#i know i could kill him and yet i keep him alive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

letupabit · 1 day ago

Text

I know you'll talk

A/N: Based off of requests from @estelle-skully and @ryoko-loves-roses , I hope you guys enjoy! I had such a lot of fun writing this, thank you for your asks!

Summary: Gi-hun gets a call from his 'new friends' claiming they finally managed to catch the man they've been after for years- The one and only Recruiter. Interrogation is the logical way forward, and Gi-hun discovers the perfect method to get all the answers he needs.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------\

Gi-hun was abruptly awoken by the dull buzz of his phone. He forced his eyes open from yet another near-sleepless night of being hunched over a map of his city, trying to retrace his steps and fill gaps in his search for the very same gentleman who had recruited him into the games three years ago. He had since befriended the loan sharks who drove him to the games in the first place, paying off his debt and promising them great wealth if they could track The Recruiter down. He gave strict instructions for them to keep him alive- Gi-hun needed answers, and The Recruiter would be no use to him dead.

‘Hello?’ He sluggishly brought his phone to his ear, barely having the strength to sit upright in his chair. His throat was so dry, his voice sounding cracked and hoarse.

‘Mr Seong! Hello!’ Gi-hun flinched at the overly perky tone coming from the other end, not expecting such a loud noise first thing in the morning. He moved the phone away from his ear as he straightened up with a groan, his entire body aching. He made a mental note to stop letting himself pass out from exhaustion at the uncomfortable wooden table.

‘We found him’

Gi-hun forgot about his body pain, his vision still blurry from sleep as he shot up onto his feet, the chair behind him falling to the floor in his haste. Immediately his skin prickled and he felt a sharp metallic taste in his mouth.

‘…you found him…really? You’ve really found him?’

‘That’s right, Mr Seong! In fact, he’s right here’ Mr Kim chuckled, and added sarcastically, ‘Would you like to speak to him?’ Gi-hun then heard what must’ve been The Salesman furiously shouting through some kind of gag. ‘Ah, too bad. He’s not feeling very chatty right now’

Gi-hun wasn’t in the mood for such joviality.

‘If this is a joke, I’ll kill you’ He spoke slowly and quietly, as if he were scared that he was dreaming and any sudden movement would shatter the illusion. He stared straight ahead, unblinking and stony-faced.

‘Not a joke, Mr Seong. I’ll send you our location and you can come decide what you wanna do with him. See you later’ The last thing Gi-hun heard before the line went dead was something that sounded strangely akin to muffled laughter. He felt a flash of anger at the thought of The Salesman feeling relaxed enough in such a situation that he could be laughing. This anger turned to hatred as he was reminded of The Salesman’s smug face, escaping on the train years ago. Arrogant prick…

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

The location of which he’d been sent was nothing short of a shithole. It was a small apartment on the edge of the city, in what looked like a rather unsavoury neighbourhood. The jagged bricks of the foundation seemed as though they could crumble under the weight of themselves at any moment. Gi-hun hesitated slightly before pushing open the cracked wooden door, adrenaline flowing from the thought of finally coming face to face with the man he’d practically revolved the past three years of his life around. Was this really happening?

The first thing Gi-hun noticed was the undeniably worn interior of this mystery apartment. It looked as if it hadn’t had any TLC in years. This strangely gave him some peace of mind- at least if it had been abandoned, there wouldn’t be any unwelcome intrusions.

The second thing he noticed, however, was a lot more…intriguing. The sound of laughter. Muffled laughter at that.

‘I can’t believe that cocky bastard’ Muttered Gi-hun under his breath as he walked through the peeling hallway. He followed the sound of the laughter, which he noticed was weirdly too happy, too…carefree. The same type of laughter you’d expect after hearing a good joke- not held hostage by strangers.

Then again, The Salesman struck him as someone very obviously deeply disturbed, even if it did seem bizarre given the environment.

He pushed these thoughts out of his mind, coming to a stop at the fringe of what he imagined was once the living room of this neglected place. The laughter had stopped, which only spurred him on. Maybe The Salesman had finally realised the weight of the situation?

Entering the room, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and feeling lightheaded, Gi-hun was met with the sight of his two ex-debt hunters. Mr Kim and Woo-Seok were standing with their arms crossed and their back to him. At the sound of the creaking door, they turned around.

‘Ah, Mr Seong! So glad you’re finally here’ Remarked Mr Kim, clasping his hands together. Gi-hun couldn’t see past the two men, who were standing side by side. Neither seemed particularly irritated or stand-offish, despite allegedly catching the man who up until now was impossible to catch. Woo-Seok turned to meet Gi-hun’s eye, looking very pleased with himself.

‘Where is he?’ Immediately the previous winner was on even more of an edge. He didn’t have time for formalities or friendly conversation. At the back of his mind he couldn’t shake the thought that this was a trap; but what else could they want? He paid back his debts and they were now in an alliance-

‘Ah, don’t look so worried, Mr Seong’ and with that, Mr Kim stepped to the side, and there he was.

The Salesman.

The man who, as far as Gi-hun was concerned, was just as guilty for the deaths of hundreds of people. Perhaps even moreso. The scumbag who preyed on people at their rock bottom, who took advantage and manipulated and sweet-talked his way into the heads of the vulnerable.

He glowered at the bound man, tied to a chair and gagged with some unidentifiable fabric. Finally. The bastard was out of commission, out of options, out of luck. At last.

The two loan sharks parted to allow Gi-hun to step forwards towards his enemy, anticipation thick in the air as he strode purposefully towards him. Once he’d gotten closer, he couldn’t help but notice that The Salesman looked…worse for wear, to be polite.

He had visible tear stains streaked down his cheeks, his eyes watery. He was breathing heavily through his nose as though he’d ran a marathon, which seemed odd to Gi-hun as he was sure The Salesman had been immobilised since the phone call from Mr Kim. The abandoned apartment took him at least forty minutes to drive to, so why was the younger man so out of breath?

He stood a few paces away from The Recruiter, staring down at him with an unreadable expression. Not even he knew what he was feeling in this moment- anger? Hatred? Fear? Pity, maybe?

No. None of those. He felt a way he’d never felt before. All those sleepless nights, all those ‘what if’s?’, all those hours wasted in his own head with the never-ending back and forth of what he could’ve done differently. All these things leading up to this one moment.

The Salesman stared back up at him, still taking staggered breaths as best he could through the gag. Gi-hun felt satisfaction in the fact that he could see obvious panic in the younger man’s eyes, blinking away tears as he tried to focus.

Before he could say anything, Mr Kim chimed in.

‘We kept him alive, as you can see- unharmed, too. We thought maybe you’d prefer to do that bit, heh’ He laughed dryly, cocking his head to the side as The Salesman shifted his narrowed eyes to his. However, Gi-hun was confused at this statement.

‘If he’s unharmed, why has he been crying?’ Earning another chuckle from Mr Kim, this time one of true amusement.

‘Well, we discovered something rather…out of character, as we were securing him in that chair there. We got bored waiting for you so had some, uh, harmless fun’

At Gi-hun’s confused expression, Woo-Seok approached The Salesman. Immediately his victim started shaking his head and shouting through his gag, indecipherable profanities filling the room. That didn’t stop him, obviously, as Woo-Seok’s hands clasped onto his sides, and Gi-hun expected anything other than what was coming next-

The Salesman doubled over in his chair, laughing hysterically, desperately trying to gasp in breaths through his gag. He twisted side to side as best as he could, doing all he could to escape the tormenting hands.

‘It leaves no marks and no long-term effects, so we figured you wouldn’t mind’ Said Woo-Seok, continuing to tickle The Recruiter to further tears. ‘Besides, this numbskull is so ticklish he’s practically asking for it’.

Gi-hun noticed that at that remark, the trapped man’s laughter became angrier sounding, and he could tell he was enraged at the fact that he couldn’t verbally defend himself. Usually he was so full of wise-cracks and wit, but was now reduced to nothing but frantic giggles.

The previous winner couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was both confusing yet endearing, strange yet satisfying to see this usually so put-together man fall apart at something as childish as tickling. This man who haunted not only his waking hours, but on the rare occurrence he got enough sleep, his dreams, being brought to tears from ticklish laughter… well, it was surreal.

‘Okay, okay, let the man through. I’m sure he has something more effective up his sleeve’ Said Mr Kim, watching as his colleague rolled his eyes and walked away from the still-giggling Recruiter.

‘Yeah, yeah. You can’t deny it’s a lot of fun though’ Retorted Woo-Seok, letting up on his ticklish assault and stepping back. ‘Go on then, Gi-hun. Make him talk’.

Truthfully, it had all happened so fast that Gi-hun hadn’t actually formed any kind of plan. The entire drive over he’d been in such a state of shock that he couldn’t think straight, and so he didn’t actually know what to do. All he did know is that he needed answers, and he needed them today.

Without a word, he walked over to The Salesman until he was as close as Woo-Seok had just been. He bent down until he was at the teary man’s level, not breaking eye contact. He grabbed the gag and pulled it down roughly, allowing him to speak. Immediately a string of frantic babbling tumbled out The Recruiter’s mouth.

‘You’re all crazy! The fact you think you’re going to get away with this is laughable. Don’t you know who I have connections with?’ He was so desperate to find a way out. Gi-hun scoffed at this, knowing he finally had the upper hand.

‘I don’t think you’re in any position to discuss what’s laughable. And as for who you have connections with- that’s exactly what I’m here to find out’ he revelled in the anxious look the recruiter gave him, knowing this feeling was completely foreign to him. When was the last time he had to bargain his way out of something? When was the last time he was on the opposite end of power?

‘Now, you’re going to tell me exactly what you know about the games. Let’s start with an easy one- Who’s in charge?’

The Salesman barked out a nasty laugh, spite filling his voice.

‘Why would I share anything with trash like you?’ Behind them, Mr Kim and Woo-Seok exchanged excited glances. They didn’t want to interfere with the man who was paying them such an insane amount of won, but hell…this was intense.

