#it keeps getting worse i want an outlet

[myfriendsseemylikesonmain]

Scenario where Mashita and Yashiki were basically flirting, and one of the kids says "Oh, they're dating" to another one and it somehow circulates back to Yashiki and he's stressing about it because they haven't truly talked about what they are, and he's scared the mark bearers will hate them for being gay bc time era.

Mashita hears about it after a couple days of Yashiki angsting and goes to comfort him and they talk it out. Mark bearers are supportive obv. and yay happy ending

Am I projecting the definitely-non-issue I'm having right now? Absolutely not.

[phagodyke]

venting sorry... don't want to just delete it bc it helps to get it out just ignore this post pls 👍

haven't slept much at all and feeling so sick andstressed and in pain bc my period is due and so tired its making me dizzy but i cant sleep more or ill just feel more sick and I want a hug and to cry so hard into someones shoulder but no one cares or will even come near me it makes me feel diseased they think things about me that aren't true bc I struggle so much to communicate and thry all make assumptions insteqd and no one wants to give me space to talk to them about it so I cant undo that now and its all my fault and I'm so. exhausted :-(

[weirdlittlefish]

bough

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Concurrent Resurgence

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

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll make it up to you."

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

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

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

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

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

[contemplatingoutlander]

It has fallen to me, the humor columnist, to endorse Harris for president

Isn’t this what a newspaper is supposed to do?

I love that The Washington Post satirist Alexandra Petri took it upon herself to endorse Harris for her paper after Bezos pulled the plug on the editorial board doing so. This is a gift🎁link, so feel free to read the entire article. Below are some excerpts:

The Washington Post is not bothering to endorse a candidate in the 2024 presidential election. (Jeff Bezos, the founder of Blue Origin and the founder and executive chairman of Amazon and Amazon Web Services, also owns The Post.) We as a newspaper suddenly remembered, less than two weeks before the election, that we had a robust tradition 50 years ago of not telling anyone what to do with their vote for president. It is time we got back to those “roots,” I’m told! Roots are important, of course. As recently as the 1970s, The Post did not endorse a candidate for president. As recently as centuries ago, there was no Post and the country had a king! [...] But if I were the paper, I would be a little embarrassed that it has fallen to me, the humor columnist, to make our presidential endorsement. I will spare you the suspense: I am endorsing Kamala Harris for president, because I like elections and want to keep having them. Let me tell you something. I am having a baby (It’s a boy!), and he is expected on Jan. 6, 2025 (It’s a … Proud Boy?). This is either slightly funny or not at all funny.  [...] Well, that world [the baby will be born into] will look very different, depending on the outcome of November’s election, and I care which world my kid gets born into. I also live here myself. And I happen to care about the people who are already here, in this world. Come to think of it, I have a lot of reasons for caring how the election goes. I think it should be obvious that this is not an election for sitting out. The case for Donald Trump is “I erroneously think the economy used to be better? I know that he has made many ominous-sounding threats about mass deportations, going after his political enemies, shutting down the speech of those who disagree with him (especially media outlets), and that he wants to make things worse for almost every category of person — people with wombs, immigrants, transgender people, journalists, protesters, people of color — but … maybe he’ll forget.” “But maybe he’ll forget” is not enough to hang a country on! [...] I’m just a humor columnist. I only know what’s happening because our actual journalists are out there reporting, knowing that their editors have their backs, that there’s no one too powerful to report on, that we would never pull a punch out of fear. That’s what our readers deserve and expect: that we are saying what we really think, reporting what we really see; that if we think Trump should not return to the White House and Harris would make a fine president, we’re going to be able to say so. That’s why I, the humor columnist, am endorsing Kamala Harris by myself! [color/ emphasis added]

How far The Washington Post has fallen into the "darkness" it used to work so hard to ward off to help keep our democracy alive.

[edited]

[vampiricgf]

·˚ ₊˚ˑ SOSHIRO HOSHINA ; an exercise in self restraint

warnings: f!reader, alcohol consumption, teasing, fingering, creampie, degradation (calls reader a slut), office sex/semi public, sorry I either need him to get me pregnant or I gotta get him pregnant but one of the two is happening trust

Liquid confidence buzzed in your veins, close to the skin with heat scorching ability as your eyes fluttered open, lips parted as your chest heaves in a struggle to catch your breath. The air in the vice captains office was balmy, like air on the cusp of spring after a long winter.

Soshiro made you feel largely the same, as if after long frigid years suddenly a miraculous thaw has begun.

"Greedy little thing, aren't ya?" His fingers massaged against the fat of your ass through your uniform as you straddled his lap, body feeling heavy from the euphoria of his touch.

"Only when it's you," you rasp out coyly, holding the intense weight of his half lidded crimson gaze.

In a moment of boldness you start slowly moving your hips in his hold, feeling his grip tighten as his hands smooth their way from your ass to your thighs and back.

As greedy as you might be you know he's worse, the only difference is that the vice captain processes the fortitude to deny himself in some odd game of self regulation. You're like a creature of pure instinct around him, coiling and writhing in his hands, coaxed into being the outlet for both yours and his pent up desires.

That ability was being sorely challenged though by you; far too drunk from post mission celebrations and him being the ever helpful superior officer couldn't just abandon you when you'd drunkenly texted him asking if he was available.

He wasn't, but paperwork and reports are trivial when it's your name lighting up his phone screen.

"Mmm, can I kiss you again, Soshiro?" You ask so sweetly and he can feel his teeth vibrate from a sudden craving, the desire to sink his teeth into the swell of your breasts nearly overwhelming his senses.

"It's cute that you asked," he murmurs, voice gravelly and it just spurs you on. Fully grinding down against his now painfully throbbing erection and he briefly wonders if you'll have some light fingertip shaped bruises in the morning despite the uniforms protection.

You hum, pressing sloppy kisses to his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his lips, before finding home with a nibble to his bottom lip that makes him groan and buck his hips up against your clothed cunt. But he doesn't want to give into his own wants just yet, your body's wound so tight with neediness it'd be a shame to waste the opportunity.

So he gently maneuvers you around, eyes closing feeling your ass pressed against his cock now as he uses one arm to keep you firmly supported against his chest, legs spread over his own.

In achingly slow movements he helps you undo your pants, sliding them down enough that they drop around your ankles and can be easily kicked away. Saliva floods his mouth as his hand palms your inner thigh, lust flooding his bloodstream, enjoying the way you roll your head back against his collarbone and sigh.

You were made for him, he thinks, because you're possibly the only supreme test for his self control. One he never minds failing occasionally.

With a touch so light it's barely there the pad of his index strokes against your folds, feeling how slick the skin is from the arousal seeping out of you. You whine and he doesn't need to see your face to know you're pouting but he's quick to soothe you, fingers pressing more firmly as they drag through your stickiness, up and down just to tease you, not yet settling on either your clit or your clenching hole.

But you're not so easily placated, bucking your hips to chase his fingers, begging for even just one to slide inside you.

"Tell me what you want," he just needs to hear you say it, fingers continuing their merciless teasing and feeling how your thighs muscles strain just beneath the skin.

"Don't be mean," you whine and he can't help but grin.

At that all motion stops, causing you to keen low in your throat with desperation, wriggling on his lap like a just caught fish.

"Aw, you think that was mean?" It's a challenge, if you keep pushing he can deny you outright and you know it which is why you immediately, selfishly, acquiesce.

It's his favorite thing when he can arbitrarily make you give in to him.

"Please Soshiro, please just keep touching me," there's a pathetic little wobble in your voice that makes his cock throb and he bites back a groan.

Anything for you.

You moan, low and full of satisfaction as he dips two fingers against your entrance, pushing inside and feeling the slickness of your muscles and inner walls. The pulse of you around him is heaven, whether it's his fingers or his cock it never matters to Soshiro. His thumb presses firmly against your puffy clit as his fingers curl and flex inside you, pushing against your walls and making you squirm deliciously.

Something flickered beneath the surface of his mind, memories of fucking you against a grimy training mat in the early hours of the morning after he'd let you believe (for maybe all of ten minutes) that he couldn't feel your eyes burning into his back as you watched him.

"You're really such a slut," he mused, basking in the way the words made you gasp and your pussy clench around his fingers. "First getting fucked in the training room now you come into my office, drunk, practically begging for me to fuck you."

He punctuates the last word with a nibble to your earlobe, making your back arch away from his chest. Whatever retort you might have had dies on your tongue as he pulls his fingers away, opting to instead slide them between your lips. You open your mouth with no resistance, lapping and sucking at his fingers with so much shamelessness his eyes go wide watching you.

And before he knows it he's failed that self administered test once again, hand fumbling with his pants before allowing his cock to spring free. From how pent up he is even the air against the sensitive skin makes him hiss through his teeth, hurrying to get you turned around again because he needs to see the look in your eyes as you skin down on him.

And you don't disappoint, mouth dropping open as the head of his cock slides past the ring of muscle at your entrance and your walls are forced to part and accommodate the stretch of his girth. Holding your lower back to stabilize you his head dips down, sucking on the skin of your breasts before biting down, making you inhale sharply and circle your hips.

Settling back he feels a primal sense of satisfaction at having given in to his desires. It's always sweeter after denying himself for a bit, but he can never really hold out against you. Not that he wants to, not when the reward is feeling your pussy massage around him, begging him to go deeper, press harder.

It's not a hard call to answer, helping your hips with the up and down motion as you start bouncing on his length, his office now filled with the slick, squelching sound of your cunt eagerly working him over. He buried his face against the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume mingled with the smell of sex. It was like inhaling a drug, feeling it spreading out over his senses and work as effectively as a sledgehammer against concrete.

In a daze his hands come under your ass as he stands, his strength allowing him to easily lay you down against the surface of his desk all without ever slipping out of you. If he could have his way he'd stay buried inside you forever.

It's too easy to lose himself in your body, breaths coming as harsh pants as his hips smack against yours, his balls heavy with every slap against your ass, cock straining with the abject need to pump you full of himself.

And god the way you sound, it doesn't even matter that your cries of his name are so high pitched the sound is certainly carrying down the hall and bouncing against the cinder block like the emergency siren. All it does is stoke the fire, driving him into a brutal pace that has you practically hiccupping and choking on spit as your body jostles violently in rhythm with his onslaught. The way your breasts bounce with every thrust is beyond hypnotizing and he can't help but grope and squeeze them as he bends over you, crowding your senses.

His eyes squeeze shut as your legs lock around his hips, feeling his hips stutter and his balls tightening with incoming release, moaning your name shamelessly as he presses hot, needy kisses to the column of your throat as thick, warm ropes of cum flood inside you, your pussy clamped down around him as if in refusal to give up until he's entirely emptied. And he's glad to give you what you want, remaining inside you even as he feels himself softening.

Pulling back he can't help but be struck by the sight of you: chest heaving and covered in his bite marks, drool sliding from one corner of your lips, eyes glossy and pupils blown wide.

You jerk against the desk as his thumb finds your clit again, whimpering with the stimulation and he briefly wonders just how much cum you can keep inside you.

No better night than this one to find out.

[gay-dorito-dust]

could we get benji with reader and he’s jealous of the braken boys liking you

There was no mistaking the fact that Aeron Bracken had taken somewhat of a liking to you, much to Benjicot’s dismay.

Perhaps it was because you were with him so the brunette was eager to get under his skin by getting close to you? Poison your mind into thinking him as a better choice as he smiled sweetly at you, bringing your hand to his lips all the while keeping his eyes on your every expression.

Regardless of the motive Benji didn’t like it, the Bracken bastard thought himself slick with his honeyed words, but Benjicot could see through Aeron as well one could see through clear glass. The man was brazen with his actions, even more so when he was aware of Benjicot’s presence, and would even glance over at him from time to time to gauge his reaction towards every move he made towards you as though goading him into acting out.

The mousey faced prick brought Benji’s blood to a boil quicker than most but it was made even worse when you were being used to bait him into snapping. Even now as he, Kermit and Oscar came back from training, laughing and joking with one another as they playfully pushed and shoved each other as brothers do despite the ache in their muscles.

