so gentle and patient with her, coaxing her out of her shell when she shut herself away, bringing a small tray of her favourite cakes and spiced tea into her room.

He was so gentle, so kind and fair and so different from what her mother had told her about the ways of men.

He was exactly what a king should be and there had been so many before him, older and more experienced too but their glory faded in comparison to Baldwin.

She had never minded that he was sick, a part of her hoping he would leave her alone to lament his fate and yet she found herself to be pleasantly surprised when he didn’t.

It had taken time for her to get used to his presence and the duties that came with being a queen but she would have been a fool to keep him on a distance forever.

She simply couldn’t.

Not when he would sit by the side of her bed when she refused to leave her chambers for the first week, not when he would never raise his voice or have any demands other than to at least try to give this new life a chance.

A hour of him sitting on the edge of her bed had soon turned into more.

Spending the evenings playing chess or visiting the gardens at sundown, talking of books from lands far away, myths and stories or battles that had been fought long ago.

She simply couldn’t keep this gentle and soft-spoken young man at arms length.

One night however he didn’t come to her chambers.

She waited for the sun to set but even then, no trace of him.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her stubbornness.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her self pity?

And how could he not?

His fate was much more agonising than hers, his existence was a matter of life and death every day, only alive and breathing by the grace of god.

She felt like a fool to cause such an ordeal in front of the man who suffered each day, bearing his cross yet being so kind to her.

She was tossing at turning in her bed.

It was hot and the silken sheets that wrapped around her body so softly even felt too heavy at this point, too hot, too tight.

It was no use crying now, she decided chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully while slowly climbing out of her bed.

The marble floor was pleasantly cold underneath her bare feet as she slipped through the darkened hallways of the palace, quiet as a cat, a burning candle in one hand a book in the other.

She knew the way to Baldwins chambers.

He had shown her on the first day she arrived, explaining she would be welcome at any time of day or night no matter the reasoning.

And this reasoning was very important, she was sure.

She would head inside and apologise.

She would apologise and ask if she could read to him the way he had read to her so often.

She would say how sorry she was for being so ignorant and selfish, how she was sure she would do her very best from now on to be a proper queen and wife.

However as soon as she knocked softly and slipped past the guards with an apologetic smile the words died in her throat.

His chambers were dimly lit by candles, a faint trace of sandal wood lingering in the air.

Here it was cooler than elsewhere in the palace, to help his weary lungs breathe.

He was laying in bed, on his back.

His hands were freshly bandaged, his face too now that he was not wearing a mask and she could smell the herbal ointments.

Quietly she stepped closer but still he noticed her, raising his head as his eyes widened and she was sure had never seen a man this worried in her life.

“I am so truly sorry I was not able to visit you my beautiful darling”

When he spoke she had to step even closer to hear his voice, so soft and quiet that it easily could have passed as a hushed wind.

“I have developed a fever, nothing grave yet my physicians refuse to let me leave my chambers” he explained, a sorrowful look on his face.

“I had sent for a servant to inform you about the situation..did no one tell you at all?”

In that moment all of her hesitance, fear and standoffish thoughts melted away and instead her heart soared with an unfamiliar feeling.

It had first started faintly in her stomach when he would offer her his arm in the gardens a while ago but this was a much more intense feeling.

So intense it almost hurt yet in such a strangely beautiful way and she could feel the tears stinging in her eyes.

“Please do not apologise..it is I who should tell you how sorry I am” her voice was a mere whisper, strained and she licked her lips to wet them before slowly climbing into his bed, so careful not to hurt him.

She looked up, facing the guards by the door.

“Please leave us”

She rarely ever addressed them but now she did, her timid voice so loud against the quiet of his chambers that it nearly startled her.

Baldwin seemed curious by the way she was behaving and even more so when she spoke again as soon as the guards had left and closed the heavy door behind them.

“I want to apologise” she started quietly but her voice got more sure the more she spoke.

“I want to apologise for having been so difficult when I know you are feeling much worse than I. I have never wanted to be a burden to you or make your days more difficult than they are already”

When she had first started talking she avoided his gaze but now she looked at him, truly, for the first time ever and despite the fact she could only see his eyes she knew underneath the bandages he was smiling.

“An angel sent from heaven could never be a burden to me” he whispered back, reaching out to place his bandages hand on hers so very softly.

Her vision became blurry with tears and yet she smiled, gently squeezing his hand back and oh how she thanked the almighty to have given her a husband as gentle and righteous as hers.

She slipped underneath the covers, nuzzling into him hoping he could forgive her but the way he held her close made her feel like there was nothing to forgive at all.

After a short while they had settled in comfortably and now it was her turn to return all the affection, love and care he had showered her with in the last few weeks.

His head was heavy, resting in her lap and his eyes were shut as she gently traced her fingers over his bandages face, every now and then raising his hand to her lips to kiss it.

A fever was always worse at night but she hoped her presence would bring him at least a small sense of comfort, even if it was the least she could do.

Her plan however seemed to work just fine, his breathing slower, less laboured and his limbs had relaxed, his free arm wrapped around her as if he were scared she would leave.

She wouldn’t, never again.

“Would you like me to read to you? I finished one of the books you gifted me and when I read one poem I was reminded of you” she admitted, somewhat glad the dimly lit room disguised the flushing cheeks that came with how she hated herself emotionally.

She wasn’t worried he would make fun of her though, he never had made her feel uncomfortable and now it was on her to make him feel just as safe.

His response was a faint nod and a whisper, his blue eyes opening and he looked at her with so much adoration that she could feel her heart ache once more

“Yes please..”

She was eager to comply, not wasting a second she straightened up a little, opening the book she had brought, flipping through the pages until she found what she had been looking for.

With care she tilted the book in a way for the torches on the walls to hit the paper in a way that would make it possible for her to read.

When she did, her voice was quiet and she made no pause, only rubbing his hand through the bandages.

The way he squeezed her hand back made her stomach flutter, sure that he could feel her touch.

“Melodies I weave, songs I sweetly sing;
longing for Your Presence, to You I yearn to cling.

In Your shelter would my soul delight to dwell,
to grasp Your mystery, captured by Your spell.

Thus I glorify You in speech as in song,
declaring with my love: to You do I belong.

The scope of your greatness and he marvel of Your strength
are reflected in Your actions all described at length.

Youth and force in battle, old age on judgment day;
like a seasoned warrior, with strength He clears the way.

He wears triumph as a helmet on His head,
His power and holiness have stood Him in good stead.

May my prayer rise to the Creator of the miracle of birth,
Master of beginnings whose might and justice fill the earth.

May You find sweet and pleasing my prayer and my songs;
my soul goes out in yearning, for You alone it longs.”

Silence stretched out near torturously when she had finished reading and neither of them said a word.

She felt embarrassed all of the sudden, awkward having read a poem filled with devotion and yearning such as this, both for him and for God but when she looked down into his face all of those feelings faded.

His eyes were open, glossy with adoration and a sheer layer of tears and she could have sworn she had never seen a sight this beautiful.

No matter the illness, no matter the bandages and physical fragility that seemed to drain him, none of that could take his beauty away.

His voice broke when he spoke and she was so taken aback it took her a moment to recognise his words were a quote from the poem she had read

“..declaring with my love: to You do I belong..this poem is about the Lord is it not?”

She smiled faintly, shutting the book as she placed it down on the small table next to the bed.

“It is..it reminded me of you. Of how brave and good you are and I cannot help but feel as if the Lord wanted us to cross paths. Your love turns me into a better person Baldwin. When I am with you I feel as close to him as I have ever felt before”

His hand squeezed hers just a little tighter and he took a deep breath before he continued

“Sometimes I cannot comprehend the Heavenly Father and his mysterious ways. I used to think my illness was a way for him to punish me, scorn me for my sins but how could I ever doubt his justness, his everlasting grace and love when he granted me the time I get to spend with you?”

[gatorbites-imagines]

hope ur having a good day! i wanna ask for some Eobard Thawne x Male Reader where reader is just a normal dude. Like just some guy, i think itd be a funny concept :]

Eobard Thawne x male reader

Headcanons

I love Thawne sm, he’s my bbygirl. He’s a lil crazy, but that’s okay.

Now Thawne is literally just the biggest hater in all of existence, like God damn. He runs on hate and spite, and I appreciate that, because its relatable.

Youd most likely have met after he’s been in a fight with some hero or similar. Maybe he crashes into your yard or into your apartment. You don’t know much about heroes, you know the main ones sure, but you don’t keep track of all of them.

So, when you see someone who looks like a yellow flash in your yard bleeding out, you just kinda shrug and drag him inside, patching him up to the best of your ability. You get the head part of his suit off him and your pleasantly surprised at how red his hair is, you’ve always liked redheads.

You know nothing about speedsters’ preferences for food, and your used to cooking for just one person and have meal prepped for that. But you pull out some snacks you got laying around and a bottle of water, and put it on table beside Thawne, where you flopped him onto your couch.

When Thawne wakes, he’s immediately ready to fight, until he notices he’s just laying on someone’s couch, in a random living room who knows where. He’s honestly confused, because he’s a well-known villain and was in the middle of a fight.