‘Hah, you’re kidding, right? You surely can’t have forgotten you’re weak to something as stupid as this’ and with that, Gi-hun grabbed the recruiter’s sides and squeezed up and down rapidly. Both the loan sharks were shocked to witness this, expecting their ex-victim to use violence and harm to extract the answers he’d been so desperate for.

But truly, inflicting pain wasn’t in Gi-hun’s nature. In fact, he was actually somewhat relieved to have had this silly weakness revealed to him; yes, The Salesman was a hardened, cocky man who deserved far worse, but his hysterical laughter told Gi-hun that this was possibly even worse for him than pain. The humiliation of it alone was killing him, and Gi-hun could tell.

‘FUCK! AHAHAHAHAHAahahaHAHAHA! GEHEHEHET YO-AHAAHAHAHA! GEHEHEHE-AHAHAHA!’

Gi-hun couldn’t help but smirk at how effective this method was. The fact that this man was literally crying from this? From tickling? Oh, it was too good. He withdrew his hands, watching with great interest as The Recruiter gasped for breath, residual giggles escaping him to his chagrin. As much as he tried, the smile on his face was stuck there, fuelling his utter frustration.

‘Were you trying to say something? Speak up, we’re all listening’ Remarked Gi-hun, not even trying to hide his excitement.

‘…Get off me, I said. Which you clearly have done. So I gue-EHAHAHAHAHA!’ The bound man couldn’t even finish his sentence before Gi-hun went for round two, forming his hands into fists and knuckling The Recruiter’s ribs. He kicked his legs as best he could, laughter going up an octave.

‘Actually, I’m only interested in what you say if it’s answering my question’ Just as quick as the tickling started, it stopped. ‘I’ll ask again- Who’s in charge?’

The Salesman was furious, the very notion of him being subdued by tickling of all things absolutely infuriated him.

‘I would rather die than give you anyth-IHIHIHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAAHAHAahahaha-AHAHAHAHAHA!’ Again, his sentence was cut off by Gi-hun’s skilful fingers digging into his ribs. The act of not being able to use his usual witty remarks made him furious, the realisation of his helplessness further exacerbated when his assaulter hit a particularly bad spot, just below his armpits. It tickled like hell, and he couldn’t do anything but laugh.

‘Can you not understand simple instructions? Am I just speaking to myself here?’ Gi-hun focused on this specifically sensitive spot, relishing in the even higher pitched laughter it elicited. Despite how much of a sociopath he was, The Recruiter’s laughter was so endearing. Hearing him laugh so openly was almost…cute. Gi-hun ceased his attack, wanting to give his victim a chance to ‘redeem’ himself.

The Recruiter took in shaky gasps of air, blinking tears out his eyes.

‘I-I…I’m not telling you anything. Why would I share-eahaaAHAHAAHAAAHAHA-!‘ He threw his head back and laughed freely, Woo-Seok and his boss staring in disbelief. They both exchanged glances toward each other at the sight of the man they’d been tracking non-stop for years laughing his head off like a little child.

‘STAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAH! FUHUHUHUHUHUCK!’ The Saleman’s laughter was intense, already weakened from the tickling he’d experienced from the two ex-loansharks before Gi-hun had arrived. Anything further was just salt on the wound. He had expected to get himself back together in time for when the previous winner had joined the scene and administered some kind of painful interrogation technique upon him- he hadn’t expected Gi-hun to contribute to the tickling.

Gi-hun stilled his fingers to give the wheezing man a chance to talk. In a way, he hoped that he wouldn’t give any information- this was the most fun he’d had in a while.

‘I’m not…telling the likes of you…anything…’ The Salesman gasped inbetween words- wow, this guy really didn’t admit defeat, huh?

That didn’t matter to Gi-hun. He had all the time in the world, now that he knew he had The Recruiter under his thumb, knowing he couldn’t be out there manipulating more people- he had no reason to rush.

‘Whatever you say. I have all day’ and then, in a sarcastic tone, ‘maybe you should call in sick? Seeing as you won’t make today’s quota’ He chuckled at his own joke, however The Recruiter didn’t find anything about it funny at all. He felt such humiliation at the fact this one lowly, gambling-addicted man could collapse him like this. In fact, he started to wish he’d never recruited this man in the first place. If only he’d just skipped him altogether in that damned subway. He wouldn’t be here right now.

The Salesman looked beyond Gi-hun, at the two other businessmen, with an almost pleading look in his eyes. It was almost as if he were begging them to intervene, or speak up, anything to stop this unusual torture.

‘Don’t look at us. You got yourself into this mess’ Said Woo-Seok with an amused smile. Mr Kim stayed quiet, observing the scene in front of him.

‘If you think this is going to get me to talk, youUHUHAAHAHAHA-STAHAHAHAHAP-‘ The Salesman was once again interrupted by his own laughter. He tried everything to get the horrid sensation to stop- he twisted and turned, attempted to kick out, even tried to nudge Gi-hun’s hands away with his head as he doubled over, although this was obviously an attempt out of pure desperation and not anything that would realistically work.

‘Awhh, so pathetic. You’re just such a ticklish thing, huh? You know how to make this stop, so just tell me what I wanna know, yeah?’.

The Recruiter felt his stomach ache with laughing so much, his chest burning. He couldn’t even form proper thoughts at this point, his entire being willing the sensation to stop- but he was as loyal as a dog, and would NOT let himself betray his employer.

This moral was shattered as Mr Kim suggested, ‘Hey, why not try his knees? That really got him when we tried it out’.

And without a word, Gi-hun moved his hands away from The Recruiter’s upper-body and placed his hands on his knees. So far his ex-loan sharks had been right about everything else, and were clearly enjoying watching the hysterical man laugh until he cried- why should they give him false advice?

And false advice it wasn’t, when The Recruiter quite literally squealed and immediately dissolved into loud, flustered laughter, rocking so hard in his bonds that the chair he had been tied to almost fell over.

Gi-hun used one hand to keep the chair steady, keeping The Salesman upright, as his right hand squeezed at the sweet spot just above his knee. He was truly amused at the reaction his victim had at a simple squeeze and he wasn’t about to stop.

‘FUHUHUHUHCK! OKAHAAHHAHAY! OKAhahaha-AHAHAH-OKAHAHAHY!!’

‘You really hate this spot, huh? How about I stay right here? Or maybe, once you tell me what I need to know, I’ll just keep going?’

‘I’HLHLHL TAHAHAHALK!’ Came the reply, and Gi-hun knew he was serious. It was obvious the frantic man was at his limit.

‘I have to be sure you will. Also, you owe me this through all the trouble you’ve caused me’ Gi-hun retorted, the hand holding The Recruiter’s chair moving to squeeze at his other knee. He couldn’t say he had much sympathy for The Salesman if he were to topple over. If anything, it would just make it easier for him to tickle him to pieces.

Luckily for The Recruiter, he managed to keep himself upright, although resisting the urge to throw his body weight about through the intolerable sensation was near impossible.

‘I- I SAIAIAID- AAHAHHAHAHAahahahAHAHAH! I SAHAHAHAHID I’LL TAHAHAHALK!’

But Gi-hun hadn’t had anywhere near enough of exploiting this weakness.

The Recruiter tried his best to wriggle himself out of Gi-hun’s ticklish grasp, but of course this was impossible. He felt hot tears renew themselves down his cheeks, the ticklish feeling having overwhelmed him long ago. He couldn’t even hope to think about anything else.

‘PLEAHAHAHAahhahaAHAHSE! PLEASE! PLEAHAHAHSE!’ His begging was squeaky and high-pitched, his toes curling from the unbearable feeling. He’d already said he would talk- what else could this sadist want?

‘Beg all you want’ Chuckled Gi-hun. ‘I don’t think I’m done with you just yet’

All The Recruiter could do was laugh and attempt to beg, hoping the very man he’d screwed over would show some mercy. Yet, little did he know that the mercy he craved was not to come.

‘I know you’ll talk’ muttered Gi-hun, with a vengeful smile. ‘But I think you can talk so much more…’

#squid game #tickling #squid game tickle #squid game tickles #Gi-hun #seong gi hun #the recruiter #the salesman #ticklefic #interrogation #SFW tickles

31 notes · View notes

rangerelizabeth · 8 hours ago

Note

🆓: ... Free space - add your own what if...? scenario about episode 3

What if Gale made it to Algeria but wounded?

I got inspired to write a little drabble for this one! This is the first thing I've written in months (is my writer's block finally over?🤞) so I hope you enjoy it! Kind of an abrupt ending, but I promised myself I'd keep it relatively short lol. Drabble under the cut!

Word count: 1153

When the wheels of his fort touch down on Algerian soil, the first thing Gale feels is a flood of relief, despite being several yards from the runway, in a beat up fort made of what seems like more bullet holes than metal, all engines feathered, one of his crew killed, and far too many others lost on the way. At the very least, they made it.

The second thing he registers is the dull ache in his right side, just below his ribcage. He’d felt the initial impact, certain and painful, when they were flying through heavy enemy fire some hours ago.

Yet in the chaos of the moment, it seemed his copilot hadn’t noticed his wince of pain accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. So, he’d elected to keep it that way, allowing the initial excruciating pain to fade to a low thrum in the background as they continued with the mission. His crew was already shaken enough as it was. No reason to add insult to injury by informing them their pilot had been hit.

Now, safely on the ground in Algeria, he knows he should probably tell someone. But time seems to swim confusingly in the haze of a post-mission adrenaline crash, and before he knows it, Bucky and Jack are there and his crew is pulling the remains of Norman Smith, their trusted radio operator, out of the wrecked fort, so Gale shoves the injury out of his mind once more to take care of his crew.