‘I bet you’re more than eager to see y/n aren’t you Benji?’ Oscar asked teasingly as he nudged his friend in the side, chuckling at the sight of his friend’s cherry red blush that stretched up towards the tips of his ears. ‘Oh look at him Kermit, our precious little Benji boy is blushing about his spouse, how sweet.’ He adds as Kermit smiled at the sight.

‘Oh you’re right Oscar! The man’s cheeks are about as ripe as freshly picked cherries!’ Kermit exclaims, unfazed when Benjicot smacked him in the chest, if anything it made the Tully want to tease his lovesick friend even more. ‘I bet you thought about them the entire time you were with us, wishing that you’d be where with them, probably under the Weirwood tree trading kisses and words of love.’

‘Oh piss off the pair of you.’ Benji said under his breath as he tried to hide how accurate their words were, he did indeed think of you often when he was away with the lads, growing impatient the longer he was void of your comforting presence. However something must’ve caught his friend’s attention as Oscar and Kermit stopped, looking at something in front of them and just as Benjicot was about to question them, the smile on his face drops. Ahead of them standing far too close to you for his liking was Aeron Bracken, who looked as though he was in the midst of telling you a story that you didn’t believe in the slightest was true.

Benjicot has grown sick and tired of Aeron constantly being near you, it was obviously that the Bracken cunt was intentionally ignoring that you were his, that you were taken and happily so in hopes that he could somehow worm his way between the two of you. Benjicot could feel the fire within his chest become an raging inferno, everything with him burned with the need to pummel the mouse faced Bracken into a pulp, bruised knuckles be damaged if it were to get you away from him.

He had held back for much longer then he intended, so the anger and frustration from the past times that Aeron tried making a move towards you, whether it be by brushing a stray strand of hair from your face or not so subtle glances towards your lips, were resurfacing to the forefront of Benji’s mind as he felt his breath become more ragged and his hands clenched tight until his knuckles were white as bone. The lack of action taken must’ve given Aeron Bracken the impression that he could try to move in on you whenever he was out of reach to do anything about it.

However that was all going to change rather quickly as Benjicot was picking up his pace with Oscar and Kermit struggling to keep up with him, but Benji was seeing red and seething with unbridled anger that only seem to threaten to burn him alive if he didn’t find an outlet soon. ‘Bracken!’ He yells with the anger of a man channeling his entire houses distain as he closes the distance between himself and Aeron, practically all up in his face as Oscar and Kermit stood by your side.

‘Blackwood.’ Aeron said back with equal disdain as he tried to stand tall, hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘Don’t you think you’ve overstayed your welcome?’ Benjicot asked as he made sure you were well and truly hidden behind him from Aeron’s eyes, even going so far as to move in tandem of the brackens dark eyes as they shifted, keeping himself in his line of view and nobody else. ‘For I’m certain my spouse has had their fill of your face to last an entire lifetime, consisting with how often you keep trying to make them see reason by being with you like the conniving cunt that you are.’ Benjicot adds in a low growl.

‘They need someone devoted to them.’ Aeron spat back as he stepped up in Benjicot’s face, ‘not someone who’s fucking off to play knights with his mates.’ The Bracken then gestures to Oscar and Kermit who glared back at him

‘And you think you are?’ Benji asked rhetorically, he wanted to laugh, truly he did as he ran his tongue over his teeth because who the fuck did Aeron think he was to say such pure shit and believe it to be truth? Whether it was taught by his rat of an uncle Benji couldn’t care in the slightest, for it only further proved to him that Brackens would gladly further themselves through lies and altering historical events to better suit their own image in the eyes of greater houses.

‘I know i am, I-‘

‘Stop!’ You exclaimed, pushing both Benji and Aeron away from one another, causing them to look at you in bewilderment. ‘I’ve forced myself for listen for long enough to be now at my wits end.’ You looked to Aeron and crossed your arms over your chest. ‘Aeron, I have made it abundantly clear on multiple occasions that my heart lies with lord Blackwood from now until my last breath, and yet you still persist in chasing something that has no need nor want for you. It makes you look desperate.’ Oscar and Kermit snorted at Aeron’s expense, but were silenced when you looked at them with a stern glare as you looked to Benjicot with a soft expression.

‘Benji,’ you uttered softly as you reached up to hold his face, to which he was quick to melt into, ‘I need you to put more trust in me for I am not someone in constant need of saving, I can hold my own with or without you.’ You tell him and while he wanted to say something, Benji decided against it and let you speak the rest of your mind to him. ‘You hold my heart, is that not enough to reassure you that I’d never look into the eyes of another man when my head is filled with thoughts of you and only you?’ You add as you looked deeply into his stormy eyes that have now became a calm ocean under your touch and words.

Jealously still flowed through him but at a rate of which he could barely feel the influence of the green eyed monster, no more as more as he could the gentle fluttering of a butterflies wings, and yet he felt a sense of guilt settle in his stomach upon realising that you thought that he didn’t trust you in the presence of another man, Bracken or otherwise without feeling a tinge of jealously.

‘I trust you wholeheartedly.’ Benjicot tells you softly as he holds your waist, pulling you in close, completely disregarding everybody else as his eyes remained on yours. ‘And I apologise for ever making you think that I didn’t when I should’ve just said something instead so that doubt would’ve have been able to grow in your heart.’ The young lord then rested his forehead against your own, breathing you in as he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer until you were flushed against his chest. ‘I shall learn to do better by you and for you from this day forth, I swear it upon the old gods and I swear it upon to you, my heart. I may become jealous but that does not reflect my distrust in you but more so in others who seek your heart.’ Benjicot finishes as he looking deeply into your eyes.

You sighed, knowing that you could never truly be angry at Benjicot, not when he looked at you they way he did now, as though you were the only one worth looking at for the rest of his life however long that maybe. ‘This is still up for discussion.’ You told him as you went to bid Aeron farewell, only to see that he had already left in a strope, shrugging your shoulders as you Oscar, Kermit and Benjicot left to head back to Raventree hall; Only to tug Benjicot to stop once Ocar and Kermit were out of earshot to whisper to him, ‘you’re quite handsome when you’re jealous.’ Before pressing a kiss to his lips quickly as you ran to catch up to the Tully brothers with Benjicot following shortly after with a smile on his face.

[sunglassesmish]

(from this podcast episode): lou on his dad, therapy and crying:

“You know, in a lot of ways, I want to be different than how my dad was. My dad was, you know, he had his shortcomings as a dad. He was a great father, but as a dad, he wasn't, but you know, he's handicapped. So yeah, and, but through lots and lots and lots of therapy, I've come to realize that it's not him, it's not his fault.

He, according to, based on his history with his father, he, it was a world better. And no matter what I would do, if I was a father, I would get blamed for something anyways. So, you know, we'll see.

I'm not yet half satisfied as where I'm at in my career. I'm just going to keep trudging forward and we'll see what happens, but yeah, hopefully one day.”

“Therapy saved my life, 100%. And it's a lot of money, but it's also like training hamstrings when you're not expecting. Training hamstrings are goods.

You're paying all this money. And as a man, you're like, pay money, get something in return. But you don't get anything tactile in return.

But over time, I mean, I would be in a much, much worse place if it wasn't for the years that I spent in front of a counselor, just basically talking and even thinking days I didn't have anything to talk about. An hour goes by and we talked about so many different things. A huge proponent of therapy, huge proponent of self-help, huge proponent of using the gym as your outlet, and huge proponent also, Sean, here's one for you.”

“I, as an acting exercise, sometimes I cry during programming. A lot of this undercover boss, I watch a lot of Dr. Phil. So when I get teary-eyed, being a jacked dude myself, I really lean into it.

So if I start crying and I get teary-eyed, I just fucking wail, bro. Because it's, first of all, people seeing a grown jacked dude crying, and I was crying at my sister's fu- my sister’s funeral? - my sister's wedding, and I was all dolled up gushing. And people were like, they didn't know what to do.

They're like, whoa, this is weird. It's like a dinosaur, like a crying jacked dude. So when it comes to watching television programming, when I'm feeling that mode of tearing up, I start just fucking heaving, man, and getting it out and crying and feeling those emotions because they're real and they're sparked from something real.

And it really just lets your grip on everything that's hurting you or bothering you or stressing you out. It just eases that grip a little bit and you have no idea. And it pays off in dividends.”

[zombiigrll]

Hey! I saw you wanted request sooo how about reader, carl, and a couple other people go on a run to get stuff for negan, but on the run a herd comes. They can’t handle the herd so the reader distracts the herd but ends up getting lost. The rest of the group had to leave to avoid the herd and carl is broken up about it. Months pass and carl thinks reader is dead and grieves her until one day she shows back up at alexandria and they reunite!

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BACK FROM THE 'DEAD.' ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader

.ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 2.2K

꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ hurt to comfort, use of y/n, lineup (twd 7x1) mention, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse stuff, swearing, kissing !!

.ᐟ SUMMARY .ᐟ ⭑ you had gotten lost protecting your friends from a herd, and everyone thought you had died. that was until you arrived back at alexandria weeks later.

꩜ .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ thank you SO MUCH for the request anon! i had so much fun writing this i hope you enjoy!! <3

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"y/n..." a familiar voice called. "wake up.." the voice was soft, and whoever's voice it belonged to was shoving you in an attempt to wake you up.

"mmm." you rolled over and covered the blanket over your head stubbornly.

"my dad says we have to go on a run. we have to get supplies for.. negan."

right. negan.

that got you to move the blanket off of your head and look back at the boy talking to you somberly.

carl was always so gentle with you, despite all that he was going through. he was there in the lineup with you, too. but afterwards, he was more worried how you felt than how he felt.

whenever you'd ask, he'd simply shrug it off, saying he's fine, or he's felt worse.

he brought up a hand to your sleepy face, moving a strand of hair from your face before resting his palm on your jaw.

"i know it sucks." he sighs, but he still smiles at you.

you sit up and rub your eyes, an exhausted groan leaving your mouth. "when do we have to leave?"

"whenever you're ready." he runs his hands through your hair, trying to comfort you.

"alright." you give him a quick kiss before standing up, stretching as you walk over to grab your clothes.

...

you, carl, rick, and aaron were all in a big truck, driving around to find some place that had even the slightest chance of supplies for the saviors. you were quiet the entire time, anxious thinking about the saviors and the lineup. you didn't want anything to happen to anyone in your group again. you'd make sure nothing happened.

carl was always watching you, making sure nothing happened to you. even during the lineup, he shouted when negan pointed his bat toward you. begging for him to stop messing with you. he almost got himself killed, and you weren't going to let that happen again.

"here, stop here." rick says, knocking on the outside of his door through the window.

aaron pulls to the side of the road, in front of an outdoor shopping outlet.

you hop out of the car, grabbing your backpack as you exit and you put it around to droop off of your shoulder. carl follows, getting out of the car right after.

aaron and rick walk steadily in front as the two of you trail behind them.

carl nudges your shoulder slightly, looking at you with a worried expression. "you doing alright?"

you nod, licking your lips in thought. "i'm doing good. are you doing alright?"

"it doesn't matter how i'm doing-"

"yes, it does, carl." you look at him, a serious expression plastered on your face. "don't keep brushing the question off. how are you doing?"

"...best i can in our situation." carl laughs, a bit awkwardly, surprised by your seriousness.

you look forward, continuing to walk. "you can talk to me, y'know."

carl looks at you confused as he catches back up to you. "sorry?"

"you can talk to me. it doesn't always have to be how i'm doing, what i'm going through. you're going through things, too."

carl silently nods, continuing to walk.

the four of you stop in front of two stores.

"you two can check out this side, me an' aaron will check out the other." rick points to you and carl, gesturing for you two to check the right side.

you and carl nod at each other and begin walking into the right side, looking at all the stores.

"which store do we check first?" you ask carl, looking around.

"here, this one." carl begins walking into a store, and you follow quickly behind.

you begin rummaging through the shelves, grabbing anything useful you can find. you huff loudly shaking your head. "this is stupid. this should be our stuff."