He almost jumps up to throw hands when you walk into the room, eating whatever dinner you had prepped the day before. Imagine his surprise when you just go “hey, your awake. I found you in my yard, you good?”

Insert very confused Thawne, he tries to pull the whole, evil villain thing, but you are so chill and unamused that he just ends up giving up. One way or another you two just end up sitting on the couch and watching the newest episode of your current show.

It becomes a thing honestly. In the beginning he shows up after fights for you to patch up, even though you know very little first aid, but whatever. You put up with it, because if that’s the payment you have to pay for a hot redhead to sit shirtless on your couch, so be it.

Thawne won’t admit it for a long time, but he starts to enjoy your company quite a lot. Maybe it’s the fact that you couldn’t care less about him being a villain or what he does that has heroes after him. Or maybe it’s the fact that you don’t put up with his shit either.

The first time you scolded him and called him an idiot, his heart stuttered, and he won’t ever admit but his face got almost as red as his hair.

You tell him with a flat expression that he’s eating you out of house and home, because of speedster metabolism, so Thawne starts bringing groceries and helping around the house.

At some point you two realize he’s just kinda moved in, like a big street cat you’ve been feeding on your porch, that walked inside and just never left again.

You two never outright say you are dating, it just hits Thawne one day that you guys are cuddling on the couch and watching movies, and that you guys give each other kisses before you go to work, or Thawne runs off to be a villain like normal.

Its honestly quite domestic. I could imagine Thawne taking care of housework since you are the “breadwinner”, since you are the only one with a legal job. Sure, Thawne steals to get money, but he also starts stealing stuff you guys can use around the house.

Imagine Barry and the other speedster’s confusion when Thawne steals a brand-new dishwasher, or a whole porch set, chairs, tables, and all.

You never stop Thawne, since being a villain is kinda his whole thing, you just tell him not to do it with you around, so you have plausible deniability. You do appreciate the gifts he brings you too, but you never mention how most of the shirts he brings you are a little tight, you know he likes looking at you.

Thawne goes a lil crazy when you come home after work wearing your slacks, your button up and your tie. He always wants to be the one to undo your tie so he can pull you into a kiss.

He gets you expensive accessories you can wear to work, think watches that cost more than what you make in six months, tie clips, rings, etc. Everyone at your job honestly think you have some super rich sugar daddy.

You are both quite happy with your relationship, and theres nothing better than coming home to Thawne in an apron, cooking up in the kitchen. He always purrs when you come in through the door and swaggers over, drapes his arms over you, and asks about your day.

After some time, you two get engaged, it just kinda happened. You guys already act like a married couple, but one of you would have proposed. If it was you, you’d pull out a ring on a date or just during one of the evenings you are cuddling on the couch. You would use your family’s heirloom ring.

If its Thawne, he would go out of his way to make a huge deal out of it. hed rob the highest security jewelers in the world, or force the best jewelry maker to make a custom ring.

When the heroes show up its most likely Barry, maybe some of the others since Thawne has been MIA for a long time. They assumed he was planning something big, but he’s been busy playing househusband for you this entire time.

When they learn he’s trying to get a wedding ring they all thing “wait he’s got a lover???”. Thawne is gone before they can catch him though.

The heroes assume the worst, and assume his partner is as much of a villain as he is. Then Barry gets a wedding invite, written by you, since Barry’s been Thawnes nemesis for who knows how long.

Barry has always been a good guy, and since the invite specificlally says not to start anything at the wedding, he goes. Barry goes with the plan to scope out Thawne and his partner, but also to support him cuz its Barry.

Then he sees that Thawne is marrying you, the most normal guy he’s ever seen. When he talks to you, he realizes that you truly love Thawne, and though Thawne doesn’t say it with words, it’s clear the way he looks at you that he’s completely smitten.

The wedding goes great, and Barry is a big supporter, especially when he realizes Thawnes villainy has gone down a lot because he’s so happy with you, that he doesn’t wanna put you are risk.

It ends up becoming a peace thing, Thawne doesn’t do anything huge and Barry wont lock him away for life or have him thrown in the phantom zone. Thawne wont target Barry’s family and alike, and Thawne gets to stay with you.

[starlightsuffered]

Sub timmy fic where he's rutting into you, just when he wanted to ask if he could suck your tits (because who doesn't love ties wtff) your kitten walks in, and you just put her in your chest and he gets all upset that he can't ask it now and yeah

I LOVE YOUR FICS I READ THEM EVERY DAY

A/N- changed it up a bit because I think it would be odd to actively put you cat on your tits when you’re mid sex. Thank you for the compliment! :)

Trust

Info - mommy kink, desperate/shy Timothée, interrupted sex, nipple sucking kink, unprotected sex, light breath play, thigh fucking

“Baby boy,” I called. He was still quite shy, though we were practically living together at this point. It was actually quite sweet in a way.

He was playing video games and not paying much attention. I knew soon he would be focused on something much different.

“Hi baby,” I said pleasantly as I sat down on his lap gingerly. He let out a small noise of need and squirmed a bit. He was so easy to get excited.

“Hi,” he said in a tiny voice. He realised I only wore a fall coloured bra and panties. I leaned back against him. He was already half hard.

“Go on and play,” I offered. I wiggled a bit and made myself comfortable. I smirked when I heard a choked whine. He squirmed again. It was so sexy and cute when he got wiggly because he was hot and bothered.

“M-Mommy,” he murmured.

“What’s that?” I asked softly. He was burning up. I could feel the intense heat of his skin.

“Sorry, just, um-“

“Leaky?” I crooned.

“Uh huh,” he gulped.

“Why don’t you touching mommy then?” I asked gently.

“I didn’t get permission,” he sniffled.

“Oh Timothée,” I hummed. “I do love your shyness, but sometimes you need to speak up for what you want.”

“Sorry mommy,” he said solemnly. I sighed and rolled my eyes with fondness instead of exasperation.

I grabbed his hands and guided them to my shoulders. Together, we made sure to work his hands down my body. He was squirming and gasping.

“Mama,” he said in the smallest voice I’d ever heard.

“That’s right, you love mommy letting you touch while you make a puddle in your underwear?”

“Mmhmm, yes mommy,” he agreed.

“We need to get you more confident to say what you need honey,” I cooed.

“Please mommy, I’ll beg, I’ll get on my knees-“

“No baby, I need you to want to say it because we’re in a relationship and we trust one another,” I told him.

“Yes,” he agreed. To my surprise he looked like he’d thought about this quite a bit. I was proud of him. He wasn’t self deprecating or hating himself. He was just listening.

“Now, who is a cute boy?” I asked in my best puppy owner’s voice.

“I am,” he admitted as a bloom of red spread across his cheeks.

“Lay on the bed,” I told him. He scrambled up from his spot. I saw a wet mark on his sweat pants and I couldn’t help the satisfied smile that crossed my features.

I pushed him back softly. He laid flat, bright cheeked and nervously gesticulating. I loved how his bulge just filled the whole area of his crotch.

I slowly pulled down the lounge pants. His boxers were straining desperately against his rock hard cock. I giggled happily and he squirmed. He loved when I got joy from torturing him, and he loved my laugh.

I pulled down the soaked underwear and smiled at the pink, needy cock I saw before him. I lifted it so I held his base. I placed a chaste kiss to the top of his leaky slit.

“Ohhhhhh,” he moaned pathetically. I began to shed my bra and panties so we were both naked.

I never got over the way he gawked at me. He looked at me like I had created sexuality and beauty. It was like no matter how often I was bare in front of him. It was like the first time. I felt like a goddess.

“Mommy, you’re so stunning,” he beamed.

“Thank you baby,” I cooed. I kissed up his tummy, tracing my tongue on his happy trail. I huffed his scent. He was a delicious smelling individual, he always blushed when I said so too.

“I love being mommy’s,” he sighed happily as I ran my fingers into his hair.

“Such a sticky, gooey, good little one,” I said. He wriggled and giggled and nodded. He knew he was all those things and he loved to be it.

“Mommy-“

“Flip us,” I demanded. He did as I asked eagerly. I made a space between my voluminous thighs. I pointed to the opening with a smug smile.

His wet dick was immediately squelching between them. His eyes were already rolling back into his skull with pleasure. He humped for all he wad worth, veiny cock rubbing my clit as he thrusted in.

“Let me put it in,” he panted. “Please oh please!”

“Hmm, no,” I said is a sickly sweet voice. I held his slightly stubbled face as I watched it contort with need.

“Whhhhhhy,” he whined.

“You finish so fast when you’re inside mommy,” I pouted. “I want some more time with Cock, with Timothée Jr.,” I purred.

“Ohhhha mommy, I can’t help it. I can’t hold it! It feels too good in those velvety pussy lips. Oh, mommy, mommy, mommy!”

He knew this was all a tease. I felt so amazing when he came inside me quickly. He always made me cum too. I felt like the hottest person in the world when it barely took anything to make him cum. It was an honour. It didn’t matter how much I bugged him about it we both knew my feelings on the matter.

“Kiss me,” I demanded of him. I pulled him in and out tongues met lustily. We were in a makeout that made us crazy. Hands all over and obsession upfront.

“You can put it in,” I whispered. He slipped right into my pussy since he was so wet and I was too. He was pounding away.