Besides, he figures, it can’t be that bad if he’s made it this far.

~~~

As they get the men settled with bedrolls and water and whatever food they can scrounge up, considering their less than warm welcome in Algeria, Bucky basks in the relief that Gale is really there, on the ground, alive. He thought he knew nerves, but nothing could compare to the feeling of watching Gale’s beat up fort from his faux position as ‘reserve command pilot’, unable to do anything except hope against all odds that they would both make it to their destination.

Bucky can’t help but notice that the other man looks paler than normal, can’t help but notice the way his hands shake as he helps set up their makeshift camp. It’s understandable, Bucky supposes, after using every ounce of his willpower to keep his fort in the sky, then finally, finally touching down safely by nothing but the skin of his teeth. The comedown from something like that isn’t easy.

So, he chalks it up to that. Until moments later, that is, when sudden, frantic shouting comes while his back is turned. He whips his head up from where he was neatly unfurling a bedroll, his senses shocked when he finds Gale collapsed on his knees in the sand a few feet away from him.

Bucky abandons the bedroll, rushing forward. He drops to his own knees in front of Gale, hands latching onto Gale’s forearms while his eyes frantically search his face. Somehow, he looks even paler now. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Gale’s eyes are slow to find his. When they do, they’re pinched with a deep pain that Bucky can’t believe he didn’t notice before. Still, Gale shakes his head weakly. “’M fine.”

They have an audience, which Bucky knows isn’t helping Gale to tell him anything, stubborn and unflappable as he is. Or rather, as he would like to appear. Reluctantly, Bucky tears his eyes from the other man’s to glance around at the rest of the men. “Make yourselves busy, will you?”

Mercifully, they get the hint, dispersing in all directions away from the pair of them, busying themselves with getting settled in once more. Bucky’s gaze returns to Gale’s face with even greater urgency. “C’mon, Buck. What’s going on?”

It’s then that Gale presses a gentle hand to his right side, wincing even at the slightest pressure. There’s a tear there in his flight suit, accompanied by a spot of blood, which Bucky had naively assumed was someone else’s or just a minor scrape like the littering of small cuts now marring the other man’s face.

“Think I’m hit,” Gale finally admits reluctantly, low and under his breath.

Bucky clenches his jaw, inhales sharply through his nose, and forces himself not to panic. “You stubborn bastard. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Gale shrugs. His eyes appear cloudy with fatigue or dizziness, Bucky can’t quite tell. When he speaks, his voice comes out sounding weak. “Had things to do. A mission to complete.”

John stares at him in a mixture of concern and disbelief for a moment before spurring himself into action. Pushing Gale’s jacket off his shoulders and beginning to undo the straps of his flight suit in hopes of getting a good look at his wound, Bucky admonishes in frustration, “The mission was complete the second you landed that fort against all odds, and you know it. You should’ve told me right then.”

“Didn’t want to cause a fuss. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Bucky disagrees sharply, but then softens. He could have lost Gale today. Still could, really, depending on how badly he’s hurt. If they both make it back to Thorpe Abbotts safely after this, then he’ll give the other man an earful about taking better care of himself. But for now, harsh words aren’t going to make Gale feel any better. “It’s my job to fuss over you. So just let me do my job, okay?”

Gale sighs, accepting, then nods. He glances around to see if anyone else is keeping an eye on them. Then, apparently satisfied when they’re not, allows himself to slump forward against the broad warmth of Bucky’s chest with a quiet grunt of pain.

It’s not helping Bucky get him out of his flight gear any faster, but it feels so good to have Gale close after the day's events that he allows it, just for a moment. He strokes a hand down Gale’s back, ducking his head to murmur into his ear, for the two of them only, “I’ve got you, doll. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Once Gale hums in acknowledgement, Bucky reluctantly pushes him back to continue his efforts. He’s afraid of the injury he might find underneath the layers of clothing, but forces himself to keep his attitude light and optimistic on Gale’s behalf.

“Never thought I’d be taking your clothes off surrounded by all of our men,” Bucky teases quietly as he pushes the top Gale’s flight suit down to bunch around his waist, hoping to brighten the mood.

It seems to work briefly, with Gale letting out a surprised, albeit weak chuckle. But then the movement seems to pain him, and he winces. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky quickly sobers, worry flooding his veins. “Let me take a look. We’ll have you all patched up in no time, promise.”

#mota 1st birthday what if #my drabbles #my asks #clegan #mota

31 notes · View notes

zeroseuniverse · 3 days ago

Text

Dance Of Familiarity II

Word Count: 1.7K Summary: “You... should’ve let me die,” he managed, his voice rasping with pain. “Not a chance,” She said, her hands working quickly to apply pressure to the wound, staving off the worst of it. “You’re not getting off that easy.” Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem Reader

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

Series Masterlist

Navigation

The woman hissed in pain, clutching her bleeding shoulder, but her smirk never wavered. "Clever," she admitted, staggering back a step. "But not clever enough."

Before she or Hyunjin could react, she pressed something on her wrist—a small, discreet device that let out a sharp, digital beep.

The warehouse lights flickered. Then, in the distance, an explosion erupted.

Her heart lurched as she realized what was happening. "She’s collapsing the damn building," she growled, already pulling Hyunjin towards the nearest exit.

Hyunjin, still weakened from his wound, struggled to keep up, but his grip on her arm was strong. "She’s not just trying to kill us," he said through gritted teeth. "She’s covering her tracks."

Behind them, the woman had already disappeared into the shadows, slipping away as the structure groaned under the force of the explosion. More detonations followed in rapid succession, shaking the very foundation beneath their feet.

Chunks of metal and debris rained down as fire erupted in the distance, painting the night in hues of orange and red. The warehouse was coming down.

She made a split-second decision. "Hyunjin, we need to move—now!"

Hyunjin didn't argue. Together, they sprinted toward the exit, dodging falling beams and flames licking at their heels. The entire building groaned like a dying beast, the roof beginning to cave in.

Then—just as they reached the entrance—another explosion rocked the structure.

The shockwave sent them both flying.

She barely registered the pain as she crashed against the pavement outside, her breath ripped from her lungs. The taste of smoke and blood filled her mouth. Her vision blurred for a moment, but then she forced herself up, coughing.

"Hyunjin!"

He was a few feet away, trying to push himself up. Blood smeared his temple, and his breathing was ragged. But he was alive.

"Still here," he rasped, shaking off the impact. "Not dead yet."

She exhaled in relief before scanning the area. The warehouse was now an inferno, flames licking at the sky, the heat pressing against her skin even from a distance.

But the woman was gone.

"She got away," she muttered, fists clenching.

Hyunjin wiped the blood from his brow, his expression dark. "She won’t stay hidden for long. Not after what she just pulled."

She turned to him, searching his face. "She knew you. This wasn’t just a job for you, was it?"

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened. For a moment, he was silent, as if debating whether to answer. But then, he met her gaze.

"I wasn’t just dismantling crime lords," he admitted. "I was going after her. She’s the one behind it all—the real power keeping the underworld in check. And she doesn’t just kill people."

She frowned. "Then what does she do?"

Hyunjin’s eyes darkened. "She owns them."

The weight of his words settled between them.

She had spent her entire career believing she worked on the edges of the underworld, untouchable, uninvolved. But now, for the first time, she realized she had never been on the outside at all. She had been playing in someone else's game.

And now, she was in too deep to walk away.

"Looks like we’re in this together," Hyunjin murmured, glancing at her with something that almost looked like amusement, despite the wreckage around them. "Think you can handle that?"

She smirked. "Guess we’ll find out."

Hyunjin’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "Then let’s get to work."

The fire raged behind them, but they didn’t look back.

The city lights blurred past them as she weaved the stolen motorcycle through the empty midnight streets. Hyunjin sat behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other pressed against his wounded side. His body was warm against her back, his breath slow but controlled.

"You’re losing a lot of blood," she said, voice even despite the way her pulse quickened at their proximity.

"I’ve had worse," he murmured near her ear. His voice sent a shiver down her spine—not from fear, but from something else entirely.

She clenched the handlebars tighter. Not the time.

Their escape from the burning warehouse had left them with nothing but questions and a common enemy. The woman had played them both, and now she was in the wind. If they wanted answers, they needed to move fast.

She pulled into a dimly lit alley, cutting the engine. The silence settled between them as she swung her leg over the bike, turning to face him.

"We need to get you patched up," she said, nodding toward his side. "You’re not as invincible as you think."

Hyunjin smirked, his gaze flickering over her face. "You worried about me?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. I just don’t want to be dragging your half-dead body around when we go after her."

"Liar." His voice was low, teasing.

She opened her mouth to retort, but he suddenly swayed, his smirk faltering. Instinctively, she caught his arm, steadying him against the alley wall. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, and despite everything, the closeness made her heart stutter.

His eyes met hers, something unreadable flickering behind them. "You’re different from the others," he murmured.

"Yeah? How so?"

Hyunjin hesitated. Then, softer, "You didn’t take the shot."

She inhaled sharply. He was right. She could have killed him back in that warehouse. She had every reason to. But she didn’t.

She forced herself to look away. "Maybe I just don’t like wasting bullets."

He huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something almost... fond in his expression when she finally glanced back at him.

She shook off the moment, slipping back into business mode. "We need to find out who she really is. If she’s controlling the underworld, she won’t be easy to track."

Hyunjin straightened, his usual sharp demeanor returning. "I know someone who might have answers. A hacker. Goes by Raven."

She arched an eyebrow. "And you trust this Raven?"

Hyunjin’s lips quirked. "Trust is a strong word."

She sighed. "Great."

Despite the weight of the situation, she couldn’t ignore the awareness crackling between them—an unspoken tension lingering in every glance, every touch. They were two hunters forced into an alliance, walking a razor’s edge between survival and something much more dangerous.

And deep down,she knew: the closer they got to the truth, the harder it would be to ignore the pull between them.

She followed Hyunjin through the back alleys of the city, her senses on high alert. He was still bleeding, but he walked like he wasn’t—a practiced deception, one she saw right through.

"You sure you can make it?" she asked, her voice laced with doubt.

