#they want you fucking DEAD. they hate you! they don't want to see you alive!

[demonzhalo]

I finally got around to watching a full run of Mouth washing, so here's my take, and you're more than welcome to add more (warning, I'm very bad at picking up cues. Also mentions of SA and narcissism and graphic themes.);

The bad guy(s); Jimmy, while the the worst guy on board, isn't the only one. People like to put Curly onto a pedestal, and he IS a victim of Jimmy, but he's still a bad person. A lesser of two evils, if you will. He knew (whether he figured it out before hand or because Anya gave him confirmation) that Jimmy had assaulted Anya, and his first thought was "I can fix this". While conversing with Jimmy, it's revealed that Jimmy most likely had done something similar, or exactly, in the past that Curly helped get him out of. Helping him avoid responsibility. Making Curly the bad guy instead of Jimmy, something that I've seen get horribly overlooked or joked about. What people need to realize is that Curly has been enabling Jimmy, overlooking Jimmy's narcissism in order to help him.

Just Jimmy thoughts; In the scene where Jimmy is walking past the IDs, we can't see Anyas. He doesn't care what he did to her, he only cares about what happens to HIM. How it affects HIS career, HIS life. Polle (the Pony Express mascot) being symbolized as a fetus kinda shows Jimmy fear, dislike of another "burden", negligence of responsibility, and also his guilt for the unborn child. One that he forced onto Anya. The entire story line is him trying to fix a problem HE created but won't admit to. He self victimizes because it's easier to play victim then to take responsibility for your actions.

Curly; Curly is an enabler. I'll say it right now. He enables Jimmy's behavior and overlooks/neglects the smaller details in favor of the bigger picture (something hinted at during the broken pixel scene). He is not a good person. Curlys decisions reflect on (most) men's relationship with a friend like Jimmy; unwilling to recognize their horrible actions and instead try and find a way to "justify" or "fix" it. However, there's not much he could've done, he's up in space months away from Earth and Pony Express probably would've deducted the teams pay, not to mention that if Curly tossed Jimmy into one of the cryo pods and something happened to him, they would need a copilot. But it's also cruel the way Jimmy thinks he's "saving" Curly, when in actuality he's taking the easy way out and prolonging Curlys suffering, and also staging it to set up Curly as the main bad guy again.

Anya thoughts; First of all. Why the fuck didn't she get evals too? Second of all, I wouldn't be surprised if Anyas suffering and assault was purposely overlooked because A) Jimmy is an unreliable narrator, and B) It reflects on how people don't typically see such things unless they expect it, and they especially tend to overlook it when it involves a close friend/family member. Rewatching, the viewer can pick up hints and details and put together the picture using context they've been given later on in the story. I feel incredibly sorry for her when the man she confided in and trusted turned around and went about trying to help the abuser, which also reflects how people will do anything BUT help the victim. Anya is terrified of Jimmy, something we can clearly see (context or no context) when we first interact with her. Jimmy downplays her role, meanwhile, SHE'S THE ONE KEEPING A SHOULD BE DEAD MAN ALIVE, and he's breaking over being asked to do the job HE FUCKING WANTED (Can you tell I really fucking hate this?). Not to mention I've seen AUs of Anya keeping the child because she was already past the legal abortion stage. That kid would not have survived, the mouthwash has no nutritional value to it so between that, the extremely low rations, and eventual shortage of oxygen, she most likely would've miscarried.

Swansea; He reminds me a bit of my father. An angry man who might mean well but can't get that across. I think Swansea was saving the pods for Daisuke because he still has a life to live. Swanseas wife is ill and his kids don't speak to him anymore, Anya and Jimmy are in severe financial stress, and Curly is just clearly fucked. It's mentioned that Anya has been talking and possibly telling Swansea about the abuse she's been suffering because of Jimmy. Him lodging the axe into the holographic sun is, at least in my opinion, slight foreshadowing to him killing Daisuke. Swansea kills Daisuke to kill his suffering (much like a real swan).