“Mommy I thought of something” he said almost breathlessly. He was fucking me so hard. The wet noises filled the room. His brows were knit in pleasure.

“YeESSS?” I asked, the last part ending in a moan.

“Mommy id like to-“

He cut himself off. He was red and blushing. I tried to show my support through my eyes. He was hot with blush.

“Tell me,” I demanded. He made a submissive whine in the back of his throat. He looked so pitiful I almost came.

“It’s embarrassing,” he shied away from me.

I nearly growled. I didn’t like my boy not telling me what he desired. I grabbed his throat.

“You’re going to tell mommy what you want aren’t you? You’re a pathetic little slut and you worship mommy so you will tell me,” I growled in a low voice.

“Y-yes mommy, yes,” he nodded eagerly. His hips had started pistoning faster now. He was drilling his cock down deep inside me, excited by the prospect of trying something new.

“I want-“

I heard the tell tale murp from our Cat Soot. She jumped on top of my chest, completely unaware of what she was ruining. Timothée made a disturbed face and pulled out.

“Hey, hey, baby,” I said worriedly. I moved Soot off my body. I cuddled myself up to him, pressing out bare skin together.

“What is it?”

“I-I wanted to suckle on your nipples. I just wanted to suck while we had sex but then Soot jumped up and I felt weird and nasty and -“

“Shhhhhh,” I soothed him. He looked fussy and embarrassed in a way that wasn’t sexy.

I played with his hair until his eyes dropped closed. I guided his head down to my breast. He made a low noise of desperate pleasure. I lined his lips up with my nipple and pushed him onto me. He latched immediately and small whimpers fell from him like the most beautiful symphony.

I sighed happily and laid back slowly. He followed my nipple needily, sucking for all he was worth.

“That’s it, that’s it, nothing to be worried about,” I promised him. I kept him on my tit with my left hand and with the other I led his cock back home inside my cunt.

He was humping again at once. His adorable, submissive noises were heavenly.

“All for you, all for you baby boy. Thank you for telling me what you wanted,” I praised him.

“Gonna cum,” he moaned, and his cute little lisp from the mouth full of nipple made me melt.

“That’s good baby. Do that for mommy,” I encouraged him.

“Gonna, gonna, gon-ahhhhhh,” the satisfaction was apparent on his face as he creamed inside me. He sucked and came. We both were in total bliss. The trust we felt in one another was unmatched.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[james-is-here]

I was suddenly inspired by this one clip of a female idol (I don't remember who [Found out it was Yeji]) that's been on my mind for some reason where she's wearing cargo pants i think with 'g-string' straps and the comments were saying that they were attached to the pants. I'm bad at describing things but basically I couldn't stop thinking about how those straps would look on the boys but I was mainly thinking of Chan.

I just think...Maybe you and Chan had been in some sort of relationship for a while and you gifted him a guys thong as a joke since you guys have settled into a comfortable relationship and like to joke with each other.

I don't know what else to say. 😅 This was a spur of the moment thought. (This turned out to be a one shot) Tags: Male reader, suggestive at the end, subby chan, "you" are younger then Chan, you/your pronouns.

It was a joke, saying he might look good in it but he didn't actually have to try it but one day, you were cleaning the dorm and found a random flash drive. You walked to Chan's room to see if it was his but were pleasantly surprised to see not just him quickly pulling down his shirt to hide something but the quick glimpse of a familiar white and red adorned to his hips.

You walk over to him, kicking the door closed, and placed your hands on his waist as he play innocent and asked what you needed. The drive and original train of thought you had left as soon as you saw it, you ignore Chan and glide your hands down his torso, feeling him shiver as his knees almost go weak and his hands fly to hold your forearms as his breathing becomes shallow while he watches your every move.

You take a moment to appreciate and look over his outfit, for once he's wearing something other than black, dark khakis and your white baggy shirt with a crudely drawn derpy cat with a middle finger. Your eyes catch on his hips and your hands proceed to scrunch the shirt in your fists that rest above his hips.

A small, barely audible gasp escapes you as you examine the fabric on his hips. They were from the brand Loverboy, the red band was purposefully pulled further up on the sides to be seen, taking the same path as his v-line into his pants. "J-Jagi?" Chan stutters out, feeling the same small feeling whenever he's under your roaming gaze. "Is it...bad?" Your eyes shoot up to his, noticing the sheepish look in his eyes before leaning forward, hands dropping the shirt in favor of feeling Chan's skin under your palms as you lead into a feverish kiss, immediately turning your kiss of reassurance into the start of a make out session.

You hum when his one of his hands find purchase at the back of your neck, gripping your hair to pull you closer as he relaxes in your hold while the other rests lazily on your pec, fisting the material of your top as he lets go and his worry melts away. Your hands slide to his hips and your thumb rubs back and forth on his skin and where the edge of the band ends. Tilting your head slightly to the left, you deepen the kiss, pulling him in closer, his hand on your chest sliding up to rest on your shoulder and the other moving from your hair to your jaw.

You loved it when he was relaxed, wether it be at the mercy of your hands in bed or cuddling on the couch while a movie you two lost interest in a while ago plays in the background as you just stare at each other. You know how much work he does and when he's relaxed, you're relaxed.

A small whine escapes from his mouth into yours, a sign that says he needs air but doesn't want to pull away, he never wants to pull away, so you do what you always do and pull away first but not too far, Chan doesn't like you being too far away.

The both of you pant, taking small gasps of air that you both can feel blow on your lips as you catch your breath. "D-Do you...Like me...wearing them?" He asks with a small voice between gasps of air. "Do I ever." You replied with the same tone, hands sliding out from under his shirt to behind him, squatting down slightly as you grip his thighs below his ass before picking him up effortlessly, a small protest with a yelp comes from Chan before he settles with his legs around your waist and arms holding a bit tighter around your neck as your hands settle on his ass.

"I might just get you more, Hyung." Chan blushes, hiding his burning face in your neck like he always does when he realizes just how pliant he gets from his dongsaeng, his group member, but most importantly his boyfriend.

You carry him over to the bed, carefully, albeit a little roughly, putting him on the bed. The shirt riding up slightly and Chan goes to fix it before you grab his hands and move to lightly pin them next to his head, eyes once again trailing along his hips, looking at sight of the bands next to his v-line and repeatedly trailing the straps down to his waistband a couple times before bringing your gaze back to his eyes that have started to glaze over with anticipation and excitement.

You lean down, kissing him again before forcing your tongue between his plush red lips, he immediately opens them, and swiping your tongue over his before pulling back, his eyes now glazed with need and desire for more as you smile, one hand untangling from his to bring it up and lift his chin slightly with your pointer finger while your thumb rubs his red, spit covered, plush bottom lip.

"Don't worry, Hyung, I'll treat you with more if you like them so much. At the moment, let your dongsaeng treat you to something else." You smirk when he whines, head softly falling back as his body fully relaxed, his body at your mercy as you lean back down, relinking your hand with his as you kiss him again and your tongue tangles with his and claims it as yours.

Did...Did I just write a suggestive drabble? With a coherent plot? that also kinda turned me on again too? I kinda also want to do scenarios of how reader reacts to the other members but that might be too much for me.

I'm really proud of this. I'm also trying to get into writing for you, the reader, more often cause my character inserts aren't getting much love and I have an experimental theory that Male readers are a more popular read than character inserts. That's my own theory though.

What's a bit funny is that I thought of this while rereading @moonlightndaydreams Skz Family fic 😂 kind of unrelated but it's put me in a sort of mood that has me wanting to finish "More than Group Mates"

I'm sorry my first series ever hasn't been updated much, haven't really been in the mood to write smut or anything at all. I guess if I just type out my thoughts, the actions and scenes and what's happening come to me and my writers block is gone.

Anyway, I hope you like this. I do.

Okay bye. ✌🏼

[katsu28]

I have a request!!! I need more Dani fics and if no one else is asking for them then I will be the one to ask everyone 💕 could you maybe write a Dani fic using the Tulip prompt from the flower list? (I think its cute for him, and! tulip!! for!! dani!!)

tulip for sunshine in human form, coming right up!

tulip: an act of affection so blatant everyone notices, dani rojas x reader, 1.1k

You didn’t often find yourself at Nelson Road. You went to Richmond matches and knew Dani's friends, of course, but for the most part you kept your respective work lives pretty separate. Your relationship wasn’t a secret by any means, but the two of you enjoyed having a rather private life together.

Dani had left for early morning training before you’d even woken up, but when you did you saw that he’d left his phone behind on the kitchen counter. Oddly enough, it was sitting right next to a muffin you recognized as being from your favorite bakery down the road and a note in his looping scrawl saying that he hoped you’d enjoy the pastry.

That was typical Dani, never forgetting to make you feel loved but in doing so forgetting something important to him.

After polishing off the delicious treat, you decided that you were going to return the surprise by bringing his phone down to the training facility. He’d surely be able to survive a day without it, but the muffin had you feeling sentimental.

Now you were here, making your way down the corridor towards the locker room to find Dani.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you’re here!” Keeley’s unmistakable voice rang out from a little ways away and you turned to see her hurrying full speed at you in dangerously high heeled boots, grinning profusely the whole way. For such a small woman, she nearly bowled you over with the force of her hug.