"i agree." carl nods, clearly equally as annoyed as you. "grab some things for yourself. we can hide them somewhere outside the walls."

you look up with a smile, immediately grabbing things more eagerly. carl laughs a bit at your reaction. how easy it is to make you happy, even on bad days like this.

the two of you finished up quickly in the store and began walking around, looking at all the different shops. there weren't many on your guys' side that were worth looking. there were lots of game shops, book stores.. things you guys would have to make time for on a separate run.

"do you think we're ready to go check in with rick?" you ask as you zip up your backpack, slinging it back over your shoulder.

"yeah, i think we got everything we can get over here." carl walks over to your side, grabbing your hand and interlocking your guys fingers together, smiling at you.

the two of you start making your way back over to the left side of the shopping center, looking around for aaron and rick.

but then, you heard growls. loud growls. and lots of them.

you look around for where the sound is coming from, but aaron and rick quickly run out of a store.

"do you two hear that?" aaron asks as he looks around.

"yes, where is it coming from?" you look around frantically with him, but then you spot something behind him.

walkers. a herd of them.

you point behind them and they look over. you pull out your gun quickly.

"they're right next to the car, we won't make it." rick shakes his head, pointing his gun to the walkers.

you look at them, then over at carl. his eyes were wide and he had his gun up, too, shaking.

you walk forward a bit, looking further into the herd. "...i'll distract them."

"what?!" carl whisper-yells, looking at you like you were insane. "fuck no. you're not-"

"i love you carl." you grab his face and give him a quick kiss. "i'm not letting you guys die. not like this."

you start running, gun in hand pointing to the herd and shooting at them.

"please, wait- y/n!" carl yells, but you're too far away for him to catch up.

you pull out your knife and begin stabbing the walkers close to you, their rotten blood splattering onto your clothes.

they were surrounding you, but you slashed at them as fast as you could, occasionally pulling your gun out to shoot them.

"no, no!" you hear carl yell. you turn your head and see rick pulling him into the car.

he was crying.

when you paused to turn around, you noticed that the walkers stopped paying attention to you. and when you looked down, you noticed you covered- drenched- in blood. you knew that most of it was walker blood, but you were worried some of it could be yours, too.

you didn't have any idea on where to go. you were stuck, letting the walkers roam past you. and the car was already long gone by now.

so, you pretended to be a walker. it was insane, but it worked. you walked back to the mall and quickly shoved yourself into one of the stores.

"oh, god.." you cried, setting the back of your head on the wall and dragging yourself down along it.

you looked down at your bloodstained hands. you were trembling. you were experiencing a fear you had never felt before.

"am i bit?" you spoke to yourself, rolling your sleeves up and trying to wipe away the blood on your arms, despite your hands being covered in blood. you checked your waist, legs, arms, everything. no bites.

you sighed in relief, a hand on your heart as you caught your breath.

...

it had been weeks. you couldn't find alexandria, your memory of the way back getting lost somewhere in your panic from that herd. but you were still looking, determined to find alexandria. to find carl.

your hair was longer, your eyes were darker, you were dirty. you were lucky to have your backpack and that whole mall for the first couple of weeks.

but now, you were somewhere in the woods, aimlessly looking around for alexandria. despite the fact that everyone there had probably thought you were long gone, including carl. i mean, who survives being in the middle of a herd? you didn't think you would.

you were probably slowly going insane, all of the days without any social interaction were catching up to you. you'd frequently catch yourself dozing off, saying things to yourself trying to keep yourself stable.

but then, for the first time in forever, you heard a voice. it wasn't super familiar, but you recognized it. they were next to the road you saw that laid right next to the woods you were walking in.

you stepped out of the woods, and you instantly spotted michonne.

"who's there?" michonne called out, taking her sword out and pointing it towards you. you put your hands up as you step further out so she can see you. "...y/n?"

her voice went soft as she dropped her sword. she ran over to you, hugging you tightly.

"michonne.." your voice was hoarse after not speaking for weeks, but she could tell it was you.

"i thought you were dead.. everyone thought you were dead." she put her hands on your shoulders comfortingly.

"i thought i was, too." you laughed, tears forming in your eyes. "is.. is carl okay?"

"yes, he's okay." michonne nodded. "he's been talking about you a lot. he really misses you."

"how far is alexandria?" you asked with a smile. "i really need to see carl."

"it's back over this way. i haven't been walking long. i'll go ahead of you and get carl, you can surprise him." michonne smiles, picking up her sword and putting it back as she speaks.

"okay.." you nod. "what should i even say? am i just going to be like 'hey carl, i'm back from the 'dead,' sorry i made you grieve even thought i'm alive!' ..what if he's mad?"

"he'd never get mad at you. you know that." michonne pats your back. "alexandria is a straight shot this way. take some time to prepare yourself, i'll be on the other side with carl when you're ready."

you nod and wave. right as she walks back, you sit down on the concreate road.

was this real? was all of this really happening? in the slim chance of you coming back, it actually happened.

you looked through your backpack quickly, remembering that you had a ton of comics that you and carl read when you guys were little. you pulled them out and put your backpack on again, walking in the direction of alexandria, bracing yourself for whatever will happen.

michonne was right, it wasn't too far from where you had met her. you must've been walking for just around 5 minutes when you found the place. you looked up at the watch tower, spotting a figure with a very familiar sheriffs hat on top.

you stood in front of the gate, and the person in the watch tower yelled. "who are you?"

you were sure now that it was carl.

you raised your hands, unsure what to say. you knew he wouldn't recognize you, your clothes different and your hair messy.. you looked up from the corner of your eye and noticed michonne tapping his shoulder, and him disappearing.

the gates opened in front of you, and you saw carl and michonne standing there.

carl looked confused, that was until you looked up.

"hi." you muttered nervously.

"holy shit."

he ran up to you, bringing you into a hug that pushed you two to the ground, his hat falling down next to him.

you returned it, sobbing into his chest.

"i'm so... sorry.." you cried, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

he rested his head in the crook of your neck. "no, no.. don't be." his voice broke, making it clear he was crying with you. "i.. i love you, y/n. so much. i.. you're really here? you're alive?" he put his hands on your shoulders, quickly moving them up to your face, examining your features to make sure it was you.

"yes.." you smiled, tears flowing down your cheeks as you brought your hands up to his. "i'm real. i'm alive.."

he starts laughing, causing a few more tears to slip out of his eye. "how the hell did you survive being in the middle of a herd..?"

"i.. looked back at the car and i saw you. by then, i was covered in walker blood. somehow, my body stopping and smelling like walker guts made them confuse me with a walker... so i played along." you rubbed your thumb along carls hand as you nervously spoke.

he looked at you with a saddened expression, his brows furrowing as he takes you back into his arms. he lifts you up with him, grabbing his hat as he stands up and placing it back on top of his head. he looks down at you and smiles.

"i love you so much." he cries.

you had never really seen him cry before. not like this. he was being genuine.

"i love you so much, too." you cried with him, looking into his eyes happily.

you were happy. he was happy. despite everything, you were in each others arms finally, holding one another. you were supposed to be dead, but you lived. finally... with the only person you ever wanted to be with.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

[thatwildwolfwrites]

—in which turians gossip.

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian's youngest?

His son? Yeah. Apparently he got detention again. It's the fifth time this week. I don't know why that child keeps talking back. It's like he has no respect for authority.

Well, they'll beat that out of him at bootcamp. He'll fall in line eventually.

Why can't he just be normal? All the other kids his age understand this already. Maybe something's wrong with him...

I wonder. He's not growing up into a good turian... Poor Castis.

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian's son?

--

Yes. What a waste. I heard he ranked at the very top in all sharpshooting and hand to hand combat tests... and all of that for nothing.

What's wrong with him? 

He will never make a good turian.

Spirits, poor Castis. First the accident, and now that son of his...

--

What about his son? I thought he was normal now. Didn't he find a job, outside the military?

He did. Citadel Security, like his father. Easier outlet for that... passion of his. You know. All that talk of justice and right and wrong... Castis hoped working at C-Sec would help him get it out of his system. Start being normal. Maybe he would finally burn through that... energy.

Did it work?

He's constantly fighting with his superiors. Disobeying orders. Questioning their judgement. I hear he's just as much trouble out there as he ever was down here.

I don't envy Castis right now. Hearing about your son constantly failing at the job you excelled at... It's got to do something to you.

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian's son? I heard he actually quit C-Sec now. Couldn't even conform to that. Now he's left the Citadel on a whim, with some human, on an impulse...

--

Poor Castis.

Poor Castis.

I heard Castis Vakarian's son was part of that mess at the Citadel, with the geth.

--

Apparently he's aiming to be a Spectre now. I don't know how his father is going to take that.

I wouldn't want to be in his plates right now.

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian's son? He dropped out of the Spectre training program.

--

Have you heard? He's gone mad.

I heard he finally snapped. Had some sort of identity crisis, left spirits know where without saying anything.

I suppose it was always a matter of time. There's always been something wrong with that boy. Still, his poor family...

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian's son? 

--

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian? Yeah, he has kis kids staying over.

I heard. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse. Working with a terrorist organisation. Human supremacists, too... I can't imagine what his father's going through right now.

--

I heard it's a difficult family situation, yes. The mother's dying, and he... At least he still has his daughter, not like that good for nothing son of his.

Have you seen him? What a disgrace. Half his body covered in scars like that. Wearing his failures right on his face... His family must be so ashamed.

Heard he's saying he's fallen in love with an alien. A human of all species. 

Disgusting.

That's just adding insult to injury. His poor family.

Poor Castis.

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian's son?

--

Isn't he the one in charge of that refugee camp on the Citadel? Who even decided to put him in a leadership role?

I don't know. I heard he's friends with the new Primarch. I heard he failed upwards. I heard he's in an important position now, in charge of helping with that war summit.

This damn war. They'll promote anyone as long as they're still alive.

--

--

--

Have you seen? Commander Shepard's written a private account about the Reaper War. Have you read this? 

--

Incredible.

Heartwarming.

Inspiring.

Unbelievable.

Beautiful.

She wrote about Garrus Vakarian.

They were close. He was her lieutenant. Her closest aide. Her best friend.

He held her up when she stumbled. He asked her to take care of herself. He checked in with her. He cared. When everyone else saw the Commander, he was the only one who saw a person. He was the only one who asked how she was doing. He was the only one who supported her.

She wrote about everything he did for her.

He's the only reason she had the strength to win that war.

He saved the world.

--

--

Have you heard about Castis Vakarian?

--

You mean Garrus Vakarian's father? Yeah. I heard. He must be so proud.

[wreckingtickles]

Say the line, Bakugo!

The League of Villains wants Bakugo to renege heroism on video, but the stubborn trainee might need a little bit of persuasion... a whole lot of it, in fact.

Words: 2,924

This picture made me do it:

Tickle torture under the cut!

“FUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHCK!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAPPPP!!!”

Four hours. That’s how long he had been at it. Four goddamn hours that felt like forty.

The Energizer had two massagers pressed deep into Bakugo’s underarms, the furious vibrations rippling out to affect the entirety of the hairless, slick hollows. Some ten minutes prior, he’d said that he’d figured out a method that would drive Bakugo absolutely ballistic, and that promise had been kept, much to the captive’s chagrin. Somehow, that was indeed even worse than the claws, whose gentle skating had in turn been more agonizing than the Energizer’s own wiggling fingers. He claimed he’d realize the massagers would work wonders when he saw how sensitive the blond’s ribcage and armpits were to raspberries.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! EHEHEHNOOOOOOUUUUUUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

“Enough? We’ve got two more hours to go!” trilled the Energizer, who’d taken his sweet time testing Bakugo’s body head to toe. He increased the speed of the massagers, relishing in the rise in the pitch of the captive’s laughter he knew would come.

Unfortunately, Bakugo wasn’t able to hear him, and not due to the defeated sounds he was forced to produce or the toll the tickling was taking on his senses: three hours in, the Energizer had opted for sensory deprivation. The headphones secured to Bakugo’s ears played an edited recording of their first three hours together, forcing the trainee to listen to the embarrassing sound of his own increasing laughter interspersed with the Energizer’s merciless teasing. He wished he could see the moment the fight would leave Bakugo’s eyes, but it was even more satisfying to see ticklish tears stain the black blindfold and pool at both sides of the blond’s head. He had gotten to see his anger turn to suspicion and then horror when he realized what was going to happen to him, and again later when his body – but seemingly not its owner – realized he wouldn’t be able to outlast this.