"Are you offering to carry me?" Hyunjin shot back, smirking even through the pain.

She scoffed. "I’d drop you halfway just to shut you up."

His laugh was low, amused. "Knew you liked me."

Before she could fire back, Hyunjin stopped in front of a seemingly abandoned building. The metal door was tagged with graffiti, but a closer look revealed a subtle symbol worked into the design—one only someone in their line of work would recognize.

Hyunjin knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more.

For a moment, nothing. Then, a voice crackled through a hidden speaker.

"Tell me this isn’t another 'I got stabbed and need a favor' visit."

Hyunjin smirked. "Good to hear your voice too, Seungmin."

There was an exaggerated sigh. "One sec."

A series of locks clicked, and the door creaked open, revealing Seungmin—known in the underground as Raven. He was younger than most expected, dressed in an oversized hoodie, his expression equal parts unimpressed and exasperated.

His sharp eyes landed on Hyunjin’s bloodstained shirt. "Seriously? I should start charging you for every time you stumble in here half-dead."

"Nice to see you too," Hyunjin said breezily, stepping inside.

She followed, shutting the door behind them. Seungmin’s gaze flickered to her, curiosity flashing across his face.

"And you brought company," he mused. "Is she your handler, or just here to make sure you don’t bleed out on my floor?"

"She’s the one who was supposed to kill me," Hyunjin said casually.

Seungmin blinked, then turned to her with a slow, deadpan nod. "Respect."

She raised an eyebrow. "Thanks?"

"Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble," Seungmin added, already walking toward his desk, which was cluttered with monitors and half-eaten snacks. "But I guess that means you’re both in deep shit now."

Hyunjin slumped into a chair with a wince. "We need intel on a woman. She's pulling the strings behind the syndicates, setting us up from the start."

Seungmin cracked his knuckles, already typing at lightning speed. "Describe her."

She did, recalling every detail—the way she moved, the glint of her blade, the cold amusement in her voice. Seungmin hummed as he worked, the screens flashing too fast for her to follow.

"So," Seungmin said after a few minutes, not looking away from his screen, "when exactly did you two start making heart eyes at each other?"

She choked. "What?"

Hyunjin, to his credit, didn’t look as flustered—just smug. "Told you, she likes me."

Seungmin snorted. "Right. And I’m the king of the underworld."

She crossed her arms. "Can you focus?"

"I am focused," Seungmin said, pointing at the screen. "See? Got something."

Both of them leaned in. On the monitor was a grainy surveillance image—of her.

"Well, well," Seungmin mused. "Looks like your mystery woman isn’t just pulling strings. She is the string. Name’s Elise Song. Ex-intelligence. Went dark five years ago. Official records say she’s dead, but obviously, that’s a load of crap."

She exhaled. "She planned this whole thing. We were just her pawns."

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened. "Not anymore."

Seungmin leaned back, stretching. "Well, whatever you two decide to do, you better do it fast. If she’s really running things from the shadows, she won’t let you walk away alive."

She exchanged a glance with Hyunjin, a silent agreement passing between them. This wasn’t just survival anymore. It was a war.

Seungmin sighed, rubbing his temples. "You’re both gonna drag me into this, aren’t you?"

Hyunjin grinned. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

Seungmin gave him a flat look. "That’s exactly what you’re doing."

She smirked. "Welcome to the game, Seungmin."

Seungmin muttered something under his breath, but he was already pulling up more files. "You two owe me so much coffee for this."

Hyunjin leaned back, wincing slightly as he shot her a look. "Guess we’re in this together now."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at her lips. "Try not to get shot again before we take her down."

"No promises," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her a little longer than necessary.

And just like that, the tension between them thickened once more.

23 notes · View notes

luck-of-the-drawings · 5 months ago

Text

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #cw blood #cw gore #jrwi suckening #jrwi suckening spoilers #vex waylin #viv waylin #MY FAVORIT EP!! HAVNT SEEN IT IN FOREVER THO BC WELL. IM BUSY. SO BEAR W ME IM RUNNIN OFF ALOTTA MEMORY FUMES #ALSO EDIT BC FUUUCK I HADMORE TAGS BUT TUMBLR FUCKEN ATE EM. OH WELL. MY DMS R OPEN IF U WANNA UNLOCK RAMBLES.#I LOVE THE WAYLIN TWINS SSSOO FUCKING MUCH IM SO!!! CURIOUS ABOUT THEM!!! WHO WERE THEY WHEN THEY WERE HUMAN? HOW LONGVE THEY BEEN ARND?#I LOVE IT WHEN PPL SAY ITS LIKE THESE TWO WERE MADE FOR MMEE BC YES!! YES!! ITS EVERYTHING I COULD EVER WANT FROMA CHARACTER!!!#I LOVE THEIR RED WHITE N BLACK COLOR SCHEME. I LOVE HOW THEYRE BOTH SO INTELLIGENT AND GENIUS N YET THEYRE DUMB AS FUUUUCK #COOOMICAL SUPER VILLAINS. OOH ILL GET YOU NEXT TIME SHAMIA SHAMAI!!! HOW DARE YOU FOIL MY PLAN!! MY PLANS OF MUTILATING AWAKE N ALIVE PPL #COMICAL AND YET. GENUINELY HORRIFYING. VIV CAN MAKE UR BONES EXPLODE JUST BY THINKING ABOUT IT. VEX CAN BECOME SOUP #WHY DONT WE TALK ABOUT THAT MORE? THE TURNING INTO RED MEAT SLIME?? METAL AS FUUUCK. I ALSO LOVE HOW SCARED THEY GOT SO QUICKLY #THIS LIL FUCKEN RRRRRAT COMES IN. AND WELL. HES JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHERS. WE FUCK HIM UP N TOSS HIM INTO THE SUN N LET HIM BURN #SURE HE HAD ONE MORE TRICK OF REBELLION UP HIS SLEEVE BUT THE SUN HAS TAKEN HIM NOW. ITS FINE. WE'RE FINE. HEY IS THERE SMTH IN THE CEILING #OHHH WE KILLED HIM ONCE N HE CAME BACK. WE KILLED HIM AGAIN N TOOK HIM APART BUT THEN HES BACK?? HE GETS AWAY AND THEN. COMES BACK. AGAIN.#WE CANT GET RID OF HIM. THAT FOUL SHAMIA SHAMAI. A MOUSE IN OUR KITCHEN. FUUUUCK HES GONNA SPREAD DISEASE! KILL IT! KILL IT!! AAAUUGH FUCK!#I LOVE THAT THE WAYLIN TWINS AGREED TO HELP THE BLONDE TWINS MOSTLY ON THE BASIS OF 'IT WOULD BE FUNNY' BUT ALSO #OOHHH WE ARE SO CLOSE TO REACHING SOMETHING TO MAKE HIM NNEEVER FUCK WITH US AGAIN. HIS ILLUSIONS WILL HAUNT US NO LONGER #THEY WERE SSSOOO PARANOID W ALL THE CAMERAS AND BOMBING THEIR OWN LAB AND RUNNING AND RUNNING AND GETTING AWWAY FROM THIS FUCKEN! MOUSE!!!!#OHHHH I THINK IM RUNNIN OUTA ROOM so ill talk about da art real quick.BEEN WORKIN ON THIS FOR A WHIIILE.ALOTTA THESE were started when the #ep came out.so OLD!! BUT DONE!!and im very very happy w my colors n gore n EXPRESSIONS!! the top right corner comic keeps making me chuckle #I ALSO rly love the lil convo between arthur n viv.theyre SO CUTE TOGETHERR they should go ona museum date together or somethin #they need more time to just talk abt da World together.ALSO CAN I BE PETTY.I MADE ARTHUR UGLY CORRECT-STYLE #THESE BOYS KNOW NOTHING OF UGLY.I MADE THE VAMPIRIC FLESH EVOLVE N ROT N BLOSSOM AND THERE IS SQUIRMING WITHIN THE TENEBRAE #UHHH IEAH THIS GUY W A ROTTED N DISTORTED FACE WALKS INTO MY BIKE STORE IEAH IM SCREAAAMIN LIKE WADDA HELL!! MONSTOR!!!

131 notes · View notes

ruvviks · 27 days ago

Text

– Beginnings.

Characters >> Lily Castellanos, Nathan Dixon (oc), Sebastian Castellanos Total >> 3.5k words Warnings >> Alcohol mention Context >> The first chapter of my own TEW3, taking place some months after the conclusion of the in-game events of TEW2! You can read more about it all here!

It snowed in Krimson City.

The sky had been the same dull gray color since sunrise, snowflakes slowly cascading down and covering the street in a thick blanket of snow. A heavy fog held the city tightly in its grasp– an eerie atmosphere hanging in the thin afternoon air and low-hanging clouds swallowing entire buildings whole– and with only limited visibility on the road, traffic was forced to crawl by in slow motion.

While not an unseen phenomenon, it was far from a common sight for early January, only days after Nathan’s birthday. He had spent that day snowed in in his little apartment, had celebrated it alone; not as if it mattered much, he doubted Kid even knew and besides his ex-colleague from MOBIUS he severely lacked other friends to hang out with those days.

He stood motionless at the fence of the small playground located in Krimson City’s public park, gloved hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his long, black coat with the collar popped up to shield the lower half of his face from the occasional sharp gust of wind. He had not moved in a while, shoulders and tousled black hair covered in a thin layer of fine white powder, frost nipping away at the tip of his nose as his eyes followed a group of kids excitedly running around.

It did not take a genius to notice Lily was significantly older than the others there, but none of the kids seemed to mind. It came as no surprise to Nathan to see her there– she had not once lost her playfulness even after everything MOBIUS had put her through, and without a proper outlet for it in all her years trapped in the shadow organization it only made sense for her to want to have a chance at spending the remainder of her childhood like she had always been supposed to.

He watched in silence as she scooped up some snow in her pink and orange mittens, wincing when one of the other kids threw a snowball directly at her face; she was smiling, though, and quickly pressed the snow together to then hurl it back, the surprisingly well-aimed attempt hitting someone else on the back of their coat.

‘You’re startin’ to freak out the other parents, standing there like that.’

The corners of Nathan’s mouth lightly curled up upon hearing the familiar, low voice, not needing to turn his head to know who joined him on the other side of the fence.

‘Was starting to wonder how long it’d take for you to notice me,’ he said, his own voice a little rougher than usual on account of the cold, and his severe lack of proper rest in the past few weeks. ‘Was gonna give you another five minutes before I’d walk over to introduce myself. You’re getting slow.’

‘I’m getting comfortable,’ Sebastian Castellanos corrected him with a scoff, returning Lily’s little wave as she ran by the both of them– Nathan merely greeted her with a single nod of his head– before quickly shoving his hand back in the pocket of his green jacket.

‘No need to keep my eyes up anymore, Nate. Threat’s gone, MOBIUS’ gone. Life’s improving day by day.’

‘Good.’

Nathan wished he shared Sebastian’s sentiment.

If anything, life had turned rather sour for him after they had successfully gotten rid of a large chunk of MOBIUS several months ago. He had never expected to walk away from it alive to begin with– and now, without the steady income the organization had provided him with for years, he found himself struggling to get by.

He glanced to his right, gaze briefly meeting that of the ex-detective before he quickly averted his eyes and let them wander back to the playground, trailing over the various snow-covered playground sets.

Sebastian looked good, healthy– much better than the state he’d been in when Nathan had last seen him all those months ago. Part of him regretted not reaching out sooner, the sudden reconnection now an obvious sign that something was wrong; though the wiser part of him knew that had he stuck around the Castellanos family they would not have been able to move on and heal, which was the last thing he would have wanted to be responsible for.

‘What about you?’ Sebastian quietly asked, as if he’d been able to sense Nathan’s melancholy. ‘You look like you haven’t slept in days.’

Nathan scoffed, slightly tilting his head to look at his feet and he absently kicked some snow off his boots. ‘That obvious? Sure feels like it.’

He had teamed up with Juli Kidman to deal with the remainder of MOBIUS, after the Union incident. Of course the destruction of the STEM environment hadn’t led to the fall of the whole organization– it would’ve been stupid of them to link all of their employees directly to the mainframe of a single STEM device, despite the Superiors’ obvious lack of knowledge concerning the technology– and while MOBIUS had suffered massive losses, it would only be a matter of time before they would regroup.