“Hi Keeley!” You chuckled, returning her embrace with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. Out of everyone at Richmond, Keeley was the one you were closest with. Besides Dani, of course.

“Hold on. What are you doing here? Is the world as we know it ending—god, is someone dead?” She gasped, eyes widening.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “That’s rather dramatic, don’t you think? Everything’s fine, Dani just forgot his phone at home.”

“Oh, he is gonna be so excited to see you, babe!” She squealed, giving you another quick squeeze. “Right, well I have a brand meeting to get to, but text me later, yeah? We need to get dinner soon!”

You barely had time to say yes before she was running off. Ever the energizer bunny, Keeley was.

Loud laughter poured out of the locker room at the other end, letting you know the lads were in there even before you rounded the corner.

Jamie was sitting right opposite the open door so he saw you first, winking at you in his usual playful manner before speaking loudly. “Well, well, well—look what the cat dragged in!”

Dani lit up the second he heard your name echo through the rest of the team, abandoning doing up the laces on his boots in favor of beelining straight for you. “Mi amor! What are you doing here?”

“Figured you might need this.” You procured his phone from your bag, holding it up with a small smile at his excitement.

He beamed pure sunshine at you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around in a bone crushing hug. It seemed a little too eager for such a small action, even for Dani, but you were pleasantly surprised. Paired with the content sigh he let out, he’d even garnered the attention of the coaches too.

Nate waved at you on his way out of the office, Beard just nodded, and Roy grunted his greeting, but Ted grinned, looking ecstatic.

“Y/N! To what do we owe this fine pleasure?” He drawled, propping his hands on his hips. He gasped before you could answer. “Wait no, don’t tell me! You won the lottery? You went to see a fortune teller and they told you to come here for some cosmic unknown reason? Oh! You found out your visa was about to expire and came to ask one of us to be in a fake marriage with you so you wouldn’t be sent away?”

“I think that last one’s the plot to The Proposal, actually.” Nate chimed in, looking equal parts amused and concerned.

“Brilliant movie though.” Roy said gruffly, drawing murmurs of approval from the room.

“I came to bring Dani his phone,” You chuckled, finally able to pass off the phone to him now that he’d set you down on your feet.

“Isn’t she the nicest, most perfect girlfriend in the whole world?” Dani exclaimed, squeezing you around the waist again. He was still beaming ear to ear, an infectious sort of excitement that had always been one of things you loved most about him. You took the chance to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“She is quite the catch, Dani.” Ted agreed, smiling good-naturedly.

You ducked your head bashfully, leaning into Dani’s side to hide your warm cheeks. “I should go. Let you boys get back to training.”

“Coach, can I walk her to her car?” Dani asked hopefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Would be a real shame if you didn’t, son. We’ll be on the pitch when you’re all finished up.” He replied. He turned to you right after, giving you a nod. “And you, don’t be a stranger around these parts! It’s nice to see a new face every once in a while.”

After assuring Ted you'd be back sometime soon, Dani threaded his fingers through yours, giving you a grand tour of the facility (and happily introducing you to every person you passed, no less) on your way back out to the car park.

“Thank you for coming!” He was still smiling brightly at you, so big that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You don’t have to thank me all the time, love. It was nothing, I wanted to visit you.” You insisted, sliding a hand around the back of Dani’s neck. You weren’t expecting his expression to fall, and when it did you were quick to cup his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to thank you. I appreciate you coming all the way down here for me, and I want to show it.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way before. It was Dani’s way of saying I love you, even though he said that plenty too. His love language wasn’t limited to just one, you realized too. Any way he could show you how he felt about you, how much he appreciated you, he did.

That was just who Dani Rojas was—happy and sweet and caring and a million other things you had yet to learn about him. You were excited to find out.

You kissed him soft and sweet, threading your fingers through his hair to bring him closer to you still. Thank you. I love you too.

[ccycloneblogging]

Idk way but seeing catnap chasing dogday is quite funny.

But idk way but I can see player/angle. Just standing there like it a normal day like there not even trap in the factory

I had a lot of fun drawing that little chase, but you are also so right.

In fact, that inspired me to actually write some fanfiction! All below the cut, but sadly no drawings to go along with it (for now).

"Angel!!!" It was a screech, mixed with a pitiful whining and another plee for help.

Only to be promptly followed by heavy footsteps and the sound of furious hissing.

Angel gave a heavy sigh, leaning against one of the upright picnic tables as they simply watched the scene before them.

DogDay, a small cartoon dog with sunny orange fur and a personality to match, was bouncing around. Desperately, he was trying to avoid the large purple paws of the feline chasing him down. Every clawless swipe had missed so far, but the cat's aim was getting better.

"Angel, Please!!!"

Angel sighed again, raising a hand to rub their temples. Two hours. Two hours ago, Angel had first found this little pup handing in a rotting cell. Two hours ago, they freed him and returned his legs. Two hours ago, their life was quiet.

They had begrudgingly allowed DogDay to follow them, concerned the pup would be helpless. They were pleasantly surprised to see he could handle himself, but his looney behavior leaved much to be desired. Simple tasks became jokes, stealth was no longer an option, and Angel was almost positive they could hear a faint laugh track playing every so often.

The worst part?

Ever since they freed the dog, CatNap became unpredictable. Ollie had warned them that this monstrous cat would hide in the shadows and hunt them, but this? This wasn't something any of them had expected.

CatNap gave a rather loud hiss, lunging forward with a powerful pounce. The orange pup was helpless, unable to dart to the side this time, and was tackled to the ground.

The two toppled over, again and again as they came to a stop on the hard paved floor of PlayCare. Once more, CatNap returned to a smaller size like DogDay, though he had him pinned to the ground.

DogDay wheezed, trying to force air back into his lungs. It wasn't easy, as CatNap firmly sat on his chest.

"Apologize." CatNap's voice was distorted, thanks to his voice box being broken long ago. His white eyes narrowed, his tail thrashing.

"You took my legs."

"You lost our game. You knew the risks."

"But you chained me to a wall! And left me there!"

"I came back for you." The cat huffed, his purple ears flat against his head. "It kept you safe from the minis. Or so... I thought it would."

"Angel!" The dog whined, tilting his head up to spot the human a few feet away. Without hesitation, he shot them the most pitiful looking puppy eyes he could manage.

Two hours of this.

Angel would have theorized that CatNap was simply territorial, but frankly? They didn't need to guess. Yes, CatNap wanted to serve the Prototype. Yes, horrible things occurred and he made efforts to stop Angel from cutting off the red gas.

But CatNap made no attempt to hurt them.

He watched them running around, only providing small obstacles to stop them - which only encouraged DogDay's wackier side to show more. Angel was convinced that this cat, though loyal to the prototype, had his heart set towards something more.

"You two are acting like children." They frowned. They shouldn't be scolding their enemy - if they could even call CatNap one. "If you two are going to do this, can you at least play a little quieter?"

"I thought he had died!" CatNap hissed. "You stole him from me! I thought -!"

"...What?" This got DogDay's attention as he snapped his head back to look up at the cat. "Angel freed me, and we were chased around by the minis for a bit. They saved me."

"I... I saw the human." CatNap's frown deepened as he flexed his claws. "I needed to see if they harmed you, so I went to your cage. I found minis, eating and bloodied orange fur scattered around the cell. I found your belts, torn and cut. I thought..."

"Oh, Moonbeam..." DogDay's voice softened, reaching over to the cat to gently pull him in for a hug.

Angel rolled their eyes again.

At least Huggy had been simple. Hungry beast, shove off catwalks. Miss Delight? Hungry creature who went insane? Smash into a wall.

But CatNap? He seemed to love only two things. The prototype, and this odd dog. Even the severed legs hadn't been an issue. They were in the next cell over, casually walking around on their own. DogDay hadn't experienced any pain reattaching them. The belt on his waist and some torn fur were the only signs that he had been ripped in half to begin with.

It didn't make sense to the human, and it certainly wasn't adding up how this cat needed comforting from the same one he had torn and held captive - or even why the dog was providing such tender moments so easily.

CatNap looked furious, still trying to stare daggers at the human. Though... It was impossible to take him seriously as DogDay nuzzled into him. Even more so when a soft purr escaped the cat.

Whatever.

So long as the cat wouldn't try to kill them, and Angel could escape this hellhole, they wouldn't ask any further questions. All they really wanted was to go back home and sleep in their own bed, preferably away from any sort of cartoon.

...Though deep down? Angel had a feeling that dream would be impossible now.

[pastrydragon]

What do the rogues smell like? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I know you probably asked this as a joke but I thought deeply about it anyway so here you go!

Riddler:

Lemon and lavender soaps.

Edward's dad was a hoarder and so Edward has a thing about his space being clean.

when he got his first apartment he kept it obsessively clean and as a side effect of this the place always smelled like the lemon and lavender cleaning products he'd scrubbed the place with.

And since this was the first place Edward ever felt safe, he ended up associating those scents with safety.

So all his soap and cleaning products to this day are either lemon or lavender scented, so he inevitably ends up with a near permanent air freshener like scent.

Scarecrow:

Pumpkin pie now but used to smell like chemicals.

Harley got him a basket of pumpkin spice everything as a gift for his birthday one year after he developed a toxin variation that was particularly pungent and he wasn't gonna waste perfectly good hygiene products!