Daisuke; I don't have much on him, but I keep seeing videos of people imagining how he would react to Jimmy after learning what he said, it's... Not quite what I see. Daisuke is pretty young and looked up to Jimmy (because he didn't know the suffering Anya went through), Jimmy is years older than him, and much bigger too (not to mention being a loose cannon). In a situation like that there isn't much he can do except to keep an eye on Jimmy and stay close to Anya. He might've been scared when Swansea was prepping to kill him, but it was better than trying to prolong his life. Anya mentions when we first saw the mouth wash that it's mostly made up of sugar and not alcohol, so it wouldn't have disinfected the wound and might've even made it worse.

Extra; When we first open the game, we get an achievement that says "I hope this hurts". This can either be Anya, telling the protagonist that she hopes their suffering hurts, or (and I don't think this is confirmed!!!) it's the dev, telling whoever they hope this game reaches, hurts them.

[mobpd]

I'm such a fucking faggot a freak a pervert a crazy bitch this is why everyone left you no one ever has or ever will stay because you're FUCKING INSANE and no one wants to deal with you that's why they left that's why they didn't love you anymore you fucking destroyed them and you'll just keep being punished until you learn how to take your life properly

[oogaboogaspookyman]

So this turned into a vent somehow!

[socialistexan]

Regardless of how you feel about Sarah McBride and her response to the unhinged way bigots are reacting to her both on The Hill and in the public (Twitter is a fucking cesspool). It's proof that respectability politics is dead and I would argue has never been alive or at least in any way effective.

Sarah McBride is one the most respectable and mainstream trans women on this planet. She plays by all their rules. Her politics are as down the middle neoliberal of American politics as it gets. Her opinions are uncontroversial to the majority of Americans (including her staunch support for Israel, something I know leftists, myself included, don't want to hear, but it's true). Her affect is calm and collected. Her ability to pass and he effort in things like voice training is evident.

She has done everything possible to make cis people comfortable with her existence.

And they still fucking hate her guts.

She's basically the Pete Buttigieg of trans women. And just like with former Mayor Pete, she's being denigrated constantly by the worst people and her silence or turning the other cheek has done nothing to help these people see her humanity, because they never will.

Like Kwame Ture said, In order for nonviolence to work, your opponent must have a conscience.

You can't make a human appeal to someone who doesn't respect your humanity. You can't get respect from someone who will never respect you.

All you're doing is setting yourself up to be a helpless martyr who liberals can pity when you're dead. We have to fight while we're still here. My one goal is to be an actual trans elder, to show the world we are here, we have always been here, and we will always be here. I can't do that if I just lay down and accept my fate.

You don't respect your way out of bigotry. The most you will ever get is "you're one of the good ones"

[gremlingottoosilly]

Housewife!Reader that doesn't care he kills people but yells at him for stepping inside the house with his blood stained boots X Slasher!Konig

The mighty Hooded Killer is getting beaten up by a wet cleaning rag and, to his surprise, isn't even that angry about it. Hell, he kinda gets your point. He dragged you from your clean and nice cottage and forced you to be his housewife, and when you actually settled into the role and started playing along, he kept dropping dead bodies all over, freshly bought carpet, and newly cleaned floors. It's not even that you care about the victims. You know better than to try and ask for mercy on their behalf. You just don't like cleaning everything all over again...especially since blood and guts is so hard to clean, and you're kind of squamish. Konig has to gruffly apologize every time a skinned tourist is running to your idle little cabin that you decorated in your own fashion and keeps pouring his body fluids on your cute little flower garden. Konig swears on his heart that he will lock the basement doors better next time...but seeing that angry look on your face is kinda hot. He kinda wants to eat you alive at this point. Or just eat you out as a way of getting his apology. You have this masked killer wrapped around your finger. If you want the victims out of the house, he will just deal with them in the open, not even bothering with the basement. If you want them confident in the basement so you won't have to hear the screams, he will make sure to put on your favorite show so you'd have something nice to listen to while he is doing his hobby in his mancave. You sometimes bring him dinner directly into the basement. Only if he washes his hands and face before eating; of course, you're not married to a fucking pig, but he stopped being moody about it after the first night spent with a cold microwave dinner instead of a hearty dish of your preparations. After that, he even let you decorate the house with as much cottagecore stuff as you wanted - although he hated how pricey all of it was. People in the cities are insane for this...but even the police don't believe that this fairy-like house is the killer cabin that all of the survivors are pointing at. Not that there are many sane survivors.