But he was not there to talk to Sebastian about how their hunt was going.

Something else had come up.

Nathan’s silence did not go unnoticed and Sebastian turned toward him, leaning sideways against the fence with a concerned look in his eyes. He did not need to say anything– and neither did Nathan, as he slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets and removed one of his black, leather gloves.

The pale top of his left hand had a burned appearance, as if fire had scorched away skin and flesh– the wound only partially healed leaving it broken and torn clinging closely to his veins and bones. Though despite how recent he had received the scar, its appearance instead implied years long possession, and despite its severity it did not hurt at all.

He could tell by the look on Sebastian’s face the scar reminded him of someone.

‘Now, I know what you’re gonna say–’ Nathan started, but Sebastian cut him off.

‘I can’t do this, Nathan. I have a daughter–’

‘–I know.’

His voice came out a lot sharper than he had meant for.

‘I’m not asking anything of you,’ he said, his heartbeat pounding in the back of his throat.

‘Not this time.’

It had started as police radio chatter.

Late in the afternoon, Nathan had already been getting ready to go home. Kid had picked up a mention of Beacon– its doors long closed for the public yet the building remained in the heart of Krimson City, left to rot and wither away– supposed ghostly activity reported within its decaying walls, and she had wanted to investigate.

Nathan sharply exhaled and put his glove back on, exposed fingers growing numb in the freezing winter air. He leaned forward with his arms on the fence, to move a little closer to Sebastian; as if he was afraid someone would overhear them, as if they could make sense out of any of it to begin with.

‘He’s back, Sebastian,’ he defeatedly stated, and the other man lowered his gaze. ‘I saw him. He did this to me.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Wish it was.’

Despite hearing many tales, and having worked on his project for years as developer within the MOBIUS branch he had been part of, Nathan had never seen or met Ruvik face to face. The brilliant mind behind the STEM technology had always remained in the shadows; up until his death, after which his brain had become the core of MOBIUS’ very first STEM device.

Naturally so, when Nathan had run into the man while wandering the abandoned hallways of Beacon, his first assumption had been that he was asleep– followed by a brief moment of panic in which he had believed he was dead, or somehow back in STEM.

But Ruvik had touched him– had forcefully grabbed his hand to make him drop his gun and had left a burn similar to his own scars– and had then vanished the second Kidman had yelled out Nathan’s name, the old and presumed broken STEM device in the room next door whirring and humming as if it had never been deactivated in the first place.

‘I’m here to warn you,’ Nathan softly continued, eyes fixed on a random spot in the bright snow covering the playground and thumb absently running over the gloved back of his scarred hand.

‘We don’t know yet what exactly he’s here for, what exactly he’s tryin’ to do. Investigating as we speak, but– shit’s looking serious. Somehow reverse engineered the STEM signal to reach outward, expand into reality. Push itself out rather than draw people in.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Similar to the wireless connection that pulled you into STEM the first time round, but– without being pulled in.’ Nathan had to bite his tongue to stop himself from getting too technical. ‘An– An active environment in our world, if you follow, rather than on the device’s mainframe. Signal seems to be inactive still, but we’re gettin’ the readings. No idea how he’s planning to activate it yet.’

They had moved the device to their own headquarters, on the outskirts of town. Had needed to connect it to the second prototype– the device that had supported the Union environment, which they had taken from MOBIUS’ headquarters after wiping out its agents– in order to gain access to the mainframe, get any data extracted from it in the first place.

Their initial hope had been that it was nothing more than echoes– malfunctions in the STEM device caused by neglect promptly activating the wireless signal allowing shades from within to wander the Beacon hallways– anything but Ruvik’s actual return, however that was even possible–

‘Daddy!’

Nathan blinked, drawn out of his thoughts by Lily’s voice. He watched her run over to the two of them– the front of her coat, face, and hair completely covered in snow and a bright smile on her face as she attempted to wipe some of it from her forehead, but if anything her mittens just further spread it out.

‘I’m getting cold,’ she said, squinting when Sebastian reached out to help her with the snow. ‘Can we go back home soon?’

‘Of course honey,’ he replied, barely able to mask the exhaustion in his voice now that Nathan had explained the situation to him– and for a brief moment it was as if they were back in Union, radioing back to Kidman from the momentary safety of one of their established safehouses. ‘Don’t want you catching a cold.’

Lily looked up at Nathan and smiled at him– but she was a smart kid, and he watched her expression change as she looked back up at her father, head slightly tilting before she shook it to get some strands of her ink black hair out of her face, the single white strand in her bangs– matching Nathan’s own– a grim and constant reminder of her mother’s fate.

‘Is everything alright?’ she asked, and Nathan couldn’t help but wonder if she still associated him with MOBIUS, if she still associated him with the tests and experiments they put her through and if she still associated him with the STEM device, meeting one another within in some facility in the Marrow where he was forced to watch over her like a vulture at all times, all to keep the system stable.

‘Nothing to worry about,’ he simply answered her, unsure if she would fall for his lie, but knowing it would give her infinitely more comfort than the truth ever could. ‘Just came to say hi.’

The breeze picked up, howling loudly in Nathan’s ears as if the whole city softly cried for him; the cold boring its way through his clothes and eating away at his skin, exposed or not, freezing him all the way down to the bone. He lowered his head– a futile attempt at shielding his face from the biting wind and snow, individual snowflakes cutting like knives across his forehead and cheekbones.

He watched Lily smile at both him and Sebastian again before running off to get back to the snowball fight for just a bit longer, diving behind the slide to get cover. His gaze was pulled back toward Sebastian– but said man appeared deep in thought, eyes pointedly fixed on something in the distance, head anywhere but in the present.

‘I gotta go back in,’ Nathan quietly continued; an unnecessary statement, the gravity of the situation like static in the air between the two of them, though to put it into words was to accept the harsh reality of it all– acknowledgement of what had to happen, what was going to happen, something he had not been able to do before.

‘It’s nothing like Union,’ Sebastian bluntly replied with a shake of his head, turning his back to the playground and resting heavily with his elbows on the fence. ‘He’s nothing like Stefano– nothing like Theodore. He doesn’t need a weapon or a core to draw his powers from, you get too close and it’s over. You understand?’

Nathan didn’t know what else to say.

He had never thought he’d have to go back into STEM after Union. He’d be alone this time round– no Sebastian by his side, no Kidman to radio back to. They had reconnected some old friends– Joseph, Yukiko, Esmeralda– but had no idea whether or not their consciousnesses would still be somewhere within STEM, and for all Nathan knew he would be diving into a world entirely of Ruvik’s creation, with the same horrifying creatures haunting it as last time, if not worse.

Of course he was terrified. All it took was one encounter with Anima and he would never see the light of day ever again.

‘You should go,’ Nathan said, pushing himself up from the fence and stuffing his hands back in the pockets of his coat, ‘get out of town while you still can. Grab a bag or two, grab Lily, take her on a– on a road trip up north or something, while we figure this out. Just in case he–’

He couldn’t finish his sentence. The thought of Ruvik succeeding and trapping the world in a constant state of STEM was something he would rather not think about.

‘–you know.’

An uncomfortable silence followed. And rightfully so– what else was there to say? The whole situation was ridiculous to begin with, and for Nathan to show up only now instead of at any other point in time, months of radio silence after nearly dying together in a simulation of reality lingering between real life and a dream–

He carefully watched as Sebastian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, able to study his face for longer now that the other man refused to make eye contact with him. He truly did look a lot better; Nathan could only assume the man had stopped drinking, and had been getting a much better night’s sleep.

Though despite the improvement in his appearance there was still that lingering sense of dread, the dark shadow that had washed over his face the second he had laid eyes on Nathan’s scarring and had realized what he had come to him for.

Nathan couldn’t blame him. But he’d had to let Sebastian know.

He licked his lips and nodded to no one in particular, ending the conversation himself by taking a small step back and turning back around to return to his car, drive home, drink himself blind and pass out to hopefully get some sleep in before he would have to dive back into his worst nightmare–

‘Hey.’

Sebastian’s hand on his upper arm was unexpected and Nathan hated how he could not stop himself from flinching, a reflex more than anything else, and he hated how it made Sebastian pull his hand away as if he’d touched fire, the tips of his fingers on Nathan’s body despite the layers he wore the first physical contact he had experienced in months.

‘Who is “we”?’ Sebastian quietly asked, briefly glancing behind him to see if Lily was still far enough away. A surprising question; though not out of character for the ex-detective, his curiosity piqued just enough for him to try and get a little more information out of Nathan before they would say goodbye and possibly never see each other again.

‘Me,’ Nathan plainly answered, ‘Juli. Used to be just us two but we gathered a team of old STEM developers to help us with this. They got moved on to other projects while we were working on Union– they removed their chips, came back for us.’

‘So all MOBIUS.’

Not even a question, simply a statement.

Nathan bit the inside of his cheek. ‘Ex MOBIUS.’

The atmosphere changed, a sharp tension bouncing between the two of them as Nathan straightened his back and lightly tilted up his chin. He couldn’t exactly place the look on the other man’s face, though by then knew him well enough to know his hesitation wasn’t caused by uncertainty, but moreso distrust.

‘Thought the program was meant to kill them all,’ Sebastian said, a somewhat hostile undertone in his voice that had not been there before.

‘Just our branch.’ Nathan paused, watching as Sebastian slowly nodded and mouthed a soundless “right”– not entirely sure what his reaction was supposed to mean, but he decided not to ask. ‘Already told you it runs a lot deeper than you thought.’

Myra's sacrifice had put an end to the Administrator's reign of terror– had destroyed his legacy, and all research and findings on the STEM system as designed by Ruvik and improved by MOBIUS. Whichever branches remained did not nearly have enough resources or knowledge to pull off something even remotely similar; and whatever scraps of code they could have gotten their hands on before Kidman and Nathan had wiped their systems clean would prove insufficient to provide them with a stable environment.