And he has a genuine love for pumpkin taste so he keeps cans of it around to put in his pancakes every morning.

So yeah, The Master Of Halloween smells like thanksgiving.

You can still smell the chemicals if you get close though.

Mad hatter:

“Iris Poudre” by Frederic Malle, he doesn’t care that it’s a women’s perfume, he wants to smell like a sexy flower garden and everyone else can mind their own business.

Under the perfume he smells like whatever tea he drank that day and possibly like whatever sugary treat he baked to go with it.

Unless he's been in his lab all day, then he smells like metals and plastic.

And once in a blue moon when he needs to do some intense testing, cool ranch Doritos.

Except he never brings food down there with him so how....?

Mr. Freeze:

His condition causes him to have a permanent fresh snow smell which he was pleasantly surprised by.

Like the other scientists on this list carries a kind of "laboratory smell" with him.

His suit smells... weird. Like you can smell that a person was there but there's no sweat smell and its honestly a little off-putting. Luckily he cleans it very regularly.

He used to wear “Angel’s share” by Killian because Nora has good taste and wasn’t gonna let her husband smell like detergent and nothing else.

He'll start wearing it again when she wakes up.

Penguin:

“Tobacco Vanille” by Tom Ford mainly. The man wants to ooze class.

He also wears it because he always has a cigar after his lunch and dinner so he needs to wear something he knows won't clash scents with his Arturo's.

And if you're thinking that smell is strong, that's on purpose.

Oswald has a small group of birds in his atrium that he cares for personally out of affection, and because of that if you get right up close to him you’ll smell bird cage. Not great.

He might also smell like seafood after meals but not really in a bad way, more in a "Well fuck, now I'm craving Red Lobster!" way.

TwoFace:

“REPLICA jazz club” Because before he was Twoface he was a snazzy lawyer who wanted to smell like how big band music sounds.

There's also the medicine he puts on his acid burns which smells exactly how you’d expect it to.

The two mixing together isn't unpleasant but it is a bit confusing to get a whiff of if you don't know who it's coming from.

It smells kinda like an expensive hospital room.

He might also smell like Bloody Mary's if he's had a bad day.

Harley:

“Tutti Fruity Candy” by Bath and bodyworks

Unless she’s going to one of Oswald’s fancy parties, Then she wears “Into The Night”…. Also by bath and bodyworks.

She also smells a bit like bubblegum.

She smells like how a slumber party feels I think.

Just smells like fun!

Catwomen:

Has accumulated an impressive collection of expensive perfumes as gifts from various gentleman friends over the years and uses them almost at random so literally no one knows until she shows up.

She also smells a bit like cats.

Poison Ivy:

ROSES

Like a very aggressive rose smell.

Like you aren’t allowed to wear rose scented perfume in Gotham because it makes people try to evacuate the area.

Ivy could smell like any flower she wanted of course.

But who doesn't love roses?

Bane:

Harley strikes again and got him Dr. Squach products because he's Mr. manly man and she thought it was funny.

He shares John's "waste nothing" philosophy and used all of it, then bought more because he liked it.

His favorite scent is alpine sage but he changes it up sometimes.

He also smells like 24 hour fitness, because obviously.

He might also smell like peanut butter protein shakes.

Bookworm:

Musty dusty book smell.

He smells like a socially awkward moth eaten carpet.

He smells like an old arm chair with a cat sitting in it.

He smells like cocoa butter because he is an ashy bitch who needs to be moisturized.

Please buy him some cologne.

Killer Croc:

Waylon's home may be in the sewer but his home also happens to be beachfront property, so he smells like ocean mainly.

With all his free time between heists and such, Waylon often takes on elaborate cooking projects with a focus on BBQ and smoking meat. Which means he smells like a plethora of kitchen spices, smoke and herbs.

Maybe it's the alligator skin, maybe it's the jackets he wears, but he always smells a little like leather.

So the entire effect is "Bar and grill by the ocean with those really nice leather booths"

Please make him into a cologne.

Music Meister:

He avoids scented products to avoid irritating his respiratory system in any way.

So He just smells like a clean human.

Possibly lemon and honey from trying to soothe those vocal cords with weak tea.

Joker:

Is also a basic bath and bodyworks bitch, he wears “Among The Clouds”. 

He does class it to the roof for formal events though and switches to "English Promenade 19" By Krigler.

If you catch him without any scent on he smells slightly acidic and some other rogues would describe him as smelling "sickly". He's not physically sick as his doctors can attest, in fact his chemical bath raised the PH across his body so he can't even get most diseases anymore.

Because of this he can tend to overdue it on the scent to hide the sickly and chemical smells.

Like Jervis, Joker often smells like his baking projects. (Except the project is almost exclusively some sort of pie.)

[romanoffsbish]

A Simple Cat Nap

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

“Hon', if you take any more naps on the couch you're going to mess up your back.”

Natasha's post mission meeting was droning on, Fury's words no longer holding any sense to the redhead. They were instead background noise while her mind ran wild with thoughts of you. It'd been a whole two weeks since she last saw your smiling face, and it was becoming a bit too much for her to bare any longer if she was being honest; retirement was imminent.

The moment Fury shut off the prompter the woman was already to her feet, and that next second she was out the door without so much as a goodbye to the director or team she led. Nothing could keep her from hopping onto her bike and racing off to your cabin in the woods. A cozy little space the two of you purchased earlier in the year after becoming newlyweds.

—————

On her way home she'd stopped to grab a bag of takeout, knowing it is likely you hadn't been eating much without her there to cook for you, and there was no way she was cooking tonight. Not when she plans to hand feed you the greasiest grub as she cuddles you incredibly close to her while you watch the absolute brain rot that is reality TV together.

Natasha’s body buzzes at the prospect of seeing you when the secluded cabin fills her vision, and she is pleasantly surprised to find the place in working order upon entering. The usual mess of yours, made in petty retaliation for your lover’s absence is seemingly nonexistent. She doesn’t wish to dwell on the good news, instead she sets off throughout the space to hopefully find you, settling her belongings aside, along with the bag of food down on the kitchen counter. The redhead downs a glass of water in an attempt to satiate her sudden thirst, and it’s when she places her cup on the counter that she fortunately hears you.

The distinct sound of your soft snores made their way into the kitchen from what Natasha perceives to be the living room; your favorite place to lounge around and consequently to pass out. The Avenger tiptoes into the room, a smile gracing her face at the sheer sight of you. Flat on your back she cringes upon observing the horrible angle at which your neck is bent, along with the way that your arm awkwardly dangles off the couch with a remote in hand. The other arm was draped over your eyes, and your mouth was wide open, drool dried to the corners of your lips, and she wonders who’d been on this last mission, because you were clearly exhausted.

Even in your state you look adorable as can be, and as she approaches she acknowledges the black feline peacefully sleeping on your chest. Liho senses her presence, lifting his head from your chest he softly glares in her direction., “You were mine first.,” she quietly reminds the cat, but not quietly enough because you stir, and before she could try to remedy it your arm slid from your face, and your crusted eyes met with hers as she apologetically stared at you, but to her hearts content you tiredly smiled up at her causing her to mirror the sentiment.

She then watched in amusement when your body stretched out, mirroring that of Liho’s as he’d jumped up onto the back of the couch., "Hon', if you take any more naps on the couch you're going to mess up your back.,” she lovingly voices her concerns upon hearing the way that your body crackles like a bunch of glow sticks being activated at once., “Natty, this couch is the premier destination for a solid nap, you’re just delusional.,” she rolled her eyes at your asinine response, but she let it go for the sake of keeping the peace.

“If you say so detka.,” she extended her hand to you to aide you in sitting up, knowing very well that your body is likely as stiff as a rock, she had learned this the hard way after the one and only time she ever napped on this very couch., “I do say so.,” you said with a pouting face, and Natasha moved quickly to kiss it away which instantly brought a smile to your face, and a warmth bloomed within the both of your chests at that oh so familiar touch., “Welcome home.,” you whispered against her supple lips, and before she could say much of anything Natasha was squealing as your arms suddenly wrapped around her waist, pulling her into your lap, and slamming your lips to hers for a deeper kiss.

Natasha was quick to shift around until she was straddling your lap, her lips never once leaving yours as you partook in a steamy make out session that left the both of you rather breathless by the time you were pulling apart., “I really missed you Natty.,” Natasha gently leaned her forehead to yours, it was a level of intimacy that always brought her deep comfort, and she was desperately feening for some with the conversation she was about to initiate.

“Let’s have a baby.,” she blurted, her heart hammering in her chest when you stiffened., “Honey, we’ve talked about this.,” you went to negate her sentiment, but you stopped when she violently shook her head., “Detka, I’m ready. Fury received an email about an hour ago with my resignation attached, because I can’t keep living a life I’ve clearly outgrown, one that takes me away from you far too often, and holds me back from the future I deserve.”

Your arms wrapped around her waist even tighter as excitement built up within you, and she was squealing once more when you stood up and spun her around., “Natty, you’re being serious?,” she chuckled out a soft yes, and held onto you while you continued to jump about. Hearing her say something as simple as ‘the future I deserve,’ left you feeling hopeful. She’d always struggled with the concept, it took you so many years just to get a date with the woman; to know now that she’s actually come this far makes you feel immense pride.