The Energizer had debated gagging him as well, but hearing his threats and insults turn into obstinate grunting, then resentful cackling, and finally howling laughter was too delightful to pass up. Besides, letting Bakugo try to speak, threaten, bargain might be more effective at breaking his ego than depriving him of that outlet.

“How come you keep getting more and more ticklish? Mh, your skin is so smooth, which makes tickling you so easy, and your Quirk… oh, is it because of your sweat? If I had known, I wouldn’t have bothered with the oil. You should have told me, silly! Someone really needs punishment tickles.”

He turned the two massagers to the max, ripping another screech from the spent prisoner. The only reason Bakugo was still able to thrash and laugh his explosive head off was the Energizer’s Quirk, an incense-like smell he could secrete to replenish the inhaler’s stamina – which had the apparent side effect of keeping him at peak sensitivity as well.

How had Bakugo found himself sweating bullets on that low, Y-shaped contraption, his hands still encased in those Quirk-suppressing manacles and secured to the top portion of the horizontal surface so his upperbody would be completely vulnerable, his black tee having been pulled up to his elbows, his legs spread and his toes pried back and individually tied to the ankle restraints, his bare feet currently wrapped in two plastic bags to keep them warm and ever more sensitive?

The League of Villains had planned to release a new video, one in which Bakugo himself would mouth Shigaraki’s talking points about the unfairness of the hero system and how violence was turned into a spectacle dressed up in morality - the prisoner hadn’t really paid much attention, preferring to thrash in place even though he was going nowhere.

His stubbornness was sure to prove a tremendous obstacle, but the League had already accounted for it by hiring the Energizer, an infamous torturer who couldn’t have been much older than Bakugo himself going by his voice, though his high-collared lab coat and round shades obscured most of his face. The League had been ready to offer him hundreds of thousands of yen; when he was told who he’d be working over, the Energizer agreed to do it for free. Pro bono. He kept tabs on the heroes in training that could one day be his targets, and there was something he’d wanted to try on this specific trainee since the Sports Festival. He wouldn’t leave a single mark and he’d be done before the six hours were up. He only had two conditions, the first of which was that he wanted to be alone with the captive.

He’d started at Bakugo’s stomach, claiming that it was a favorite spot of his. His gentle scribbling had caused Bakugo to freak out, out of rage rather than ticklishness, and to his credit, not even the combination of oil, claws, and an electric toothbrush in his bellybutton had fully succeeded in breaking him, though the addition of the occasional raspberry had pushed him to the brink.

His sides had been acquainted with the Energizer’s fingers as well as the dreadful massagers, both the scalp and the electric sort. Those same tools had been used on Bakugo’s waist and hips, but thankfully his pants prevented easy access to his thighs, and his knees didn’t happen to be very sensitive. However, the torturer had no compunction about removing the trainee’s shoes and socks, and he’d made a point of telling Bakugo that he’d been curious about that area’s sensitivity ever since his rude refusal to accommodate his classmates during the cavalry battle by removing his footwear.

Bakugo hated himself for how hard he’d laughed then, with toothbrushes – sonic and electric – flossers, paintbrushes, pieces of string, and the massagers were used on his toes, while combs, claws, forks, hairbrushes and, worst of all, grooming gloves had ravaged his oiled soles.

The moment he’d felt the Energizer leave his feet alone for a moment and take a stab at his ribs, he’d begged, not even for the torment to stop, just for a break. A reasonable request, the Energizer had agreed, before digging into his ribcage full-force. Fingers, soft scrub brushes, backscratchers, claws, raspberries, all used to superb effect on the trainee’s most ticklish spot – at least at that time, because at that moment, his pits were proving about as rewarding, for the Energizer, and excruciating, for Bakugo.

The torturer had teased him and remarked on his ticklishness throughout, no matter what he was doing, both for his own entertainment and so that Bakugo would be forced to listen to him again once the headphones came on. The fact that the broken hero couldn’t hear him didn’t deter him.

“Hey, if you don’t want me to use these two massagers of mine on your ribs, you can just say so. Tell me now.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAGHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHASSOHOOOOOHOHOLE-- HAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

“I’m not hearing a no. Does that mean I can? Are you sure? Because you reeeeeeally look like you’re at your limit. Well, two hours ago you did. For real, it’s your last chance!”

“GHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! STAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!! YOU FUUUUUUHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAHA!!!! PLEEEEEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! PLEEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHASEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!”

“Please? Alright, if you insist!”

Before Bakugo could even realize the massagers – still on their highest setting – had left his thoroughly exploited pits, he felt them press into the very top of his ribcage.

He screeched and his body spasmed as if the Energizer had electrocuted him. Maybe he would have preferred it.

“…………………………EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! GGGHAHAHAHAHAH HAAHHAHAHAA GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

Bakugo needed to say something. He couldn’t remember what, if his would even allow him to string two coherent sounds together. He was scrambling for a magic word that would make it all end.

“Tsk tsk, I told you you couldn’t take it! Why didn’t you stop me? And it’s so much worse when you can’t see or hear! That stubbornness of yours will land you in trouble one of these days, I tell you.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHHA!!!!! …………………..GGGGGHAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!! NEEEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAAAAAA!!”

“Oh, is it too much right here at the top? Maybe it tickles less at the bottom, let’s see.”

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! SSSSSOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAAHAHHAHAHAAAAA!!!”

“Nope, I don’t think it does. Tell you what, I’ll just do both.”

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAAHHAHAHAAHA!!!!! HAHAHA!!! HAHAHAHA!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAH HAHAHAHAAHAHAHHAAHAHHAHAAHA!!! IIII CAAAAAAAAAANNN’T!!! IHIH CAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!”

“I can though, so you will.”

He kept Bakugo in that hysterical limbo for a few more minutes, until he noticed that one of the massagers was losing power. Some part of Bakugo must have noticed too, because his lungs were pumping out mirth only at 100% capacity.

“Oh, you think the worst is over? Not when I can do this!” said the Energizer as he drilled his knuckles into either side of the trainee’s ribcage.

Bakugo all but wailed, having believed for just the slightest second that his torment would get ever so slightly more bearable, before being plunged back into the deepest depths of despair.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAA!!”

“If you want me to stop, you only have to tell me.”

“GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAAAAPPPP!!!”

“Oh wow, you’re a lucky one, aren’t you? Well, you would be if I was actually going to stop, which I’m not. How about my knuckles and a massager?”

So he buried his knuckles into the right side of Bakugo’s ribcage while pressing the vibrating head into his lowest set of ribs.

Bakugo coughed, wheezed, let out a choked cry, his whole body shook, and he screeched again at the top of his lungs.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK!!! EEHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! NONONOPLEASEPLEASEPLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHHAHA!!!”

“Oh, I think we have a winner!” trilled the Energizer, repeating the deadly combo, and again, and again, switching sides, making sure not a single spot of Bakugo’s extremely sensitive ribcage went unmolested, his Quirk – Caffeine – preventing the blond’s senses from failing even for a moment.

Bakugo coughed, wheezed, and his laughter went silent. The Energizer didn’t stop. He fell perfectly still, his blindfolded face frozen in the most perfect expression of ticklish agony, but the Energizer didn’t stop. And his howling laughter exploded out of his chest once more as the Energizer pressed the massager into his top ribs.

He only relented when that massager’s battery began to flash red as well. “Oh snap. Well, that’s what powerbanks are for,” he mused out loud as he recharged both massagers. That was probably for the best, Bakugo’s voice had become unpleasantly hoarse by the end of it, so he left him to recuperate a bit. He checked the timer. About an hour and a half left. So he had thirty minutes before the grand finale.

He removed the headphones from Bakugo’s head. The blond reflexively jerked to the side to avoid his touch, and the Energizer smiled. He had him. He also took off the blindfold, watching Bakugo’s eyes flutter uncertainly under the harsh spotlight that kept the rest of the warehouse shrouded in darkness.

“F- umph, fuhuck…”

“Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” teased the Energizer.

Bakugo thought better.

“Hey, you’ve made it!” exclaimed the Energizer, clapping a hand on Bakugo’s knee. “That was six hours. I assume you’ll say what the League wants you to say?”

Bakugo gave him the best glare he could muster. “Fuck… you.”

The Energizer smiled. “Shucks. I shot my best shot, I guess there’s nothing to be done…” he proclaimed theatrically as he turned his back on Bakugo.

He could almost feel the surge of relief and pride that filled Bakugo’s chest, pride that would eventually sour once he remembered that he’d nearly given in to a villain’s demands due to being tickled, but at that moment he could picture the exact smirk, the gloating curses forming at the back of his throat…

“Just one more thing,” he said as he pivoted and showed Bakugo his timer. - 01:32:02.

“NO!” shouted Bakugo, the exact grin that the Energizer had imagined dying on his lips. “No—Fuck! You can’t…! Fuck, fuck!”

“Look where that loud mouth of yours landed you, again.”

“FUCK YOU! DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!”

“You look so stupid now. And ticklish.”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!!!”

“That I cannot do, but I can promise to leave your pits and oh-so-sensitive ribs alone,” cooed the Energizer, making his way toward the bottom of the contraption.

Bakugo immediately realized what was about to happen and tried to kick, thrash, twist, do anything to get away from the Energizer’s torturous touches. Oh, taking off the blindfold and headphones was so worth it.

He slowly tore off the plastic bag around Bakugo’s left foot, and watched as the blond jerked his leg as if he’d been scorched. Then, he did the same to the second bag, this time even slower.

“Mmh, I wonder what I should do next…” he teased, his fingers reaching for the bare sole.

“Fuck you, I’ll never say it, you guys can choOOOOOHOHOHOOHHOHHOOO!!! NAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!!” guffawed Bakugo as his tormentor slipped a finger between each of the toes of the blond’s left foot, the digits effortlessly sliding into place thanks to Bakugo’s Quirk.

“Listen to the little hardass,” taunted the Energizer without even moving his fingers, letting the micro-twitches of Bakugo’s toes do all the work for him.

“STOOOOOHOHP, FUHUHUHUCKIHING STOOOOOHOHHOHP!!!” pleaded Bakugo.

“I’m not even doing anything, look,” observed the Energizer as the fingers of his left hand subjected Bakugo’s remaining toes to the same treatment.

“HAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHA!!! SHITSHITSHIHIHIHIITT!!!! QUHUHUHUIT IHIHIT PLEHEHEHEHEHEAAAAAAHAHAHAHSEE!!”

“I’m literally not doing anything, just resting my fingers! Damn, and I thought your feet were ticklish before. Your toes aren’t even the most sensitive part, I hope you remember that.”

“LEHEHAVE MY FEEHHET AAAHALONE YOOU FREHEHAK!!!”

“What’s the magic word?” asked the Energizer, moving his fingers almost imperceptibly…. unless you’re Bakugo of course.

“PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHAHAHAHAHSEEEE!!! STAHAHAHAHAHHAPPP!!! I CAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHN’T!”

Entertaining though the spectacle was, the Energizer withdrew his hands… and reached for an object Bakugo couldn’t see.

“Wrong. The magic word is ‘abracadabra,’” he said before vigorously scrubbing the detailing brush on the bare sole.

Bakugo arched his back and screamed. “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

“There it is!” chuckled the Energizer. “The ball is the most ticklish part, right? Right around here,” he narrated as the brushed honed in on that spot, inching agonizingly closer with each pass, until it hit it, and Bakugo screeched again.

“Am I good at my job or what?” gloated the Energizer, though Bakugo was obviously in no condition to answer.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAH!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHO MOOOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOO!!!”

“Wouldn’t it be awful if I also had a comb to use on the base of your toes?”

“GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! STAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAPPPP FAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!! PLEEHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHAHAHAHAH!!!”

“Oh, wouldn’t you know!”

“GGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! HAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!”

“This is some real anime shit,” commented the Energizer as the brush devastated most of Bakugo’s sole while the comb in his other hand did all the precision work.