And even if they would make it that far– provided they’d be able to recreate the STEM device from written instructions alone, Ruvik's original blueprints lost to time and MOBIUS' own burned to a crisp in the aftermath of the Union incident's conclusion– the mental erosion Union's residents had suffered from and the Anima manifestations that had happened as a result had never been resolved, leaving any future STEM residents with the all but comforting promise of a similar fate.

'I'm diving in tomorrow,' Nathan said, knowing there was nothing else left to say. The breeze in the park was picking up again, sweeping snowflakes that were starting to feel more like hail than anything else into Nathan’s face with a lot more force than before, melting on collision and dripping into the collar of his shirt. 'First thing in the morning. Can’t waste any more time. In case you wanna come say goodbye–'

He reached into the pocket of his pants, then held out a note to Sebastian; handwritten, containing an address located on an abandoned warehouse site, not too far from Nathan's own home.

'–our headquarters.' He waited for Sebastian to take the note from him. 'No pressure, of course.'

No pressure.

The note was almost a blatant sign that Nathan wanted him to be there. He could not ask it of him directly– but gave him the option anyway, leaving the decision up to Sebastian instead.

But deep down Nathan knew that Sebastian knew that he really did not want to go back in alone– and if it had been up to him they had recruited Sebastian a week ago already, when things had first started to go wrong.

‘Do you have backup?’ Sebastian softly asked, as if he could look directly into Nathan’s head– asking the one question he had hoped for, with an answer to it that could easily enough change Sebastian’s mind about letting Nathan walk away if only he would play his cards right–

But despite how often he had practiced the entire conversation alone in his car, despite going over all the different things he could say at least a million times, just to get Sebastian to feel sorry for him– as selfish as it fucking was– Nathan found himself unable to speak.

He simply shook his head instead.

The other children and their parents were leaving, now. It was getting late, and colder, and Lily slowly wandered back to Sebastian to start dragging him back to the car if he were to take any longer than he already had.

Nathan looked up at the sky, eyes fluttering shut as he allowed more snow to drift down onto his ice cold skin, and he breathed in and out deeply before turning back to Sebastian.

‘They’re expecting more snowfall tonight,’ he said, locking eyes for only a split second and shooting a smile in his direction, as he began walking backwards into the direction of his car. ‘Don’t wait up. And– Drive safe, okay?’

Sebastian did not answer him.

It snowed in Krimson City, accompanied by a deafening silence weighing it down and choking it out, as if the whole city was expectantly holding its breath.

Nathan left.

taglist (opt in/out)

@nistarot, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @mojaves;

@shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption, @ncytiri;

@calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm, @strafethesesinners;

@fashionablyfyrdraaca, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian, @estevnys, @devilbrakers;

@aezyrraesh, @carlosoliveiraa, @adelaidedrubman, @fromgotham, @wardenevka

#nuclearwriting #kinda nervous posting this and also genuinely don't know if i'll keep writing because i haven't actually written much more yet LOL #i do really wanna work more on this because it's just nice to have for myself. but i'm definitely not gonna do the one chapter a week #that i used to do for king of fools. i don't know how i managed to do that like genuinely don't ask me #but yeas hi =] nathan introduction <3 obviously he and sebastian have already worked together during tew2 but i didn't feel like #writing about all of that just because it's basically what happens in the game except nathan is there. commenting on everything #this is the first part of the story where he gets to actually lead a bit more himself rather than just following sebastian around #and most of it will be written from his perspective if i do end up writing more =]#if i did my math and timeline right nathan did in fact already work for mobius when ruvik was still alive. so logically they could have met #but they didn't... closest nathan got was when he led the operation to burn the victoriano estate down after ruvik was killed #and then he wasn't there for beacon so he didn't experience any of that. and obviously in union ruvik wasn't there #so him running into ruvik as described in this chapter is the very first time they came face to face with each other ^_^

27 notes · View notes

finalfantasyx · 1 month ago

Text

"她還能撐多久你便還能悟多久" | "the longer she lasts, the longer you'll have to apprehend it."

"對帝王而言有些珍貴是無關緊要的." | "to an emperor, there are precious things that become unimportant."

SNGX Xiaoluo gifset: [11/?]

for @a-sea-with-no-shores, Qianluo's incredible six-hour standoff as promised months ago--and all my Xiaoluo babies. Tagging @jianghushenanigans, @eunuch-enjoyer5, and @feng-huli. Merry Christmas :)

bonus:

#I honestly am not sure why no one has made a gifset of this scene yet IT'S SO EPIC #so many great things about it #like this really is the slowburnest of the slowburn #a rivalry and then a friendship and then mutual trust and respect and want for each other's well-being all cumulating into this #where Qianluo fights for six hours straight against magical blades to protect Xiao Se with her wounds and her inner force drying up #DESPITE NOT KNOWING WHEN HE'LL RETURN #and Xiao Se chooses Qianluo over the blade that would inevitably help him in the most important fight of his life #that the most important thing is to reassure her through her wounds that he carried the good luck charm she gave him always #if only to give her peace of mind #and her top priority is making sure he's alive and well coming out of the chamber #he really could have lost her and she would have died if he had gone back into the sword phase vision thing #AND LOOK AT THEIR FACES THEY KNEW THE CONSEQUENCES AND WERE READY TO FACE THEM #Qianluo was ready to die to keep him safe and he was totally okay with sacrificing his best bet against Luo Qingyang if she was alive #and then when Xiao Se finds out he was in there for six hours it he's horrified at how it becomes a reality all of a sudden #that he really could have lost her with one wrong move and she would have been okay with it #THESE BABIES ARE KILLING ME #Xiaoluo #Shao Nian Ge Xing #少年歌行 #The Blood of Youth #Xiao Se #Xiao Chuhe #Sikong Qianluo #claire gifs #my gifs #my stuff #my edits

13 notes · View notes

clownjacket · 9 months ago

Text

If Kipperlilly DOES end up betraying Porter/Jace as part of a secret other scheme she has (whether good or evil) and it has to do with saving Lucy, I just know she’s going to be a bitch about it and pull a ‘sorry, I only save High Five Heroes’ before leaving her other friends to die or some shit. And then she will take her final form: Magic Betty from Adventure Time, betraying her allies and saving her frost gf at the expense of the world. It would also parallel what Ankarna is going through (‘your girlfriend’s out of town, it sucks’, becoming a little imperialist rage machine under the influence of Porter/Sunstone but not being able to fully turn on Lucy despite going against her values and turning into a violent weirdo). This is my wish. My dream. I am manifesting it. Magic Betty Kipperlilly I believe in you.

#I am currently painting clown makeup on my face rn but this is what I’ve been rooting for from the beginning so let me dream #Come on though she HAS to have some other shit going on though right?#She was DEFINITLY in that temple when the Bad Kids said Ankarna’s name #Brennan literally rolled #and we know she was in Porter’s office #so WHY hadn’t she told him Ankarna’s real name yet? We know he genuinely believed Fig found it #Also the BKs couldn’t see who was in the window during the Wanda Childa scene #Which one of the RGs has invisibility?#HMMMM #Wanda saying ‘Kipperlilly? Why are you doing this? Is it because you’re jealous?’ before getting carried off by a fake Porter would let KP #know ‘okay they FULLY saw what happened after I killed Buddy and are onto us’ which would cause her to follow them to the temple #Also…if NONE of the Rat Grinders knew Ankarna’s name then what did Lucy write on her form to change her divinity???#We KNOW it was Ankarna’s name and not the ‘symbol representing her’ because no one could see it BECAUSE the god was dead and no one alive #knew her name #Which means Lucy HAD TO HAVE KNOWN and was keeping it from the others right?#And when she died and didn’t come back they were fucked because they couldn’t even check the form anymore #But #Brennan also said that if Porter WASNT using Devil’s Honey and genuinely believed in Rage And Conquest goddess Ankarna instead of just her #domain then he and his ritual would (maybe) bring her back instead of killing her permenantly so he can take her domain #And idk #A powerful goddess of rage and conquest who despite everything can’t be turned against her sister and ex #who’s resurrection would mean the rune could be broken and Lucy can come back to life #One who has (or had) a personal vendetta against at least one of the bad kids #and a personal vendetta against the people who led to Lucy’s death #that sounds pretty appealing to someone as spiteful and obsessive as Kipperlilly doesn’t it #especially after her best (maybe only real) friend died and didn’t come back #especially if she stayed dead specifically to stop Porter #Again I’m putting my clown makeup on but I don’t want her to be secretly good or anything just unhinged and gay and a parallel to Ankarna #Please world let me have this I’m on my knees #dimension 20

16 notes · View notes

egoarc4de · 2 years ago

Text

need to talk in the tags abt bcs for a second ...

#better call saul spoilers #spoiler warning seriously!!!#anyways #now.#while i have sooooome issues with how lalo's death was handled i feel like everythin in that regard has already been wrung dry #like a) good bc it shows the only way lalo could be beat was through a literal shot in the dark #b) lalo's showboating was the reason for his death #c) underwhelming end bc he had no plot armour and it wouldnt make sense to keep him alive so last-ditch effort to tie off loose ends #but one thing i havent seen anyone mention (though i dont tend to peruse fandom spaces so maybe i just missed it)#is the parallels with the old slippin jimmy scams #MAYBE I AM READING TOO FAR INTO IT but what else is media for but me doing exactly that #i wouldnt think it had it not been for the shot of just his legs #which is the most evocative shot of that whole sequence #mirroring marco's feet sticking out from behind that dumpster #lalo pulled off his of convincing gus he had been killed during the hit #but you can only come back from the dead so many times my friend! im sure that's not the first time he's done it #and yet on death's door despite not getting the revenge he was seemingly willing to do anything for #he is smiling and clearly enjoying himself #it's fun for him!!! the hunt is fun and knowing he almost got away with every single thing he had tried was exhilirating!!!#knowing gus only got the upper hand because he was a coward who prepared for lalo's return after sending ppl out to do his dirty work!!#also something abt lalo dying in that fashion... ohhhh i KNOW he's a ghost. i know a creature like that could never truly die...#i hope he haunted gus til the day he died. i hope gus knew lalo essentially provided the trigger for his demise as well!!#every time gus goes down to the laundry superlab he just sees lalo's dead fuckin eyes staring up at him from a dark corner #anyways... had to yell for a bit #tumblr messed up my tags but it's cool it's chill #brbabcs ramblings

4 notes · View notes

sunnami · 4 months ago

Text

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.)

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them.

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted.

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks.

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays.

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you.