“Is this a yes?,” she finally seeks clarity so you gently lower her to the ground and cup her cheeks to pull her in for an excited kiss., “Natty, it’s a resounding hell yeah, we could even get started right now if you wanted.,” she chuckled at your enticing innuendo., “Detka, we have all the time in the world so how about you pull up Real Housewives of whatever city, and I’ll go reheat our dinner—sound good?”

Natasha threw the Chinese takeout into the microwave, and while the food was heating up she cracked open a couple beers to celebrate. Returning as quickly as she could she found you waiting on the couch with an abundance of plush blankets surrounding you, and the way you smiled at her let her know that with her sudden retirement she’d be able to have moments like this with you all the time, and all her residual guilt melted away at the thought.

After about three episodes Natasha felt your head drop to her shoulder, and so she laid herself down against your favored couch, and cuddled you close like she’d been craving to do. Then by the time episode four was ending she heard your soft snores, which were followed by a sleeping you thrashing until you were facing your lover with her arms tightly around you. With a defeated sigh Natasha figured out that you’d both be sleeping on the couch tonight., “Oh, the things we do for love.,” she grumbled to the cat who now lay over both of your hips., “A sore back sure is worth it though with a view like this.,” she softly stated while shamelessly ogling your sleeping features, her lips gentle as they lay a sweet kiss to your forehead, then again to your pouting lips.

“Goodnight detka.,” she yawned., “Maybe this time next year we’ll have a mini you to chase.,” she shuffled slightly for comfort., “and rest assured that we’ll definitely have a new couch.”

——————————————————————

1,356 Words

[drachonia]

𝐰 𝐚 𝐫 𝐦 𝐭 𝐡 .

Kinktober 2024 Day 23 Liam Evans x OC Insert

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first fic of the kitty cat! I wasn’t sure how well I’d write him or this prompt, so…sorry if the temp play portion feels rushed. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @candiedcoffeedrops @candied-boys @natimiles 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: wax play, teasing, liam being liam, window/mirror sex implied.

Pink curls splayed slightly on the sheets as Liam fell back on his bed shirtless. Raspberry eyes shimmered in a mix of arousal and anticipation as Alice leaned over him with an adoring gaze. Her lips curved up in a small arc and her lilac eyes scrunched up at the edges with her smile as she dangled a long candle between her fingers.

No one at crown ever asked the blonde how she kept her beloved’s ’fits’ in check, but with the noises that came from Liam’s room on those irregular nights…one could safely assume the remedy.

“Alice, please...I-I promise I’ll behave!” Liam stammered as his partner hummed, teasing him with the drop of melted wax that teetered on the edge of the candle, ready to fall if she moved even a slight bit more.

“Will you?” She let the wax drip once onto his chest to give him a taste and coax him to beg more enthusiastically, the cheshire cursed whimpering and biting his lip as his hips rocked up against hers, “Please…! I just want to be inside you already!” He whined louder, breathing heavily as she tilted her head, platinum blonde hair shifting along with the angle of her chin.

“Then what about this? If you can manage to keep still for this, I’ll give you what you want. Can you do that for me, kitten?” She rested a hand on his cheek, soothingly stroking her thumb over his cheekbone with a tender smile while another drop landed on his chest, making his muscles tense and relax again.

“Y-Yes!” He breathed, eyes focused on her as he tensed himself under her. The expressions Liam exhibited between the periodical dripping of wax and every gentle roll of her hips was nothing short of adorable, the young woman unable to help herself as she leaned down to kiss his lips tenderly, pleasantly surprised that he stayed still under her.

It took a while, but eventually she had covered his chest in a thin layer of wax droplets, from one pectoral muscle to the other and just below his collar. Alice leaned back and admired her work, noting how flushed and unfocused Liam’s rose gaze was as he stayed like that, waiting for her say-so.

Alice smirked a bit to herself, locking eyes with him as she took in a breath and blew out the candle.

Liam all but launched forward, grasping her wrists and hearing the candle fall to the floor with a dull thump as he pulled her to him. A low moan escaped him as he moved his hands to grasp and squeeze both her bare breasts, “Every time I see these, they remind me of roses.” He confessed, delving in and lapping eagerly at her nipple while his lips wound around it.

“Liam..!” She gasped, gently clutching at his curls as he suckled on her breast, gently tugging with his teeth and flicking over with the tip of his tongue when he pulled back.

“Was I a good kitty today?” He purred up at her, eyes slightly darkened in excitement.

“A very good kitty.” She reassured him, gently brushing back his hair in a soothing rhythm while he lifted her hips to align with his.

“Can I be an even better kitty for you?”

“Liam…you know you do so much for me alread—Eep!” She squealed as his hands roughly slammed her down on his lap, squeezing his length inside her as he started to use her hips to bounce her along his cock.

“N-Not enough.” He growled as pushed over her, rocking his hips into Alice with sweet but reckless thrusts, “I need to be better for you!” He moaned, “So then you’ll never think of anything else!” His words were drawn out of him in a seductive tone, almost whining as he drawled them out over her.

“I promise you’re the best I’ll ever have. You really are!” She clung to his bare shoulders, raking them gently down his skin.

“Alice! Scratch me harder!” He begged, eyes still very much unfocused yet adoring and in-control. She complied with him, whimpering beneath his hips as her head tilted back against the foot of the bed.

“Liam please don’t let me fall…” she breathed out, gazing up at the cat as he cradled the back of her neck to lift it slightly, resting her forehead against his, “I won’t. Now come with me.” He breathed, moving his hips faster as she gasped and dug her nails deep into his shoulders just like he’d asked, her orgasm crashing through her along with the harsh warmth Liam left in her.

“Mmn…more..” Liam slurred as he pulled from her only to flip her onto her stomach in front of the open reflective window. Alice took in the sight of herself, flushed and desheveled beneath Liam in the low light, her lilac eyes lidded as he had her face down and ass up for the next round.

“You remember the last time we did this, don’t you?” Liam murmured in her ear as he leaned over her, “I can’t wait to do it again…” he purred, his fingers reaching down to circle her bud as his tip prodded her entrance again.

The thing with taming the curious cat’s fabled fits…sometimes it could take ‘til morning.

[ficbrish]

Part of my Kinktober 2023 one shot collection

"You were my first."

[Ao3] | [Tumblr]

cw: Blood, cptsd, self-hate, alcohol

Tav Vistri, Act I, right after Bite Night

Big moment, that following morning was. Pleasantly enough, none of the others tried to drive a stake through Astarion’s heart upon learning his true nature. Nor did Vistri suddenly change her mind and call for a mob. She even stood up for him. Showed a suspicious amount of understanding.

But that’s how she’d always survived.

A bit of kindness tinged with charm, and lying back, goes a long way.

Astarion seemed the happiest that Vistri had ever seen him. Although, to be fair, they’d journeyed together less than a tenday, and not under the most pleasant circumstances. She’d seen him smile, but not like that. Not like the way he’d been smiling since—

His lips on her neck…

“Augh!” Vistri exclaimed, walking unannounced into Shadowheart’s tent, “I feel like a ripe pile of shit!”

“Were you raised in a barn?!” Shadowheart cried, startled and put out by her new friend’s sudden appearance.

“No, the Underdark—But that’s not important right now,” Vistri answered, too obsessed at the moment to exchange a bit of back and forth, “We don’t have time for an ethics debate.”

“An ethics debate? You just barged into my tent!”

“Because I needed to talk to you!” she explained, as if that answered everything sufficiently.

“I swear, if you hadn’t saved my life…”

“I know, I know! I’m insufferable. Do you have wine?”

“It is just passed sunrise.”

“Yes, and I’m very thirsty.”

Somehow, Shadowheart’s exasperated refusal to indulge her self-destructive habits prompted Vistri to spill everything. How she never felt anything.

How much she felt last night.

“You like the vampire?”

Vistri looked as if Shadow had just spat in her face, and protested, “I do not!”

While she had her crisis at Shadowheart, Astarion was literally skipping through the woods. He couldn’t remember a day where he felt better than he did this morning. With her blood flowing through him, giving back life.

Was this what it felt like to be Vistri? he found himself musing, watching the dapple of shadows dance across his hands as the sunlight trickled through the trees.

Which was a very ironic conclusion for him to draw, considering that she was just now sobbing wildly on Shadowheart’s awkward shoulder.

But Vistri never let him inside her mind despite pushing into his, not after that first initial taste; when they met on the ground in his arms, while his blade pressed into her. Too much was happening then for Astarion to really notice anything, and he only felt a hint of someone else before she instinctually shut her mind off from his. They’d shared a memory, but it was like the directions of a play read aloud, not the feelings of an actor emoted through their eyes.

It piqued his curiosity now that he spent a little time in her company. Had a taste of her.

And like a cat discovering a closed door, he was suddenly possessed by the need to pry it open.

Turns out, things were working out for Astarion better than he could have ever imagined. He could get used to his luck turning around like this. Not only did the rest of his companions accept that he was a vampire without much complaint, Vistri offered to let him feed again.