[bigwishes]

Forced Freak

Tyson was a uni drop out, nothing special about him other than his pretty face and dedication to his diet. He had no real hobbies and no real friends. The only reason people paid him any real attention was because of his body. However guys got pretty turned off after a one night stand with him when they'd wake up and Tyson would have written them critiques about how to improve their bodies and performance in the bedroom.

Tyson was the worst kind of gym bro, not because he had no real personality, but because he was an asshole with no real personality, in fact when he wasn't coming home from the gym, taking selfies in the mirror or scrolling on grinder for someone to bounce on his waist he spent a large portion of his time staring in the mirror admiring his own perfection.

"fuck yeah, I'm probably the hottest guy alive" he'd say as he rubbed his own crotch.

His arrogant attitude had essentially transformed him into a self obsessed autosexual, whilst he enjoyed sex and having a guy put in all the work whilst he laid back in pleasure he still preferred a night to himself and his mirror.

Tyson flexed his arm one last time, admiring the perfection before him before he turned off his alarm and got up to go to the gym.

"well, I'll see you when I get home handsome" he said winking at his own reflection and snapping his underwear band.

He threw on the folded red tank top and black gym shorts he had lying on his dresser, the ones he had steamed the night before. As he walked out the door he picked up his glass from his morning water and placed it neatly in the dishwasher before turning it on and leaving for the gym.

Upon arriving at the gym Tyson walked into the welcome area where he found 3 tall bodybuilders lined up at the key scanner. Tyson rolled his eyes and tried to avoid contact with them, he hated those freaks. The guys who willingly chose to inflate themselves with disgusting amounts of muscle. Who could barely fit in their cars and he huffed and sweat like bovine beasts when they got on the treadmill.

Tyson quickly got impatient and began tapping his foot as the 3 meatheads were holding up the line.

"are you beasts gonna scan in or am I just waiting here all day"

The three turned their heads to them almost in unison

"yoo you think we are beasts huhu" one flexed his enormous bicep that dwarfed Tyson's head

"hey Ty, what up lil dude. Wanna hit bench with us today? we we can help you grow that chest"

Tyson was disgusted at the thought of working out with the three of them and smelling their terrible stench or listening to them heaving for air.

"no thanks, its hard to improve upon perfection" Tyson said with a smirk

"aw come on dude, you can always improve and get bigger, you aint even close to your limit"

"and I dont want to be" Tyson said with a disgusted frown and one raised eyebrow

There was a loud ding and the three bodybuilders began waddling and shuffling their way through the electronic gate into the gym, having to turn sideways slightly to get their hulking frames in the turn gate.

"This is what I mean" laughed Tyson

"haha, can't blame us for being absolute units man"

"But doesn't it annoy the fuck out of you being like that?"

"no way bro, being this big is fucking awesome"

the three bodybuilders all began laughing and flexing

"I'm sorry I really dont see how turning myself into a...freak would be awesome"

There was a dead silence as the three bodybuilders stopped laughing and turned to him.

"that's a bit of a harsh word bro"

"yeah man don't diss the hobby coz you aint into it"

Tyson smirked flicking as he polished his fitness watch with the edge of his jumper "dude I dont think anyone is into it"

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean"

"umm being so big you have no style because you cant fit into anything, constantly covered in sweat marks, you reek after just a few minutes of exercise, you gulp down water like an elephant who hasn't drunk in a year, can barely fit in your cars and take up so much space, plus I like when guys find me attractive and aren't grossed out by my monstrous body" Tyson turned his back placing his gym bag in the locker completely unaware that the three men he had just insulted looked so red their heads could pop with anger.

"I'LL LET YOU KNOW MY HUSBAND LOOOOVVVEEESSS MY SIZE" the bodybuilder in the middle yelled through his teeth

"whoooaa jayce" the two others said in unison as they grabbed him by the chest and stopped him taking a step forward

"don't shoot the messenger buddy but Im pretty sure your husband wouldn't be disappointed if you lost 30-40lsb of muscle, pretty sure he'd enjoy date night without sitting across from a behemoth stuffing himself so full of protein like a slob"

Jayce threw his arms up in the air and pushed his two friends off of him turning around and walking away.