The closest thing Bakugo got to a reprieve in the following 30 minutes were the momentary switches between one foot and the other.

“OOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAH!!! OHOHOK!!! OKOKOKOKOKOKOKOKOKOKOOKAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

The Executioner checked the timer. Minus one hour, give or take. Just in time.

For the first time that night, he actually stopped in tandem with (though not as a consequence of) his target’s plea. He moved the comb and brush less than an inch away from Bakugo’s foot, just as a reminder.

“So?” he asked, impatiently waiting for Bakugo to speak between heaving breaths.

“I… I will… say… it…”

“Will you really? How do I know you’re not saying it just to make me stop?”

“N-! No I’ll, I’ll sahay the thing…”

“And what will you say after you’re released? That the mean villains tick-tick-tickled you so so hard that you just had to say those awful things? Is the big stwong hewo so weak that a widdle bit of tickwing will take him down?”

It was a testament to his skill that Bakugo was too thoroughly broken to take umbrage at the baby talk. Even his voice had embraced defeat. “I’ll say… I’ll do anything, just… stop.”

From the crinkles at the corner of his eyes, Bakugo could tell even through the mist of ticklish tears that the Energizer was smiling.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he murmured. “I know you will. But I have… a little over an hour with you still, and we don’t want that ugly temper of yours to flare again, do we? So I’ll use every single second of our remaining time together to make sure that stubborn little brain remembers exactly how bad things will get if you don’t give the performance of a lifetime.”

Oh, the abject terror in Bakugo’s eyes. “NO!!! YOU-- YOU CAN’T!!!”

“Watch me. Oh, Oooooohmuuuuuu!” he called, and the trainee when from confusion to dismay when he saw the monstrous figures shamble out of the dark. Was he going to be torn limb from limb?

“Don’t worry, they aren’t going to hurt you. See, Ohmus are rally dumb, they only understand simple commands,” explained the Energizer as he removed the two massagers from their chargers and turned them on. “Like… stick these things into his pits and don’t move, like I did before.”

He handed the two vibrating menaces to the massive horror near Bakugo’s arms.

“Wait no no more please I’ll do anything pleeHEHEHEHEHHEHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAAH!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!!”

“You, remember the thing I did with the knuckles? This right here? Yeah, do that. You, with the many hands? Ok, curl and uncurl your fingers like this. Do that on his belly, his sides, and the bottom of his ribs – here. That’s exactly it! You, take that hairbrush, you wanna scrub that right here, see how red it is already? There you go. Can I get someone to floss his toes-- great. And, well, I’m already holding this brush and this comb, so…”

[bobafetts-princess]

Surprise: The Sequel

Pairings: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2800

Warnings: PiV, we wrap shit up in this one, a little butt stuff, spit kink, biting, cursing, choking. Reader is a little subby here. This is a fic centered on the reader ovulating and being really horny. Heed warnings accordingly.

Author notes: Yes, this was written when I personally was ovulating and I needed an outlet. Please enjoy 😊

Companion piece to Surprise

“My back fucking hurts,” you grumble to yourself, not really meaning for anyone to hear. But Soap, with his fucking bat ears, does.

“Wan’ me to massage it for yah?” He drawls in his thick Scottish accent. He’s been eying you all day and you can’t figure out why. You’re not dressed any different, you didn’t do your hair any different. You didn’t flirt with him, at least anymore than normal. Soap is the type of guy you can flirt with without realizing it. He’s soft and easy-going with a big personality and the ability to make anyone feel special.

“Mind your business, Soap,” snaps Simon-Ghost-Lieutenant (you’re not really sure what to call him anymore) as he comes in the door. You’re sitting at a desk, writing reports on your latest mission and Soap is at his desk on the left of yours, writing his own.

“Aye L.T. But I do feel like her business is my business,” he chuckles and Ghost flicks him a look as he gets up.

“Why’s your back hurt, Blue?” Ghost asks, hand gripping the back of your chair.

“Not sure, L.T.,” you say but then a cramp hits your lower belly. It’s not your period, definitely not your period, that was two weeks ago. So this means- “Damnit,” you curse under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Both men ask at the same time, Soap moving to stand by Ghost. Another cramp hits your stomach and you have to stifle a groan.

“Nothing important,” you tell them both but they don’t believe you. But Price walks in, looking for an update on the reports and the subject is dropped. He’s standing over your shoulder and you don’t miss the way he keeps looking down at you, the easy way he smiles at you.

“Looking good today, Blue. Did you do something different with your hair?” Price mentions and you know he doesn’t mean it to be creepy. He’s genuinely trying to be nice and give you a compliment, you don’t get many when your literal job is to commit crimes for the sake of queen and country. But you know the real reason he’s looking at you different.

Your ovulation cycle hits harder than your menstruation cycle, the older you get. Your cramps are worse and men tend to notice you more. They flirt with you easier, they check you out with more purpose. Your skin clears and has this tone to that makes you look perpetually flustered. It’s all very flattering but also, quite annoying. Biology is doing its work, but you don’t want it to. The thing that drives you most insane is that you preen under the attention. You like being noticed when you’re ovulating. You like the way Ghosts eyes are dragging across your hips. You like the easy smile Johnny gives you when he’s flirting. You like the way Price’s eyes struggle to stay in their rightful place.

“Nah, just brushed it this morning, that’s all Captain,” there’s a flash of something in his eyes when you call him by his rank but you can’t unpack it right now. You stand, surprising Price and mumble “I’ll be back,” before you bolt.

Ghost waits an appropriate amount of time before he follows, shoving back his chair with some lame excuse so he can follow you.

He finds you in seconds, heading down the hallway in the general direction of his quarters. As a lieutenant, he gets his own space and as he watches your hips sway he’s thankful for it.

“Blue,” he calls out and you still.

“Not now, Ghost,” you say but you don’t move. His long strides catch up to you in no time and his hand presses into your back.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, and you sigh.

“I’m ovulating,” you tell him, pressing into his hand and relishing the feel of his warmth.

“What’s that mean?” He knows that’s your fertile period and you can get pregnant but he’s not sure on the specifics.

“I’m so horny,” you whine, twisting your neck to look up at him and he wants to dip down and run his nose alone the soft skin there. It takes your words a second to click but when they do, he’s shoving you down the hallway and into his room, locking the door behind him.

———————————

Ghost has you on your knees and you’re taking him. Your pussy is slick with your orgasms and your back is slick with sweat. You’re dropped down to your chest on the bed, fingers gripping the sheets as you cry out. It’s not helping though, because every one of Simon’s powerful thrusts pushes you up the bed.

“This fuckin’ pussy,” he snarls from under his mask. Since that day in the shower you’ve had this tryst going on regularly and it’s been satisfying for the both of you. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he grunts as his hand presses into your shoulders to hold you down. “Love when you submit to me,” he says but you think you can take it a step further. You move your hands from the sheets to behind your back, gripping your forearms as your face presses into the bed. Simon groans deeply as he slides his hand down your back to press down on your forearms. “Look so pretty takin’ my cock like this, Blue,” he snarls and you know he’s getting close. You’ve already cum several times, so you’re not concerned about finishing when he does, but Simon is. His hips ratchet up a notch and you hear the distinctive sound of something in Simon’s mouth. You’re about to peek over your shoulder to see what he’s doing when his thick thumb presses up against your asshole. You gasp and still underneath him as he presses circles into the tight ring.

“I’d love to watch you take me here,” he grunts before he pushes his thumb in. Your whole body tenses but you’re pinned. His hands are still pressing your own into your lower back and his finger in your ass is up to the first knuckle. You’re going to lose your mind, you can’t even scream because your face is pressed into the mattress. He continues pressing until he’s got his whole thumb in your ass and you’re gone. You’re so full, so thoroughly worked over that you when Ghost-Simon-whatever you’re calling each other these days, picks up his thrusts you’re blind with pleasure.

He’s putting you through the mattress, his hulking body pressing yours down. You break first, your body clamping down as you cum. He’s so heavy, so thick, and you’re so overwhelmed but Ghost isn’t done yet. He’s growling deep in his throat, snarling something about what a good little slut you are for him and you know he’s right at the edge of breaking. You feel something sharp against your shoulder and it takes you a few seconds to realize he sank his teeth into the soft flesh. He’d apparently never pulled his mask down after he’d wet his thumb and you feel his tongue soothe the sharp sting his bite left. You lay like that for a second, Ghost’s body laying across yours as you both pant with the exertion. Simon’s tongue licks a hot trail across your shoulder and up your neck, stopping at your ear.

“You’re a good fuck, Blue. Y’know that?” You laugh aloud because any kind of compliment coming from Simon Riley is noteworthy.

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself,” you flash a grin at him as he peels off of you, moving to dispose the condom. He comes back and his mask is still pushed up to his nose and his grin would’ve knocked you over if you weren’t already laying down.

“Not so bad, eh? Do I need to split you apart on my cock again so you know how good I can be?” He chuckles, dark and dangerous as he crawls on the bed and stares down at you. His huge hand finds your throat, squeezing and reminding you just how dangerous he can be. But the only thing you feel right now is another how streak of lust through your nerve endings. Your nipples are tight and when he flicks them, a sharp gasp escapes your mouth. Ghost takes the opportunity at hand and pulls you up to him by the throat, shoving his tongue in your mouth. It’s not the first time you’ve kissed but it’s one of the only. You can feel him hardening against your thigh and you can feel how slick you are. His fingers squeeze as he trails his lips down your neck, over where his thumb is digging into the soft flesh.

You’re aching, ready to be filled again, when Ghost speaks in your ear.

“I want to taste you, Blue,” he grunts but you shake your head as best you can with his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Later. Want your cock,” you tell him and he nods, releasing you to get another condom. You desperately want to tell him not to use one, but you are smack in the middle of ovulating and the risk of pregnancy is much higher than if you weren’t. You’re not in a place where you can have a baby and you don’t think Simon is ready to be a father, he may not ever be. But god, the idea of dripping with his cum all day? It’s got you clenching between your legs.

Simon has the condom on, cock swinging between his thick thighs. He’d only managed to get his pants down to his knees the first time and the second time won’t be any different. He’s got a long sleeve shirt on bearing the British Army flag on it and even without all his tac gear he’s huge. Tall and bulky, with a menacing edge to him, you can see why people are terrified. But right now, all you are is horny. He slides between your thighs, lifting your hips and placing a pillow underneath them.

“Gonna take me?” He asks, circling a finger over your clit. You nod but he’s not content with that. “I asked you if you were going to take me, I expect an answer,” he growls from under his mask, pulled back down now.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” you breathe as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Yes, Lieutenant, what?” He snaps, one hand on your tit, the other on the base of his cock.

“Yes, Lieutenant,-“ you gasp as he pushes into you.

“Go on,” he prompts, almost all the way in now. “Or I won’t fuck you. You can lay here and be my pretty little cock sleeve,” you clench around him, wishing he’d wrap one of those big hands around your throat again.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’m gonna take all of your cock. Please, I want to take all of your cock.”

“Good girl,” he growls, low in your ear as his hand wraps back around your throat. His thrusts start slow but it doesn’t take long before he’s hitching one thigh up his back, the other pressing you down and pushing you to your limits. He’s more vocal this time, grunts and growls as he sits back on his heels to give himself more leverage. He’s got to be sensitive, it’s the second time in less than 30 minutes, and it shows. His fingers tighten every couple thrusts until you nearly can’t breathe but you know he wouldn’t hurt you. The other hand finds your tits, groping them and pulling at your nipples. He presses the thumb of the hand around your neck into your jaw until your mouth pops open. He pulls the mask above his mouth, leaning down, his eyes wide with question and you nod at him, sticking your tongue out in invitation. He gathers in his mouth before he leans down, spitting directly into your mouth before he closes your jaw and speaks.