Before he accepted, it was important for Astarion to make clear that nothing would ever happen again without her say so. He could be better than Cazador ever was—wanted to be better.

“I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together.”

Vistri could feel heat rising in her face. Cheesy little comments of his like that previously grated on her nerves, and now she wanted to giggle.

What the fuck was wrong with her? Did she really want him? Could she really… imagine that as a possibility?

“But until then: No more late-night surprises, you have my word on that,” he promised. Rather sincerely, actually.

It was probably due to some vampiric thrall she must be under, but Vistri decided to trust his words. Every night could be its own test, and a sick part of her hoped he’d break his vow. That he’d prove it was all good to be true; show her who she really was. Prove that neither of them were worth it.

“Thank you,” she said, biting her lip, “And if you don’t mind, I have a vow of my own to exchange.”

“Oh?”

“Pushing into your mind… I wasn’t sure if you were going to kill me, but in finding out, I also… That was for you to save or tell. Not for me to find out. Not like that. I swear I’ll never do it again. Not without asking first.”

Astarion looked a bit devastated; shook it off with a smirk, and then said, “We’re even.”

Vistri was taken aback, “Even?”

“I've only tried to stab you when we first met, and bite you while you’ve slept. A little wriggling around with my mind worm… Well, you’re not better than me after all! In fact, you’re just like me.”

She smiled and looked at her feet, “I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

Even the teasing mention of closeness was too much for Vistri to endure, and she hated him for it.

So of course she didn’t want to appear too eager! She waited a whole other day before proposing another late-night snack. Astarion took it to be a reward for his good behavior; not coming back for seconds before he was asked.

The anticipation ate at them even worse after they agreed it would happen that night, and it itched at them all day. Unfortunately, Astarion was a bit of a stress-eater, and quite literally bit off more than he could chew with a large bear that evening before they met up. Draining it just barely replaced what he'd lost, which left him punch drunk and dizzy from his own bloodlessness. Their fun was put off for another night.

Much to the vexation of both.

He didn’t want to wake her that second time, not because he didn’t want her to be present, but because he was doing his best not to be an inconvenience. Vistri wasn’t offended either; he was so obviously sure he was doing her a favor. Oh, but she wanted to be awake for it! Not asleep, not in trance, but there feeling his—

Shit. Bad thoughts! No, no, no.

It was nothing. He meant nothing. She was nothing but a source of sustenance. Vistri had a purpose, and that was that.

She was food.

But then… So was that bandit earlier. Now he was food. Astarion drunk him dry with little grace. Ripped his screaming throat from out of his neck, and the spray went everywhere! Tonight he would gently creep up to her in the dark, at her behest, and take only a little while trying his best not to cause her to stir. It was quite the contrast.

That bandit was a meal. Vistri was a treat.

Then what was this even all for?

Vistri shooed away her curiosity before it meant she had to answer that question herself.

Waiting impatiently in her bedroll, eyes shut tight, Vistri could feel her heart pounding as if it was berating her for their present circumstances.

Oh, hush! she thought, arguing back.

This wasn’t her best performance, pretending to be in the midst of trance as she was. Her focus was elsewhere, searching for his presence through her pores. Her mind froze when Astarion finally began to approach. Even without seeing, she knew he was there; could feel his proximity before he touched her. The very air changed around him, like a storm cloud. Her senses filled with something herbal and sweet, then brandy and heat as his chest crept over hers.

She held her breath, even though deep breathing was the telltale sign of trance. Vistri thought he caught her, sensing him pause for a moment. Then she reasoned she was probably making that up.

But she didn’t. He did pause. Not because he noticed she wasn’t breathing, but because he still wasn’t quite sure this was all really happening. Not just some mad trick of the tadpole.

He swallowed and let himself lean carefully down, until his body pressed into hers. He could feel her heart beating frantically, but in his distraction, it didn’t give her away. Astarion just took it as a sign she was alive. That this really was all real.

His lips met her neck before his fangs. Vistri held back a shiver, taking a deep breath against it. She stifled a moan as one hummed quietly in Astarion’s throat. She could feel it vibrate on hers, neck to neck. Feel her life and power flow into him and through him. Power. Pleasure.

It was palpable.

Astarion’s tongue moved against her skin, swallowing her.

She even lost herself for a moment. As her mind flew blissfully away, her fingers, those sluts, found their way up into his curls.

Her hands grasped the sides of his head. Vistri wasn’t trying to push him away, she just needed to brace herself against the loss of gravity. Astarion didn’t even notice at first. It just felt like part of the whole thing. It was her sudden movement as she jerked them back that brought his attention to her wakefulness.

“Are you not in your trance?” he asked in the crook of her neck.

“No,” she answered with her eyes still closed, “Do you want me to be?”

She was truly the most curious thing to him. Was she pretending to be in a trance to please him? While allowing him to drink from her? Who does that? Astarion smirked, shaking his head, “I thought you’d prefer…”

Vistri opened her eyes and looked into his. She’d been warned her whole life about elves with red eyes.

“No, I—” she blushed, “I mean, it’s quite fun. Is it not?”

“It is?”

Curiouser and curiouser.

She nodded.

“Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“Do you want to-?” Vistri gestured to her neck.

“Right, yes,” Astarion said, clearing his throat. Regaining his cool, he slyly suggested, “Why don’t you crawl into my lap?”

Vistri couldn’t breathe.

Her non-answer was a glorious victory. Astarion could tell he had an effect, a sway over her somehow. He tilted his head back, smiling with confidence, “You do want it, don’t you?”

Lightheaded, Vistri gave in and sat across his knees. Grinning, Astarion grabbed her up into his arms and dipped her dramatically with a slight growl. Vistri giggled, too loudly, and he cupped a hand over her mouth.

He shushed her, “Be still now.”

First, he brought his lips back to her throat. Then his tongue. Then his fangs.

A moan escaped Vistri this time. One, warm hand cradled the back of her neck as he drank from the front of it.

He promised it would be just a taste, and it was just a taste. She didn’t even have to hold him back this time. Astarion stopped on his own accord, before she was ever in any real danger.

When she opened her eyes, Astarion had stars in his. Just a little bit of her, and he was an entirely new person.

Self-satisfied, Vistri grinned, “You’re welcome.”

Sitting up, her head swayed forward like a drunkard and almost smashed into his skull.

“Oh, there you go,” he muttered, steadying her.

Vistri looked up at him, her face so close to his. “I’m okay,” she answered before he could ask.

“Don’t try to get up just yet. You’ll take another tumble, and who knows if I’m feeling generous enough to catch you again.”

“Bastard,” she laughed weakly.

Vistri could smell her blood on his breath. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes so the only thing in existence was the scent lingering between them. She couldn’t imagine liking this so much with anyone el—She shot up so fast, suddenly standing to escape those thoughts.

“Careful!”

Astarion must have been feeling generous because he caught her a second time.

“Oops,” she said, embarrassed.

“You ought to take better care of yourself, darling. I’m invested now.” Funny thing, that wasn't even a lie. He'd never met someone like her before.

Vistri met his grin with performative suspicion, “How heartening.”

Astarion's eyes followed the words as they bounced off her lips. He smiled realizing they were perfectly painted instead of washed clean.

She either swayed or leaned closer. Even Vistri couldn't tell if it was blood loss or an intentional inching of her feet.

“You look a bit peaked,” Astarion said nervously.

“Yes,” Vistri sighed, standing so near, “Off to bed I go.”

Even the air between them pounded. They stayed very still. His breath turned into her breath.

Then Astarion broke the spell, stepping back with narrowed eyes, “Sweet dreams, then.”

“Sweet dreams.”

But there were no dreams.

Just forbidden thoughts that ran endlessly through their minds, until even their muscles ached.

[undiscovered-horizon]

I finished reading the last chapter for Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus, and it was good. Though I wouldn't be opposed to seeing an alternate ending where the Reader lives with Morpheus in the Dreaming and they get their happy ending.

Imagine being the one who releases Morpheus - ALTERNATIVE ENDING

[Check out the full series] | Sandman-inspired playlist | 🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

[...]

"Hugo!" you exclaimed. Unable to stop yourself from reaching for the missed pet, you crouched the moment you saw his red fur. "I never thought I'd see you again, you little fiery menace! I was barely six when we bid our farewells."

The feline only meowed again and bumped its small head against your leg. Curiously, he didn't leave paw prints on the white, cold sand. Too busy at the exciting reunion, you never noticed Death's slightly furrowed eyebrows as she stared at the cat. What was it doing there?

Scratching Hugo's chin and head, you noticed something strange about his pendant: it didn't read 'Hugo' anymore, although you knew it did the day he passed away. Instead of his name gracing the small metal plate, there were tally marks - seven, to be exact. You could only wonder what kind of trouble that fearless, silly friend had gotten into since the last time you saw him.

"Seven already?" you asked the pet despite not expecting him to answer. "You have two more left, my friend. Use them wisely."

But Hugo only stared at you with his big, yellowish-green eyes. He sat on the pavement on the boulevard and meowed loudly but not at you:

"You can't keep doing this, Hugo," Death warned the cat as if the deafening meow could actually mean something else than a cry for attention. He only whined again, the tip of his tail moved slightly as though it was a snake ready to pounce. "Alright, one last time."