Tyson ignored the interaction implying pulling his towel and drink bottle out of his gym bag.

"You know what you need Ty..."

"and what's that Mark?" Tyson tiredly asked rolling his eyes

"A real good bulk, make ya real big, that'll change your mind" Mark smirked looking at his friend who was smiling back.

"whatever" Tyson groaned as he walked off into the gym.

---

A few hours had passed and Tyson was in the changing room admiring himself after his workout. It was enough to pump him to that perfect spot where he looked just slightly bigger and was a little sore, but not enough to make him sweat or stimulate the sort of growth a lot of gym guys were after.

Tyson flexed one bicep and ran his other hand down his thigh feeling himself get hard.

"Oh yeah handsome, just wait till I get you in my bed" He smirked at his own reflection.

Just then he heard the sound to the changing rooms open, his hand quickly shot up from his thigh, not wanting anyone to see his moment of lust.

He watched in the mirror as Jayce rounded the corner, his massive and wide shoulders causing him to bump into subway tiled wall. A massive smile lit up on Jayce's face as he saw Tyson standing there.

"Yep" Jayce yelled out

Dylan quickly followed behind and began walking towards Tyson, not that he thought much of it.

"Grab his left Dylan?"

"No worried Jayce"

Tyson was shocked as the two hulking bodybuilders suddenly grabbed hold of his arms and used what felt like all of their strength to sandwich him between them.

"h-HEY WHAT THE FUCK GET OFF" Tyson struggled and squirmed to get out of there grip but it felt like he was being pressed between two stone walls, he was unable to do anything other than pathetically kick his legs.

Just then Tyson heard the door to the changing rooms lock as Mark rounded the corner.

"Mark!, tell your fucking boys to let me go!"

The three bodybuilder's laughed as Mark walked closer holding a strange metal container in his hand that resembled a protein shaker.

"Hey lil dude" Said Mark with a big smirk across his face

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THREE WANT" Tyson snapped.

"to prove you wrong man" Jayce whispered

'w-what" Tyson continued to flounder and squirm to no avail

"you said being a bodybuilder sucked, well we are gonna prove you wrong" Dylan smirked tightly squeezing Tyson's arms

"h-how, Im not gonna start bodybuilding because you three threaten me"

"oh there is no threat bud, we have got something we want to try but dont know about the side effects wanna test it"

"ARE YOU GONNA JAB MY ASS FULL OF ROIDS" Tyson squeaked pathetically

"no dude, of course not" Said Mark

"we already know the side effects to roids" laughed Jayce

Mark grabbed onto Tyson's perfect hair and forcefully pulled his head back, Tyson couldn't see but he felt Jayce wrap his giant muscular arm around his pinning his between Jayce's bulky bicep and forearm and grabbing his cheeks forcing his jaw open.

"bottoms up pretty boy" Mark said as he flicked the cap off the contained with his thumb and shoved the mouth piece into Tyson's mouth.

"MMMMM -MMMM -MMMMMMM!!!!!!" Tyson tried to yell but his mouth was full of a strange thick liquid.

Mark dropped the contained and grabbed Tyson's nose still forcing the container to his lips

"gotta drink if you wanna breathe buddy"

Tyson couldn't hold it any longer

GULP...GULP...GULP.....GULP

Tyson sucked down what was in his mouth and what continued to pour from the container, when the last drop was drunk and all he could taste was air the three bodybuilders all let go in unison and Tyson dropped to the ground gasping for air.

"How long does it take to work Mark?"

"errr container says a few minutes for a start and a week for full effects"

Tyson couldn't concentrate on what the three were talking about, his body began to feel like it was being super heated, like his muscles and bones were being fried into pudy.

Tyson's hand began to tremble, as he looked at it pressed against the cold tiled floor he noticed his thumb enlarging, getting longer and thicker, it spread to all his fingers and his hand, at first he thought it was an allergic reaction but it wasn't puffy or fat, it was hard solid and defined, like all the muscles in his hands were suddenly expanding, he watched as his handed swelled up to the size of dinner plates as veins in his arms and forearms pumped in sync with his heart beat.