“Swallow it.” You do as he asks, opening your mouth again and sticking out your tongue to show him. He groans deeply, gathering his spit again and spitting on your tongue. This time though, he keeps his thumb pressed into the hinge of your jaw so you don’t close it. “That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he snarls, his accent thicker as he pounds into you, “take everythin’ I fuckin’ give ya, don’t ya?” You nod desperately at him, mouth still open, tongue still covered in his spit. “Fuck yeah, ya do. I’m goin’ to cum, I know you’re close.” You nod at him again, pussy tightening as he spits into your mouth again, closing your jaw and telling you to swallow.

“Next time you’re gonna swallow my cum jus’ like that,” he tells you before he leans back, pressing a thumb against your clit. It only takes one, two, three swipes of his thumb before you’re over the edge, crying out his name and clinging to the hand still wrapped around your throat. He follows right along with you, slumping his heavy body against yours. “This will never get old,” he says as he rolls to the side slightly, still laying on you but not quite with his full weight.

“Yeah,” you agree, out of breath and worn down. Finally sated.

“Is it always like this when you ovulate?” He asks, picking himself up and disposing of the condom, for the second time. You nod as he comes back and picks up your underwear off the floor.

“It gets worse as I get older, like evolution is telling me to get a move on.” You stand as Simon holds your hand and helps you into your panties. “My cramps get worse and I get almost unbearably horny,” you tell him as he hunts down your tac pants and helps you into those too. He chuckles as he finds your sports bra, slipping it over your head.

“Maybe you should pop out a kid or two,” and your jaw drops.

“Yeah, sure! I’ll drop my whole life and have babies! Ruin my career, my tits, everything I’ve worked for just to give evolution the middle finger!” You exclaim, annoyed he’d even suggest it. But he’s fully laughing, searching for your shirt under the bed.

“I’s a joke, love. You don’t take those as well as you take my cock,” he husks, finding the army green tank and slipping it over your head. “Besides, it would be a shame to ruin these perfect tits,” he tells you, standing behind you and cupping said perfect tits. Fuck, you didn’t think you could go again but the way his thumbs are brushing over your nipples right now is making you question that. “Well, we better get back to writin’ our reports. Price’ll wonder why we’ve been gone so long,” he says, slapping you on the ass and striding out the door. You’re left panting and annoyed, but you follow after a reasonable amount of time and when you make it back to your desk, Soap is standing next to it looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Aye, lass. Y’look good today. Exceptional even,” he drawls, and if you weren’t rolling your eyes you’d have noticed his own flick over to Ghost to gauge his reaction.

“Get off my desk, Johnny.”

“Will do, but would ya like t’have a drink with me tonight?” He’s leaned down, in your space, his bright eyes full of mischief.

“No.” You tell him, you’re not really annoyed with him but you are frustrated because Ghost left you horny and every bit as distracted as you were before he fucked you stupid. Your hand flashes out and connects with the inside of Soaps elbow, knocking him off his balance. Ghost chuckles from behind you at his own desk.

“Might wanna leave the girl alone, Johnny. I think she could kick your ass,”

“Ooh I might like that,” Johnny says, not fazed at all that you hit him. Ghost has to suppress a groan at the idea of watching you and Johnny wrestling for dominance. He’s pretty sure you would win and the idea of you fucking Johnny stupid the way he fucks you stupid has him hardening in his pants.

“Johnny,” you start, your voice all sugar sweet and sticky. “Can you do something for me?” Your tone is full of promise and Johnny’s eyes droop as he mutters a gentle ‘of course, lass’

“Go get me some Tylenol and coffee, Johnny,” you say, smacking him upside the head. Simon barks a laugh from behind you, and Johnny looks graciously indignant.

“Aye, lass. Whatever you want,” he’s no actually offended, but he played the part well. Off he slinks, to retrieve the items you’ve asked for and Ghost feels a rush of relief that he’s not the only person in this compound that cares for you.

[seeingivy]

family rules 

satoru gojo x f! reader 

**read the other one’s here

in which a horrible fight, an even worse accident, and a few injuries leads to you, satoru, megumi, and tsumiki creating some family rules  

- 

Megumi sits across from you on the counter, his eyes narrowing at the ground, as you press a pack of frozen peas into his eye. He winces at the contact, his eye still swelling into a brilliant shade of purple. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, kid.” you whisper. 

His head remains low, refusing to meet your eye. After his fourth fight of the month, you feel helpless with where you stand with him, unsure how you can help him regulate how he’s feeling. You knew violence was an easy outlet for him, something you’re sure you had Toji to thank for, but you still tried to get him to change his ways, at least a little bit. 

Satoru’s approach, however, was squandering any efforts you were trying to make. The first time Megumi got into a fight, Satoru was positively pissed, not because Megumi punched a classmate, but because he didn’t place his thumb inside his fist. It was very infuriating for him to find out his kid couldn’t punch the right way. 

The second and third fights were hardly any different, Satoru majorly concerned with whether or not Megumi won, or if he hurled any insults while fighting, rather than actually reprimanding him. You knew Satoru could be immature, like a gangly man-child at times, but you were growing frustrated with his carefree nature as of late. 

At the end of the day, the two of you were responsible for Megumi. Tsumiki was easier in that sense, more receptive to the help you gave her. Slowly but surely, she had been coming out of her shell, coming to you and Satoru for help when she needed it. But Megumi was a stone cold rock, stubborn as they come. A blazing ball of anger. 

You hear Satoru’s key jam into the door, ready to brace yourself for the talk you wanted to have with Megumi. You had texted Satoru earlier in the day, letting him know that Megumi had gotten into another fight and the two of you needed to have a talk from him. 

He pads into the kitchen, a pale pink box resting in his hands. He places the box on the counter, pressing a swift kiss to your head and then Megumi’s. As he raids through the fridge, you open the box out of curiosity and feel your blood boiling. The cake says congratulations megumi in pale blue frosting. 

“Megs, do you mind joining Miki upstairs for a minute? I need to speak with Gojo over here.” you say, straining a smile at him. 

Both Megumi and Satoru’s eyes widen, the use of his last name signaling to Megumi that he should leave while he still can. Megumi stalks away, taking his bag of frozen peas with him. 

“You have got to be kidding me, Satoru. You bought him a cake for punching another kid in the face?” you say, clenching your fists in efforts to stay calm. 

“It’s just a joke, my love. No harm done. I’ll talk to him about it later. You know, all that cheesy stuff you say - words before violence, be the bigger man by walking away.” he says, pressing a consolation kiss to your cheek as he sets out plates for dinner. 

You cross your hands over your chest, absolutely livid with him. How can he be so calm about this?  

“Satoru, be serious for one minute. Megumi is our responsibility. You’re doing him a disservice if we keep letting him process his anger this way. Don’t lead him down the wrong path.” you say, turning towards him.  

He turns to face you, clearly frustrated with your insistence. You knew he thought you were a little bit of a stickler, the complete opposite of his carefree nature, but he usually loved you for it. However, your differences came with butting heads often, especially when it came to Tsumiki and Megumi. 

“I’m not leading him anywhere wrong. You’re setting him up for failure if you tell him to keep letting kids push him around like that. You’re the one leading him down the wrong path.” he states, crossing his arms across his chest. Childish, even during a fight. 

“Solving your problems with fists isn’t always the answer, Satoru. This is why he doesn’t talk to us when we ask him what’s wrong. We have to wait for him to explode, just to find out he was suffering the entire time.” you respond, clenching your fists so hard you’re sure you’ve drawn blood.  

“Whatever problem he has, I’ll deal with it. Remember, he’s my kid, not yours. My responsibility. So I’ll figure out what’s best for him moving forward.” 

He waits for a response, his eyes still boring into yours. You don’t bite back, but instead turn around to face the door, the tears welling in your eyes. 

“All quiet now, Y/N? Have nothing to say to me?” he says. 

“No, I don’t.” you bite back, bitterness evident in your voice. 

“And why’s that? You sure had a lot to say a few minutes ago.” 

“Because. He’s your kid. Not mine. It’s not really my business what he does, is it?” you spit back, turning to him with your tear filled eyes. 

As much as you can care for Megumi, he’s right. Tsumiki and Megumi are technically his kids, you’re just his girlfriend who happened to stick around once they arrived. And as much as you can care and love the two of them, that doesn’t earn you a place in their family. 

You feel Satoru’s fingers crawl around your wrist, his face softer than it was minutes ago. 

“Hey, hey. Wait a minute.” 

You shrug his wrist off, grab your keys, and run out the door. There’s no point in staying somewhere you don’t belong in the first place. 

 - 

You ignore Satoru for a few hours, currently eating ramen on a very annoyed Shoko’s couch. Nanami was here as well, having been around helping her hang some paintings in her room. You feel your phone buzzing on the other side of the couch, sure it’s Satoru spam calling you after you had been ignoring his texts.

He had been texting periodically every thirty minutes, but had resorted to calling for the past ten. Shoko thinks you should slap him once, set him straight for good. Nanami thinks the two of you should talk it out, maybe explain where you’re both coming from. 

You choose to ignore both of their advice, opting to watch Ten Things I Hate About You and diminish Shoko’s ramen supplies one bowl at a time instead. 

Shoko runs into the room, followed shortly by Nanami, who has a phone pressed to his ear. They’re both rushing around the room, putting on their shoes and shoving random items into a bag.

“Y/N, get up. Right now! We have to go.” says Shoko, placing your shoes in front of you as you still pace the room. 

You stand up, moving slowly for your shoes. They’re both still rushing around you, filling the backpack with an extra pair of clothes and the entire bunch of bananas sitting at the counter. 

“Where are we going?” 

They seemed to have missed the question you had just asked. Shoko nearly falls rushing upstairs to grab something, a sense of urgency present in the two of them as they move around you. 

“Do you know Megumi’s blood type?” says Nanami, as he hands you a hoodie to wear. 

“His blood type? Why do you need his blood type?” you say, pulling his hoodie on. 

“Satoru and Megumi. They got into a car accident. They’re both at the hospital now.” he says, your blood turning cold. 

He places his hand to your shoulder, squeezing once in support. A car accident. They both got into a car accident. You look up at Nanami, his brown eyes filled with concern. 

“O negative. His blood type is O negative.” you whisper, grabbing your phone from the couch and heading out the door with the two of them. 

As you scroll through the notifications on your phone, you realize the person calling you wasn’t Satoru, it was the hospital. You were the first emergency contact, followed directly by Nanami, who had actually picked up the phone. 

Nanami nods in response, relaying the blood type on the phone. The three of you file into the car, Shoko sitting with you in the back, her hand clasped into yours. 

“I know all the doctors there, they’re going to be just fine.” she says, securing her seatbelt on.  

You nod, twiddling with your house key in your pocket. You pull out your phone, texting Tsumiki to see where she is. Nanami had only mentioned Satoru and Megumi, the thought of her sitting all alone in a room somewhere worsening your mood all together. As you open your phone, you finally read all of Satoru’s texts, the one’s he sent after your fight. 

i’m sorry love 

you know i didn’t mean it 

just come back, you know he’s our kid 

you’re a part of our family 

i know you’re right. he shouldn’t be punching people every time he disagrees with them. i just have trouble being too hard on him, i don’t want to be like my parents 

not an excuse. i know i’m in the wrong. we can have the talk with him like you wanted. just come back y/n. 

kids are getting real upset with you gone, they miss you already 

we’re coming to get you. 

You drop your phone onto the floor of the car, the tears flowing freely now. They were coming to get you. You’re the reason they were in that car in the first place. 

Shoko places a hand to your back, directing you to calm your breathing as you enter the parking lot. Nanami parks the car and you’re rolling out of the car, your feet dragging you the doors of the Emergency Department. 

As you enter the waiting room, you spot Tsumiki sitting on the chair alone, her cheeks pink from crying. You run over to her, crushing her in your embrace. You feel her cry against you, separating to check she wasn’t injured. 

“The blood, it’s not mine. It’s Satoru’s.” she says, hiccuping in between her words from crying. 

You feel a tightness in your chest, feeling nauseous at the thought of how much blood is on her shirt. How much blood did he lose? You cross your heart that he’s still conscious at the least, so you can tell him how sorry you are for leaving in the first place. 

“Megumi?” you ask, still holding her in your arms. 

“He cut his arm, but I think they said he was going to be okay. They won’t let me in since I’m not over fourteen.” 