The orange tabby got up from the cold pavement and trotted towards Morpheus who was still sitting on the white sand with your corpse leaning against him. Perhaps, when his grief subdues he'd realize the awful macabre of that moment but for now, he was drawing out the sensation of something he will never feel again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Morpheus noticed an orange, furry cat. There was a certain excitement or curiosity to its trot. It stopped by your leg, or rather your body's leg, and nuzzled against it, purring ever so loudly. At first, he wanted to chase it away, to stop some flea-bitten stray from touching you but he found himself unable to do anything. Each of his limbs was so weighty, he couldn't move even if he had wanted to. Perhaps his heart was too heavy now for Morpheus to ever leave his spot on the white, cold sand by the murky seawater. In some way, he didn't even want to move: there was no place he could go where this hole inside him would become full again.

You watched the scene from afar until a strange feeling took over your form. Ghosts aren't supposed to experience bodily sensations, are they? Suddenly, a freezing coldness embraced you. A tingling ran through your fingertips but you couldn't move them anymore.

"What's happening?" you asked nervously as you stared at your disappearing hands. Is this what death truly is? A human-shaped mist that dissolves into oblivion?

"Hugo and his charity," Death answered in a tone both fascinated and tired.

It took merely a blink of an eye for you to find yourself back on the white sand and not standing on the concrete boulevard. A hungered, desperate gasp ripped out of your chest, clearly startling Morpheus, who hadn't moved even by an inch.

For a moment, the two of you were looking at each other as if you were seeing your faces for the very first time, surprised at the unforeseen meeting. "How is this possible?" Dream asked in a wavering voice. His eyes were still red but he was no longer crying. Perhaps, he already couldn't.

Hugo forced his pleasantly fluffy head underneath your palm. You looked towards him only to notice something fascinating yet odd: instead of seven tally marks on his pendant, there were eight - he only had one more life left. But by looking at Hugo, you also saw your own hand that he so frantically brushed against. There were no marks on your skin, no sign of a terrifying curse counting your days short.

"The thing about kindness, my lovely Morpheus," you spoke as you turned to look at him again but not in surprise this time; your gaze remained ever so kind and loving, just the way he deserved, "is that it always comes back."

Barely finishing your sentence, you felt his lips touch yours. His skin felt strangely cold but in an unpleasant way. To think you would have left without ever feeling it! Morpheus's kiss was the loudest confession he could have given you, filled with passion and desperation you had never felt before. In that impulsive moment of intimacy, he ripped himself open for you to see.

Cold winter wind brushed against your lips when he pulled away. His face, however, remained at a flustering close distance. "Then let me return yours," he whispered.

Dream's hand firmly grabbed yours. Once again, a tornado of sand circled the two of you. What was once a small town of Southend-on-sea, became a gigantic palace, a true castle, of marble halls and crystal ceilings. It looked nostalgic in its unbearable emptiness as if it had been forgotten by its rightful master, forever haunted by dreams of tomorrows that never came.

To your collective surprise, a quiet meow echoed through the spacious palace. Sure enough, an orange hitchhiker revealed himself. "I did not invite you," Morpheus spoke in a stern voice.

But Hugo paid no attention to the Lord of Dreaming. With his tail standing up straight, he wandered off.

Watching the fiery cat disappear around the corner, undoubtedly on his way to wreak havoc in Dream's kingdom, you recalled the strange moment that preceded your miraculous resurrection. "There's one thing about Hugo I can't quite understand. He brushed against my legs but he is alive and I was a ghost. It makes me think about all the occasions when he meowed or stared at empty corners in my father's mansion. I wonder what he saw there - who he saw there."

As if hearing his own name being mentioned, the cat made its existence known: Jessamy shrieked loudly in the distance.

"Speaking of wonders," Morpheus began as he meaningfully extended his elbow towards you. Without hesitation, you grabbed it. "You should see your new home."

He led you through the palace halls of light and pastel colours. The high ceilings made you think of a cathedral but Morpheus never once appeared to you as a creature that demanded worship. The grandiosity of his home was undoubtedly regal, even emanated appropriate coldness. The spaciousness created a sharp-sounding, loud echo that made you constantly feel like you should look over your shoulder to check for an unwanted follower. In some strange way, you suspected the interior of his palace was a genuine representation of Dream's heart: pearly and crystal, waiting to be inhabited but turning unwelcoming in its involuntary emptiness.

After a long while of walking in silence, you decided to speak up about something that's been bothering you throughout the entire chateau. "Can I share a reflection about the decor?"

Morpheus turned his face to you. "Do you not like it?" he asked with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"It's quite bleak if I may say so." Maybe he was the lord of this place but if you were to take him up on his offer of Dreaming being your new home, you had to be honest with him. And, just maybe, he could do with a little change too. "The hall could use some bold colours... Poinsettias, perhaps? Yes, they'd look lovely in here."

And suddenly, his every thought was sprouting poinsettias.

And here's the happy ending!

Tagging people who were interested in a follow-up: @rosaren2498 @jessiboobdbdb @chantzmar @lexi-anastasia @bisexualunicronrunningloose @farintonorth @oo0lady-mad0oo@all-bi-myselfs-blog @piperstofu101 @magic-magnoliaa @kotonei-molyneux @wheresmyboo @supermegapauselouca @sloanexx @rockergirl57 @aizawa-emma @ruyi-years @commanderfreethatdust @sapphireonline @izzicle@mxxny-lupin @shadowluna25 @aralezinspace

[burningthetree]

for the writing ask!

politely requesting numbers: 2, 4, 13, 21, 30, 31, 45, (i'm always looking for stuff to read) 66

i know this is so many lol i'd love to hear them all btu pick and choose ones you'd like to answer!

love you 4ever <3

Hi love! Ask and ye shall receive <3 under the cut because I ramble, I love you <3

2. A notable time a narrative / character has looked me dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing”

Either one of my long fics to be honest. When I started writing fmn, it was supposed to be a 10k one-shot and turned into a 150k monster. When I started writing s&w, it was supposed to be 50k, and we’re at 124k and I’m halfway through now. In fmn, I blame Bokuto. In s&w, I blame Kuroo and Iwaoi, because they introduced these ridiculous side-plots that were never meant to be there. And in s&w, I also blame Atsumu, because turns out that he’s more fun to write than I originally thought. They all raised their middle fingers at me and are so mean actually

4. the plot bunny I’ve been carrying for the longest? Bonus: Do you ever wonder why you haven’t written it yet and experience deep existential regret?

Mmm I think that would be my high fantasy idea? I’ve had it since I was 13-ish but I don’t think I’ll ever end up writing it. I do think about why I keep ignoring it, but I think it’s just because it’s an intimidating genre, though it makes me sad that this holds me back from trying. (I did start drafting a fictional language and its grammar, but got stuck while working on my thesis.) The deep existential regret is there for sure :)

13. A writing experience that has pleasantly surprised me

I’ve been doing some original writing lately, and I have a submission for a student magazine that got accepted. I had to work together with an editor and send my draft back and forth to work on it and I was dreading it—it’s so jarring to send your writing to someone and them editing it. But it was the loveliest experience I could have ever asked for, and I am so glad I was brave and send in an idea that they ended up accepting. That being said, I also have my most recent writing experience where I’m actually working towards a deadline to have it published (and available for judgement from a jury and also available for purchase?). It’s been really scary IMO but, after writing my first three chapters, my best friend read them and gave me feedback, while my other friends encouraged me to do it. And it’s just so lovely to finally manage to be open about me being passionate about writing and having my friends be so lovely and supportive :)

21. A writer to co-write a book with and what we’d write about

Honestly my favourite author is R.F.Kuang and in my dreams, we are working on a novel together. I don’t know what we’d write about, but I think we would have a similar passion across genres as well as an affinity for linguistics, and I think we’d make a neat team. I’d also learn so much from here so that would be pretty cool overall. In terms of fanfiction writers, I’d write something with you Cat :) it’d be a Romeo and Juliet x Haikyuu crossover

30. Most inspirational quote I’ve ever read / heard that is still important to me

From R. F. Kuang’s Babel: “That’s just what translation is, I think. That’s all speaking is. Listening to the other and trying to see past your own biases to glimpse what they’re trying to say. Showing yourself to the world, and hoping someone else understands.” It’s just. Yummy.

As a teenager, this one meant a lot to me, and it still comes to mind for each time someone asks me for a quote: “Broken is not the same as unfixable.” From Marissa Meyer’s Lunar Chronicles.

45. Name of three of my favourite fanfic writers

Since you’re asking for writing recommendations, I guess I won’t name you -_- in Haikyuu, it’s CheCheCheer, daydreamer1227, eldureira. THIS IS DIFFICULT. I’m trying not to name the ones that show up in like every rec list lol

66. When I have felt the most confident in my writing

I think that is each time my friends read something I write and then they tell me their honest opinion, which is usually positive. And like, I trust my friends to be completely honest with me and tell me if something is garbage. So that is always a big confidence boost. Also, a long, long time ago when I was 10 years old, we had creative writing workshops in school, and my teacher complimented my writing and told me that I was good at it. Getting approval from him and a couple of other teachers as well as encouragement really meant a lot, and I don’t think I would have continued writing as much if I didn’t have this memory to fall back on :)