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.”

He thought so, too.

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.”

You had not replied.

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you.

(But you had done so first.)

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you.

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.)

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love.

ii.

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.)

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive.

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it.

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (“Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”)

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb?

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you.

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”)

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded.

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed.

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you.

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

(But not to love.)

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe.

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.)

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you.

James did not love you.

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you?

Not. Love.

iii.

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No.

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that.

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain.

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones.

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.”

One question lingered in your eyes: Why?

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.”

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone.

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms.

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return.

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you.

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile.

It was the least he could do.

For failing to protect you.

But that was not love.

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv.

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered.

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before.

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better.

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .”

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you.

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”)

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight.

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily.

And that was that.

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side.

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much.

“Is that. . .?” you croaked.

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—”

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever.

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.”

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence.

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

YOU did not love them, either.

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know.

Because you did not love them.

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love.

Surely not.

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend.

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny.

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel?

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows.

Was love that unkind? That merciless?

Then, you did not want to love at all.

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish.

You were no different.

You wanted.

Oh, how you yearned.

“I LOVE YOU.”

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts.

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?”

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.”

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.”

–

“I love you.”

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him.

And you had loved him fiercely for that.

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.”

“I love you.”

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice.

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch.

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.” Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.”

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

–

“I love you.”

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.”

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.”

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.”

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.”

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread.

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.”

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.”

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them.

And they loved you.

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

3K notes · View notes

chatsukimi · 9 months ago

Text

ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

featuring: protective!heian!sukuna, kindhearted!servant!reader. slight angst/hurt -> comfort. synopsis: you're sick. to your surprise, you're rescued by the man second closest to death himself. masterlist

you should've known he wouldn't come. sukuna has never set foot in the servant's headquarters in his life, let alone to chase after a sick servant. you lower your head, trying to ease the headache that has plagued you through the day.

sukuna loves his bloodshed and his gore. him and death would be good friends, you think to yourself. he wouldn't care if your body was burnt or buried, you think to yourself; wouldn't care if you died at all.

the room the others put you in is empty. ash spreads neatly over the cold floor. the scent of kibble haunts the atmosphere. it's where they put the dogs before sukuna killed them.

ever since you took care of the king of curses while he was sick, the other servants had been careful in keeping a distance from you. not in ill of heart; they're simply terrified at what you must've done to survive in your week long stay with the monster. honestly, you don't blame them.

but now when you're laying on the freezing ground, struggling to breathe, it's hard not to.

'this is where you live?'

your eyes look up. shock. then, with all the strength you can muster, you heave yourself one step away from the man at the doorway, which only serves to piss him off more.

sukuna ryomen, in all his glory, looks down at you. bending down to pick you up like a limp doll to be seated against the wall, he seems to revel in his regained strength. you can't help but feel happy for him, to have survived this fatal disease. not many men can attest to that...

then again, he is no ordinary man.

'i asked you a question.'

you nod, a small thing, barely a movement. he seems to clench his teeth.

he takes off his long white coat, flaunting a layer of dried blood, and drapes it over your shoulders.

yet it doesn't end there. he retrieves from his pocket a bottle of what looks to be a golden syrup.

you know exactly what it is.

he takes your hand and wraps it around the flask, making you hold it, sparing, not one, but two of his eyes, to stare at you, making sure you do as he commands.

'swallow.'

you shake your head. you know he's asking you to do. this is a medication is so rare for your disease that no sorcerer has found in over a hundred years. he's brought this thing of myth right to your very lips. now he's asking you to drink it, and thus take away any chance of it saving anyone else's life.

you scowl, but the tickling sensation in your throat grows stronger, eventually erupting out of your mouth in a harsh cough. you look away from sukuna.

'leave,' you whisper, weakly. 'don't wanna infect you.'

'i survived the illness already. i've developed an immunity.'

you shake your head again. you couldn't threaten your king's health with your own weakness. you just couldn't.

'i can't take this.'

he growls. without any notice, he swallows your lips in a kiss. in the momentary haze, you could hardly resist, fisting the front of his kimono to ground yourself. then, you feel something sweet, honey-ish, hit your tongue.

with his hand locked on your chin, it forces you to swallow.

you pull back, pushing him away. he groans.

he wipes his mouth, still with two eyes staring.

no... no, why did he do that?

'y-you- how? no... why did you waste it on me?' you whisper, desperately searching his face for an answer. 'i'm just a servant. you could've given it to a princess, or a scholar, or priest-'

he grabs you by the arm and forces you into his arms. its heat astounds you, and you find yourself crawling closer. a vague thumping sound seems to press against your ear-

oh. you calm your breathing.

it's his heartbeat.

alive.

'sleep in my room tonight,' he demands.

what did he say? you strain your mind, trying to replay what he said earlier. no... maybe you heard correctly.

'but i'm no concubine,' you respond, instantly.

his arm supports your waist, helping you up effortlessly to your feet. he then directs two of his eyes to the doorway, his cadence low and domineering.

'it doesn't matter.'

he leads you placidly through the servant's quarters. you notice all conversation cease at your entry, bodies dropping into a low bow. a small voice in you whispers that it's where you should be too. you tug at sukuna's arm.

'i'm only a servant, sukuna.'

you know what it looks like, a servant clutching onto a man, more god than human. a man who has slaughtered villages, blood staining the base of his kimono crimson, and turned half a province on its head, just to save you.

'whatever you are in my eyes is what you are to the world,' he states, his expression unchanging. 'if i deem you a queen, that is who you are.'

exiting the servant compound, you know you can't say no- not like you wanted to. the wide expanse of his chest is comforting.

yet however sweet this feeling remains, you can't help but gulp. perhaps this is the closest a human has ever come to courting death.

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk #jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff #ryomen x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna angst

6K notes · View notes

hyunsuloves · 1 month ago

Note

Hii!! Would you be willing to write some nam-gyu/player 124 x reader hcs? I just love roh jaewon sm <3

boyfriend nam-gyu in the games.

warnings … this is kinda buns… that’s it

lovely notes … i lowkey hate how his character acts but i love roh jae-won too ᥫ᭡!!

꩜ [ 630 words ]

boyfriend nam-gyu who didn’t tell you he was entering the games. he intended to disappear for a week, and then show up with some bullshit excuse and a large sum of money.

boyfriend nam-gyu who was pissed off beyond belief when he came to find out that you were in the games because of his debt. the salesman recruited you to ease your boyfriend's debt and unfortunately, you couldn’t resist.

boyfriend nam-gyu who wouldn’t allow you to leave his side. it irks thanos a little bit, but he doesn’t really say anything because you and nam-gyu are together.

boyfriend nam-gyu gyu who only votes to leave because of your presence. no amount of money could aid him if you were to die here, and all because of him.

boyfriend nam-gyu who gets into countless arguments over you. he’ll argue over the dumbest shit, like someone bumping into you and not apologizing. he feels the constant need to defend you but he tends to take it a bit far.

boyfriend nam-gyu who constantly has a hand on you. it may be on your waist, his fingers interlocked with yours, or his hands in your hair.

boyfriend nam-gyu who insists on a “good luck kiss” before each game. you both are well aware that he just wants an excuse to kiss you, but who’s going to complain about it?

boyfriend nam-gyu who would lose his mind if thanos were to say something about you. if something he said was the slightest bit of suggestive, he might actually fight him about it.

boyfriend nam-gyu who loathes seeing any other player talking to you. even if it’s simplistic small talk to pass the time, he feels a surge of jealousy seeing other people interact so casually with you.