“That’s okay. Stay here with Auntie Shoko and Uncle Nanami. I’ll go ahead and check on them and come back okay?” you say, pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead. 

“I want to be a part of your family.” she says, her eyes colored red. You feel your heart squeeze at her words, slightly upset at yourself for even putting that idea in her mind in the first palace. 

“You are a part of my family, Miki. Me and Satoru were just having a little disagreement, that’s all.” you respond, squeezing her hand twice before heading towards the doors of the ER. 

You brace yourself, pushing the two double doors open. You see Satoru’s white hair first, lying in the bed directly across from the doors. He’s hooked up to two IV’s, his eye a brilliant purple. 

You walk in, grabbing his hand in yours. His eyes flutter open, his eyes softening at the sight of you across from him. He squeezes your hand twice, wincing as he sits up in his bed to face you. 

“If you put on a cute little nurse's uniform, we could live out one of my biggest fantasies right now.” he whispers, his hand caressing the side of your cheek. 

You laugh through your tears, cursing his idiocy in moments like this. He’s okay. He’s making perverted sex jokes while he’s in a hospital bed. He’s more than okay. You look back at him, his blue eyes staring into yours. You can feel the tears flowing out of your eyes, your neck drenched in your tears. 

“Hey, hey. I’m okay.” he says, opening his bandaged arms for you to enter his embrace. 

“Don’t do that again, ‘Toru. I thought you left me. You’re the only family I have.” you say, pressing your face against the side of his neck, taking in his familiar musky smell. 

“Excuse me little lady. You’re the one who left me. You’re the only family I have too. Can’t believe you thought otherwise for even a second.” he says, his hand running through the side of your hair. 

“You just seemed so mad. And technically, he is your kid.” 

He tightens his grip, pulling you away from his chest to look at you. 

“He’s our kid. I got mad but that’s what family does, love. We disagree, get into a fight, but come back to each other at the end. Kind of broke the rules by walking away, silly girl.” he says, his fingers poking into the soft of your cheek. 

“We don’t have any rules. But, I won’t walk away again.” you say, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Better not. I’ll crash the car again to bring you back.” 

You glare at him, squishing his face tighter in your hands. Still immature, even in a hospital bed. 

“There’s that downright horrifying glare I love.” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smile in response, pressing a kiss to his cheek in response. 

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask, settling back into his arms. 

“Getting stitches. I tried to join him back there, but they wouldn’t let me.” he says. 

“I’ll send Miki in to sit with you. She’s out there crying puddles. I’ll try to see if I can go in there and hold his hand.” 

He nods in response, letting go of you as you get off the bed next to him. 

- 

You watch Tsumiki run into Satoru’s arms as soon as she enters the double doors with you. You watch him hold her close, whispering into her ear as you cross the hallway to find Megumi. 

Before you grabbed Tsumiki, Satoru had mentioned that Megumi and Tsumiki had heard parts of your fight and seemed slightly bothered by the entire ordeal together. Tsumiki’s comment from earlier suddenly made a lot more sense to you. 

You find Megumi at the end of the hallway, wincing at the doctor putting stitches in his hand. When you reach his bed, you press a kiss to the top of his head, holding his free hand in yours. Your tears have returned, the relief flooding through you that your kid is mostly still intact. 

He squeezes your hand as the doctor continues, salty tears streaming down his face. You swipe your fingers across his cheek, wiping away the wetness with your hands. 

“Are you mad at me?” he whispers, his eyes still narrowed towards the ground. 

“No. Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” 

The two of you sit in silence, your hands still pressed together as the doctor continues the stitches. You can’t help but stare, eyeing Megumi for any signs of pain as time goes on. He has a long gash running down the length of his arm, a few pieces of glass lodged near his wrist. 

“I won’t fight anymore.” 

You shoot him a weak smile, letting him lean his head against your shoulder. The two of you sit in silence for a while, with him rubbing circles into the side of your hand as the doctor finishes. You and Megumi walk out of the hallway, his arm fully bandaged, to meet Tsumiki and Satoru back outside. 

Tsumiki runs over, crushing you and Megumi into a hug. You see Satoru’s shoulders relax at the sight of Megumi, running his hands through the kid's hair as the two of you walk up to them. 

You bend down, holding the two of them in your arms, with Satoru still sitting up in his bed. 

“So I was thinking.” 

“You can do that?” responds Megumi, effectively cutting off Satoru from whatever he was saying. 

You and Tsumiki laugh in response, you ruffling his hair. You swear you can see the makings of a smile spreading across his face. 

“Since we’re a family…we have to lay down some ground rules. We never made any when we started living together. First, Tsumiki always has to do whatever I say.” 

The three of you glare at him, none of you finding his joke amusing. 

“I’m kidding, obviously. Tough crowd. My first real rule is for Megumi. You can’t punch someone every time you’re upset with them. No more fighting.” 

You smile at him, your heart beaming at his words. Megumi nods in response, agreeing to the first rule put out. 

“Second, we all stay together, no matter what. No walking away. We can argue all night for all I care, but no one walks away.” 

The three of you nod in response, agreeing again. Tsumiki speaks up this time, cutting Satoru off. 

“Three. No arguing if we can avoid it. At least not all the time anyways.” 

You and Satoru promise her you won’t fight, at least not like that again. The four of you huddle together, squeezing each other into the tightest hug known to man. 

“I have one.” says Megumi, whispering into your ears. You nod at him, telling him to speak up. 

“No one leaves the house without saying goodbye. You especially, Mom.” 

Mom. Mom. Megumi just called you Mom. You stare down at him, meeting his gaze. You can see Satoru gaping at the two of you in your peripheral vision. He pushes himself further into the hug, hiding his face against Satoru’s shirt, the tips of his ears pink. You look over at Satoru, smiling at him. You can feel his pouting starting already, you knew Satoru was competitive when it came to these things. 

You hold them all close, soaking in the warmth of the three of them against you. You feel Satoru’s hand tangle with yours behind Tsumiki’s back, his forehead resting against yours. 

“Hey, fifth rule. Everyone calls me daddy from now on.” 

Megumi and Tsumiki groan in response, disgusted by his choice of words. You lightly tug at the ends of his hair, signaling him to shut up and stop ruining your first moment as a family. The four of you head out of the ER, hand in hand, with a congratulations megumi cake waiting for the four of you at home. 

[mothwingwritings]

WOW!!! I LOVED "The Innocent Act Of Dredging Up The Past", IT WAS VERY GOOD!

I wonder how Y/N reacted when she found out she was pregnant and how Fox allowed herself to keep the baby because he doesn't seem like someone who likes sharing attention.

Thank you so much darling!!! I am so glad you asked me this because I have been thinking about Ren as a father nonstop since that request. My brain has been full of many thoughts and opinions and I am happy to have an outlet for sharing lol. That being said, forgive my blathering. ^^;

(18+ and warnings for noncon, pregancy/baby birthing talk, incredibly unhealthy relationships, abuse, and being kidnapped/held against your will.)

Being impregnated by Ren would be absolutely dreadful for you, causing you to spiral into a pit of fear and despair the moment you miss a period or begin to feel queasy in the morning. With the signs starting to show, your brain comes to the instant conclusion that you are with child-his child, and it frightens you like nothing else before. At first you try and convince yourself nothing is wrong, that you are probably just late due to stress, and your upset stomach can be any number of things, it doesn’t necessarily mean you are pregnant. Any of your symptoms can be explained away by something else, so in an effort to try and maintain your sanity your brain churns out explanation after explanation, no matter how nonsensical they may be, in hopes of calming your rampant nerves by coming to some other resolution. A stream of constant lies and false reassurances play on repeat in your brain, forcing the thought that you may actually be a mother to the farthest reaches of your mind.

But the longer you wait and the more you dwell on it, the more you are faced with the inevitable. He never wears protection, you haven’t had access to birth control, and despite your warnings of it being a delicate time of month for you, his base instincts always won out in the end. There was nothing else this could be.

Faced with the reality of the situation, you were now tasked with the burden of sharing the news with Ren. You didn’t want to tell him, terrified of what his response would be, worried that he would somehow blame this all on you and hurt you because of it, quite possibly worse than he ever has before. But an even more horrifying concern than that is if the news actually pleases him. What if he wants to keep the baby? What if you were forced to carry this pregnancy to term while trapped in this grim environment, left to raise another human that shares half their dna with a man who has done nothing but cause you irrevocable damage?

No matter what the outcome, none of them are favorable.

But you didn’t have a choice, and you knew it was better to break it to Ren sooner rather than later, lest this whole nightmare become irreversible. In the event he saw things your way, you wanted this thing out of your body as soon as possible (though you loathed to consider what strings Ren would pull to achieve this, and what backwater procedure would be done to do so).

At first Ren brushes it off, not truly believing your concern. He’s had sex with you countless times without protection and just now you get pregnant? Seems suspicious, so he concludes you’re either overreacting or trying to get a rise out of him, potentially both, and that in and of itself riles him up. Are you telling him this as some kind of ploy? Are you using a false pregnancy as a means to get him to ease up on you a bit or as an attempt at escape? After all you had gone through together, after all the love he has lavished upon you by sharing his home, his life, his heart, with you… Would you really tell a lie like this?

He struggles with that possibility. Despite his inclination to feel otherwise, he has a hard time believing you would use a pregnancy scare for your own selfish benefit. You have always been a good girl, his good girl, and deep inside he knows this is not something that is within your nature to do, even if he does have some major doubts.

So, though he doesn’t truly believe your claims, he buys the pregnancy test more as a means to shut you up and prove a point than because he actually believes you. Needless to say, he ends up biting his tongue over that one.

When hit with the truth, his emotions are mixed. On one hand, he wants nothing to do with children or child rearing. He didn’t have to do much of a self-assessment to recognize he would be a shit father, and he never particularly wanted to be a father to begin with. His own upbringing wasn’t the best, he himself never really having a father figure that was worth a damn to guide him or show him any love or support. He had no parenting manual to go off of, and was sure that a culmination of having no positive family experience and maturing into the warped individual he had become led to no other conclusion than NOT being cut out for fatherhood in the slightest.

More than that however, the thought of sharing you, even with a life he helped create, really REALLY pissed him off. Thinking of all the nights you would be spending tending to the baby when you could instead be wrapped up in his arms, or all the attention and affection you will be giving some inept kid that could instead be going towards him, truly gets under his skin. He doesn’t WANT to share you. You’re HIS. And while a baby isn’t going to change that, he doesn’t want the needless competition to begin with.

But on the other hand, having a baby does have its appeal. It would be nice to bring a life into this world that loves him from the get-go, completely relying on him while being totally oblivious to all that has happened in the past. That sort of pure, blind love is hard to come by in this world, and the fact that he could obtain it so easily from a life he created with you, a human that has your blood running through its veins, is EXTREMELY appealing. And on top of that, you are sure to love the child whether its conception was wanted/planned or not. If you loved a child that was half his for the remainder of your life, would that not bind you to him for just as long? Though he didn’t doubt your loyalty (or his ability to keep you tied to him with no hope of escape), it would be a nice assurance to have in the rare event things did not end up going his way.

Once that thought enters his head, it’s over. No further thinking or future planning is required-he is going to be a father, and YOU are the beautiful mama! Congratulations! (Does he get off to you being pregnant? Did this pregnancy make Ren Hana realize he has a breeding kink??? Sources say yes and that’s your problem to deal with now. :))

♡

Holding his newborn for the first time, he has never been so nervous. Tears flood his eyes as he watches the small bundle squirming in his arms, his heart aching as they stare up at him with wide, pure, inquisitive eyes. He was no stranger to ending lives, but creating them? This was something entirely new, as exhilarating as it was scary. His smile grew as he stared at her small face, pleased that she looked so much like you. He could only hope that her personality would mirror yours as well.

♡

As time passes and the baby grows, you find out quick that Ren has a very ‘hands off’ way of parenting, which is to say he relies on you to do most of the work. And honestly, he feels that is fair. He’s the breadwinner who works hard to provide for you and the newborn, which leaves all other parental duties in your capable hands. You are left to be the child’s main caregiver, their guiding force to lead them through life, their teacher, confidante, and friend. It’s a daunting task, all residing solely on your shoulders.

Ren won’t readily admit it, but he much prefers it that way. All the abuse that he has suffered through from an early age, every heinous act of violence that has been carried out by his own hands (your wounds, included), all of it has turned him into something unrecognizable, something grotesque. Even if he wanted to have more of a presence in his child’s life, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. If he had too much sway in the kids development there’s a good chance they will grow up to be like him in some way or another, which would be a waste of all the love and hard work that you had put into raising them into being an upstanding person. Ren had made peace with who he had become, but that didn’t mean he wanted to keep a cycle that someone like Strade had begun going either.

So, the baby more or less becomes your soul responsibility, and god is that a burden for you. It’s bad enough that you have such little support from Ren to begin with, but the fact that this is YOUR first time being a parent as well makes it all so much worse. You have no idea what the hell you are doing, and with Ren making sure to keep you as isolated as possible you had no one else to turn to for help, either. It was just you and this brand new life with no one else to rely on, if you fucked up in even the smallest way it could be devastating to the baby. If your daughter got truly hurt, sick, or worse in your care, you didn’t know how you would live with the repercussions, let alone handle Ren’s reaction.

If your life with Ren hadn’t already made you a strung out, nervous, irritable wreck, being a mother certainly would. As she continues to grow, Ren refuses to discipline the child at all, not wanting in any way to appear like a ‘bad guy’ to your daughter. Given the circumstances, part of you is thankful for that (you honestly don’t know what you would do if he turned his ire towards her), but it also just makes things more difficult with you. You are already beyond stressed about trying to raise a child in this type of environment, having no united front and constantly butting heads makes raising her that much harder, especially when any kind of rule you attempt to establish can so easily be overridden by her father who has no remorse over the frustration this causes, nor care as to how his flippancy may affect your child’s development in the long run.

It’s also not lost on you that being the sole disciplinarian also paints you in a less than favorable manner in your child’s eyes, something you are sure Ren has thought about as well. Being the ‘strict’ parent means your child will be more likely to hide things from you, or seek out her father instead of you for support, approval, and advice. Given whom Ren was as a person, this thought didn’t sit particularly well with you.

All you can really hope and pray for is that somehow despite the lack of social interaction and outside influence she will grow up to be a decent human. Even maturing under the delusion that her father is a noble man, even if in some instances you have to make yourself the villain, as long as it helps her out in  the long run you’ll do everything you can to insure your daughter lives the best life she possibly can, whether her father helps you or not.

I think the REAL problems will begin when the child gets older. When she truly comes into herself and forms her own opinions, develops her own personality, and starts to forge her own way of life… It’s gonna be messy. :/ Your child’s autonomy is definitely going to be a point of contention for Ren in the future, and he won’t be so pleased if/when she catches on to his true nature and begins to rebel or straight up reject him. God forbid she tries and join forces with you or attempt to become your savior. It’s going to take a lot of cunning on her end to make it out unscathed.

Also, I kind of touched on it previously, but Ren would be incredibly horny the whole pregnancy. Not that he isn’t already incessantly slavering over you, something about seeing you round and full just makes him snap. Which is scary in its own right, Ren isn’t the most gentle of lovers to begin with and has a tendency to lose himself more often than naught, hurting you in the process. It’s a constant struggle to satiate him while protecting yourself and the unborn baby, best of luck to you! :D

(And he’ll definitely breastfeed from you. He’s gotta make sure you are producing enough for the baby, ya know? :))

[thezombieprostitute]

Lloyd Hanson - Soulmate AU

A/N: I swear, I tried to ignore him but that only made things worse. @alicedopey didn't help!

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Reader is kidnapped. Smut. Sub/Dom dynamics vs Dub Con?

The bag is removed from your head and you're finally able to get a look at your surroundings. It's a dark room with one light above the table. It looks like one of those police interrogation rooms in TV shows. The duct tape is ripped from your mouth and you hiss from the pain. You test the bonds around your wrists, tied behind your back, but they're too secure to wiggle out of.

The chair across from you is abruptly pulled back and you're face to face with a tall, broad, blue eyed man with a porn mustache. He's smiling at you. You say nothing, letting your confusion show on your face. He rolls up his shirt sleeve and you see his soulmate tattoo. It's an exact match for yours.

"You couldn't have just bought me a coffee," you ask, trying to keep from snapping.

"Sweetheart," he coos, "you're my soulmate. I have to get you used to what the rest of your life is going to be."

You raise an eyebrow at that, "I'm going to constantly be kidnapped and talk with over-the-top idiots?"

He laughs at your comeback, "not quite. But I do have a lot of enemies and I gotta make sure my soulmate doesn't panic, cry and rat me out if they get picked up." He leans forward and rests his arms on the table. "And I gotta say, you are a champ!"

"I'm good at getting kidnapped," you deadpan. "What a wonderful compliment."

"Not easily scared, sassy and sarcastic," he croons. "You really are my soulmate." He winks and you roll your eyes.

"How did you find me," you ask. "I rarely, if ever, let my soulmate tattoo show."

"Someone used a rare photo of your mark to draw me in," he admits. "Imagine my surprise when it was someone trying to kill me."

"And from there you were able to find me," you nod. "Any chance of untying me, now that you know I'm not trying to kill you?"

"I dunno," he leers, "I'm kinda getting hard at the thought of you being so helpless to stop me."

"I swear to whatever deity will listen, I can and will bite you. Literally and metaphorically."

"Metaphorically?"

"The reason you like me being tied up is because your limp dick needs to feel like it's actually capable of leaving some kind of imprint."

"Ouch!" He moves his hand over his heart, "you weren't kidding, Sunshine. That really hurt!" He leaned forward even more, grinning like a Cheshire cat, "do it again."

"The only reason you don't shave your mustache is because you enjoy getting looks from people because you're a needy man-baby who needs the attention."

"Ooooh, that feels so good," he leans back, chuckling. He makes a motion and someone comes up behind you and undoes your bindings.

"Thank you," you nod, rubbing your wrists.

"Ah, I was wondering where the niceness was." You raise your eyebrow again, silently asking him what he meant. "You work with people a lot and always get such glowing customer service reviews. That means you can at least pretend to be nice. But when I dig further, I find that you're a good neighbor who helps the old lady carry in her groceries. Helps the kiddies with their homework. All that wholesome stuff."

"I have social skills," you retort. "Kinda required for the job."

"You don't have a job anymore." You don't try to hide your surprise at that statement. His tone goes stern for the first time, "I can't have my soulmate wasting her time on other people. All of that goodness you do for others? You're gonna do it for me and only me from now on. I get to be the only outlet for your kindness and you're gonna pamper me every time I'm home."

“No I'm not.”

“Excuse you? I don’t see that you have much of a choice here Sweetie.”

“Not my fault you lack the imagination to see my options.” 

“Your options are to either tend to my every want and need or wallow in a basement on starvation rations.” You smile at him and enjoy the momentary drop in his confidence. “You will give me everything I want. In return, I’ll give you everything money can buy.” You throw your head back and laugh at that. He’s squirming a little, wondering what the hell is going on.

“You can have my submission when you earn it,” you coo. “And you don’t earn it by buying it.” You lean forward, putting yourself in his personal space. 

“What the hell is going on?”

You roll up your sleeve to show Lloyd the matching soulmate tattoo and put your arm next to his. At the first touch of your hand, you both feel the electricity that confirms the two halves have met. You reach out and gently rub his cheek with your hand and he leans into it, gently moaning before he catches himself. 

“You see, even though I don’t know your name, I can see right through you. Your reactions to my snipes and my politeness were quite telling. You do crave attention but you’ve only ever been good at getting negative attention. A soulmate could give you that positive attention you long for. Why else would you actually come looking for me? You could keep up that attention seeking behaviour without involving me but you put yourself at risk for the chance at meeting someone who might be kind to you. Who might like you, if only because they have to.”

“My name is Lloyd,” he grumbles.

“Thank you, Lloyd. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but you definitely started on the wrong foot.” 

He goes silent but he doesn’t stop your hand rubbing his cheek. He wants to be angry at you. He wants to follow through on his display of force. But he can’t do that. He makes another hand motion and a door opens. He stands up, comes around the table and lifts you up out of your chair. 

“I don’t appreciate not being in control, Sweetheart,” he growls at you. “I may want all of your affection but I will not hesitate to use force if you try to take control from me ever again.”

“As I said, you can have my submission when you’ve earned it.”

“And how do I do that? You turned down my offer of everything money can buy.”

“Treat me like a queen or goddess, not a pet.”

Lloyd takes a deep breath and starts walking towards the door, taking you with him. You manage to keep pace as he leads you through several hallways, up some stairs and finally emerging into, what you can easily assume to be, a mansion. He doesn’t stop to let you take too close of a look. He leads up the wide staircase, to a set of double doors. He pushes them open and you see a giant, canopy bed. You also see things that, while you can’t name them, you're pretty sure they’re meant for BDSM activities. 

He pulls you towards him, wrapping you in his arms, and forces your face up to look at him. “You’re not the only one who can read people, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You enjoy being a bratty, submissive slut. You want someone who can properly dominate you, satisfy that craving your cunt aches for.”

He walks you to the bed as he keeps talking, “you always tried to hide your tattoo because it was your one rebellion against a world that makes you feel helpless. You are kind to your neighbors because you’re too stubborn to let your customer service job kill your soul.”

He pushes you onto all fours on the bed and smacks your ass. “And your unusual calm at being kidnapped? You expect the world to fuck you over.” He smacks your ass again and you bite back a moan. “You expect things to be out of your control so you don’t sweat it when you’re proven right.” He smacks your ass a few more times and you can’t stop the moan that escapes you. As soon as he hears it he chuckles. “You don’t want to be treated like a pet? Fine.” He spanks you again. “But I won’t treat you like a goddess or a queen.” Another slap. “I’m gonna treat you like the dirty slut you’ve always wanted to be.” Another slap. “And I’ll make sure you never feel you have to be more than just the cock hungry whore you really are.” 

The spanking continues, hard, fast and painful, until your arms give out. Lloyd reaches his arms around you and pulls you up so that your back is flush against his muscular chest. One hand holds you up by your neck. His other hand reaches under your clothes and smirks at how wet you are. He gathers up some of the slick and starts rubbing circles over your clit. You start whining and gasping at the sensations but you don’t dare move your hips. You’re certain he’ll stop if you do anything he doesn’t tell you to and you don’t want this to stop. 

He whispers in your ear, “so long as you never try to wrestle control from me again, I’ll treat how you really want to be treated.” His fingers move faster and you whimper from how close you are. “Not like a queen or a goddess, no. Not a pet, either.” You’re focused on not moving, trying to make sure that his fingers continue to work their magic. “I’ll treat you like my dirty little slut who will do anything so long as I let her cum.” 

His grip on your neck tightens and he whispers, ���cum for me.” Your orgasm hits you harder than you ever thought possible. He keeps his fingers moving as he whispers “such a good slut.” As the ecstasy ebbs your legs start shaking and he lays you down on your back. 

Lloyd licks his fingers and moans appreciatively. He pulls off your pants and underwear, whistling appreciatively at the mess you’ve made of your panties. You try to lift yourself on your elbows but he pushes you back down. “You move when I tell you to, Sweetheart,” he orders, his tone making you whimper. He winks at you, “now let me show you the real reason I keep this mustache.”

[basilbots]

Blood Solar AU Doodles I have said! That my Blood Solar AU is a happier take on the concept less horror no fratricide, but it is not without conflict.

In an effort to be as normal as he can with his family Solar ends up baring the worst parts of himself to Ruin as an outlet. Solar is upset with the situation, the blood code making his anger worse, and even though Moon is partly responsible he doesn't want to take it on him so onto Ruin it goes instead :'D He makes Ruin hunt down and provide animals for him to feed on, guilting him into it even though Ruin would do this for him regardless. Ironically the blood code is not making him act like Bloodmoon (personality wise) as much as it is bringing out the Eclipse traits Solar would normally keep under lock and key. Things get better but it's not a very fun time for a bit.