boyfriend nam-gyu who has you alongside him during every game. you don’t really have a choice because he has a vice grip on your hand. you couldn’t go anywhere even if you wanted to.

boyfriend nam-gyu who encourages you to stay away from thanos. he knows he’s a terrible person and despite hanging out with him, he doesn’t want you anywhere near a person as heinous as him. he definitely doesn’t want you taking whatever drugs thanos has on him.

boyfriend nam-gyu who always offers you a portion of his food. he’s a little greedy and secretly wants to keep it all to himself, but he puts your well-being before him, so he always offers you a piece.

boyfriend nam-gyu who sleeps in the bed directly next to yours. the beds are so tiny and can barely fit two people, so he finds peace in sleeping in the bed adjacent to yours.

boyfriend nam-gyu who only allows himself to be vulnerable with you during lights out. he doesn’t want any other players to view your affection as a weakness and use it against either one of you. so, the only time you see the true doting state of your boyfriend is when no one else can see.

boyfriend nam-gyu who wants nothing more than to be affectionate around you, but he knows he can’t for the sake of both of your safety. if he wants the two of you to make it out alive, he’s well aware that he has to put on an uncaring facade in the face of everyone else.

boyfriend nam-gyu who would kill someone for you. it’s a terrifying concept, yet not an unusual one amid the deaths all around. it’s slightly unnerving how quick he’d end other players life in your defense.

boyfriend nam-gyu who has plans to take you out somewhere after you get out of here. he’s the reason you’re here in the first place, and the least he can do is try to make it up to you.

#(౨ৎ) — fics .#nam gyu #nam gyu x reader #namgyu x reader #nam gyu fluff #nam gyu imagine #nam gyu scenario #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fluff #squid game imagine #squid game scenario #squid game netflix #squid game season 2 #squid game 2 #x reader #x reader insert #reader insert #gender neutral reader

1K notes · View notes

no-144444 · 3 months ago

Text

3 minutes- l.norris

summary: lando overshoots an overtake, and you go off the track. what then ensues is the most stressful and awful 3 hours of his life.

pairing: lando norris x fem! rbdriver! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He overshot it, and you were off the track.

“Fuck!” he screamed, looking in his mirrors. “Is she ok?”

“Red flag, red flag! No info yet Lando, keep going-”

“Is she getting out of the fucking car?!” he screamed. Everything was too much, too fast, too difficult. Every single person in the stands was silent, or maybe his brain was just filtering it out. He couldn’t hear anything, just his own voice, his own breath, and the beat of his own heart in his ears. He needed information, he needed to know that you were walking out of the car. He needed to know you weren’t dead. He needed to know if he still had a fiancé. It was bad. He knew it was bad. It was the third lap of the fucking Sprint.

“No info-”

“Don’t give me that shit! Is she getting out of the car?!”

“She is exiting the car, yes.”

And fuck, Lando could breathe again.

“Assisted,” Will added and his heart dropped. “They’re stopping the session, bring it back to the pits.”

Lando screamed. As he slowly drove towards the pits, he could feel the eyes on him. The drivers, the media, the fans. All of them wondered the same thing as him. Had he really fucked everything in his life up?

He parked in his own garage and ran out to the RedBull garage, needing more information than anyone was willing to give him.

“What is going on?” he demanded of your race engineer, Ryan.

Ryan sighed. “Have you seen the footage yet?”

“Don’t show it to him!” Christian demanded, crossing the garage to get to him. “You shouldn’t be here, get out of my garage.”

“She’s my fucking fiancé, if I want information, I’m getting it Christian.”

“You’re the one who fucking killed her!” he screamed.

The garage went quiet. Lando’s heart rate sped up, his eyes glossed over. He couldn’t have lost you. He didn’t lose you. He refused. He became so much more aware of everything around him, the dead silence in the garage, the way everyone else’s eyes were wide, or subdued. The way Max stilled. The way Christian just stared at him. The way everyone stopped breathing. He could feel every inch of his race suit on his skin, he could feel every curl on top of his head, every bead of sweat that fell from his skin. He took a deep breath.

“She’s gone?” he asked in a broken whisper, looking at Ryan. Ryan looked down.

“They got her back!” Henry, your lead mechanic screamed, informing the entire garage that you in fact, were alive. “She’s breathing, she’s awake!”

There was a collective sigh of relief. With the aid of Max, Christian backed off enough to allow Lando to see the footage and hear the whole story.

He watched in horror as the front left of his McLaren hit the back right of your RB and sent you flying. Somehow, you’d become airborne and flipped 8 times. 8 times. He counted it. The car hit into the barriers, and it split.

You didn’t move. The cameras turned away. The marshals ran. George ran on, his car had been hit with debris, the same for Franco, Liam, and Alex. They ran over, trying desperately to help you out. George and Liam carried you over to the ambulance. You were limp. Unresponsive.

“She died for 3 minutes,” Ryan explained, a sombre tone in his voice. “She’s on her way to the hospital now.”

He looked down, the tears flowing freely. You had died. For 3 whole minutes, you were gone.

“We think it was the impact of the spinning, and then hitting into the barriers. And… her Hans device was faulty. It wasn’t put on properly, and it came off during the first spin.”

“What about the halo?” he asked.

“It was crushed in the flips. She took the full impact of the last two with no Hans deivce. It was a miracle she didn't break her neck.”

He felt like he’d been slapped.

“We’ll get a car ready for you now. She’ll want to see you,” he explained, wrapping an arm around Lando and bringing him out into the paddock. Ryan, Max, and Henry shielded him from the prying eyes of the media, and got him into a car to the hospital.

What then ensued was the longest car ride of his life. Sao Paulo traffic was awful on a good day, but fuck. This was excruciating. What was worse was the inner turmoil he was dealing with. Would you ever want to see him? Would you leave him after this? Was this the end? Would you ever get back into an F1 car?

When he finally made it to the hospital, he was rushed to the ICU, walking behind a nurse.

“She’s in a stable condition, and she’s awake. She’s been asking for you,” she explained and a weight was lifted off his shoulders. You wanted to see him. You asked to see him.

He turned the corner into your room and he met your eyes. Bloodshot, with a burst blood vessel in one of them. You were bruised and broken, too many casts to count.

“Lando,” you smiled.

You smiled.

He rushed over to your side, sitting in the seat at the side of your bed. “I’m here.”

Your eyes were welling up in tears. “I wanted to see you before I left the track but they said I had to go,” you explained. “This isn’t your fault Lan. It was a racing accident. It was a mistake.”

He stared at you for a moment. How was it that you could sit there, in pain, traumatised, and comfort him? If he was a better man, he probably would’ve told you it was his fault, and not start crying at your kind words.

He started tearing up, bowing his head as to stop you seeing. “I don't deserve you.”

“You do,” you whispered, cupping his cheek. “You do, Lan. You’re here. I know you, and I know you’ve been beating yourself up for the last 3 hours. You didn’t kill me. I’m still alive.”

“I killed you for 3 minutes,” he croaked out.

“Racing killed me for 3 minutes. My defence killed me for 3 minutes. My ego killed me for 3 minutes. It wasn’t you, Lando. I turned into you, I’ve watched the footage,” you assured him. “Don’t blame yourself. I don’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, wrapping his arms around you carefully.

“I’m ok,” you whispered. “You're ok. It’s ok.”

You both knew it would take some time to get over this, but you knew you’d do it together. That was the important part.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

2K notes · View notes

nullen-void · 2 months ago

Text

For a long time I wondered if the final TF2 comic would ever come out. For a longer time I wondered if I wanted it to. They built it up so much, hyped the Administrator's big plan so high, and then waited so long, could they possibly ever meet expectations?

I don't know if what they did was what they originally planned, or if there even was a plan, but I think they knocked it out of the park. It feels... right.

And it cemented the Administrator as one of the most terrifying villains in history. But before I discuss that, SPOILERS:

It was all pointless. None of it ever mattered.

The Gravel Wars, the fighting, the Australium, the deaths, the Classic Mercs, none of it mattered at all. Because Helen or whatever her name is just an addict getting her fix.

She kept a man alive for near enough two hundred years, trapped in the moment just before death by a thousand diseases, because she dedicated her life so thoroughly to ending him that when he finally croaked, she had nothing left. So she brought him back to suffer more. And then extended her OWN life so she could keep making him suffer.

And she doesn't even remember why. She was a child when Zepheniah Mann killed her parents, and she's something like a hundred and seventy years old now. It's been three normal lifetimes since then, and she's forgotten. But she never forgot the hate.

She sabotaged two infant's futures by raising them to be bafoons just to hurt their father. She orchestrated a forever war to spite a single man. She was prepared to keep this going until the heat death of the universe.

Do you know what would have happened if Pauling had lost her nerve and admitted they found a new stash of magic metal? With all three Mann brothers dead, she probably would have gone after Olivia. The last Mann standing, and a girl who at the time was only seven and had barely any connection to the Mann legacy at all, and probably didn't know her grandfather's name! And Helen would have gone after her and ruined her life just to make Zepheniah watch as yet another generation of Mann was ruined.

What a pointless, misspent life. What a waste of time. What an ending.

It makes what comes next all the greater. Scout and Soldier are dads with happy children, Spy still can't admit their relation but gets to be part of his grandkids' lives and he and Jeremy trust each other enough that Scout doesn't blink when he takes his mask off. Team Fortress is happy. They moved on. Found new lives.

Helen couldn't. She had all the time in the world and then some, and she just couldn't move on.

What a waste.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 comics #tf2 spoilers #the days have worn away #the administrator

1K notes · View notes

abysswalkerastraea1 · 3 months ago

Text

Concurrent Resurgence

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

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll make it up to you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody was here.

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

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

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

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked huge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hand was hot and it made you feel content.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were becoming feral for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root.

Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

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

Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What could be better than this?

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

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

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

1K notes · View notes