His forearms stared growing outwards and he felt his already tight and pumped biceps ache as they swelled even bigger. Seeing his reflection in the mirror he looked like a bad art project as different parts of his body were swelling with size and different times, his shoulders got wider as his calves got bigger, his pecs inflated as his feet grew out of his shoes, his abs bloated into a semi roid gut as his quads quickly filled with blood, and his ass pumped up into a big meaty globe as his traps crept up his back swallowing his necks.

after just a few minutes the three bodybuilders were stunned looking down at the sweaty bulky mess that was Tyson on the floor of the changing room.

Tyson had watched the whole thing in the mirror but still he couldn't recognise himself, what had happened, what they did to him.

He looked like one of them, a bodybuilder.

"w-what did you do to me" Tyson moaned, out of breath and out of energy

"damn, he got huge so quick, and he still has a week to go?"

"please, no, no bigger, turn me back"

the three bodybuilders began to have a conversation around Tyson like he wasn't even there as he tried to pick himself up off the floor. A few minutes passed and Tyson finally stood up. He felt uncomfortable, muscles he didn't even know where near each other rubbed up against each other like every aspect of his body was fighting for space.

Tyson looked at himself horrified in the mirror at the big bulky freak he had become.

"oh fuck..m..my perfect body" he turned to the three men behind him "please, please you gotta turn me back"

"you still got a week of growin left bud" Mark replied

"PLEASE I CAN'T GET BIGGER"

Jayce smirked trying to contain his laughter

"Look dude, we said we were gonna show you how being a bodybuilder is awesome, let it go for a week and we'll check back in and if you still hate it, we'll turn you back"

Tyson turned back to his reflection and flexed, freaked out by his bicep being larger than his own head.

"see, its already awesome, see you later dude"

The three bodybuilders started walking out of the changing room

"no WAIT!!"

Tyson ran over to his bag feeling the weight of his new body with every step and feeling his hard muscles bounce. He leant over and swung his bag over his shoulder. He watched as the door closed behind the three and he ran to catch up. Every step was a chore, it was like an entire workout for just one leg to hold up the weight of his new massive body.

By the time he reached the door Tyson doubled over gasping for air, he placed his giant meaty hand on the wall and slid down the the floor, he had only run a few feet but it felt like he had just done and three hours of cardio without a break, he felt the sweat running down his back and struggled to come up with a reason anyone would want to be this big, why guys would dedicate their lives to become titans.

it took 15 minutes, for Tyson to catch his breath and stand up again and by the time that happened the three he was after were already gone, he walked through the gym defeated hoping nobody would recognise him. He made it to the turn gate and as he went to go through he felt a hard pressing against his shoulders. Not at all used to his new size Tyson hadn't adjusted the angle that he approached the gate and found himself stuck between the two steel bars. Tyson pushed with his back leg but didn't realise the power behind his colossal quads as he easily pushed himself out but he couldn't stop the moment and he came tumbling forward face first onto the floor in front and multiple gym attendants.

"woah, you okay big guy" one of them asked,

Tyson looked up and saw the other two doing their best not to laugh.

"yeah I'm fine!" Tyson tried to get up as fast as he could but the sheer weight of his frame meant it was an awkward step by step process that took almost a whole minute.

Tyson quickly raced out the doors as fast as his could but once again misjudged his giant muscles and his two shoulders slammed into the automatic doors not realising they weren't wide enough for him. A loud bang rang out and Tyson looked back as the glass automatic doors wobbled and shook, and ounce more pressure and they would have surely crashed down around him.

Tyson waddled through the car park desperate to get to his car. Swinging open the door he quickly realised why he had never seen a bodybuilder in a sleek sports car, he didn't fit, just one leg stepped in and there wasn't any more room for him to squeeze in. He tried everything, moving the seat back, moving the wheel up, but still he didn't fit. After about 10 minutes of doing everything he could think of to get in he just decided to force his way in.

Sliding into the car he felt cramped, and when he closed the driver's door it bounced off his arm and swung back open denting the car next to him. Tyson tried again leaning all the way into his car and shutting the door. It shut but as he sat back up he found himself on an awkward angle to the wheel, he tried to adjust himself to roll down the window so he could stick his arm out and get more space but as he placed his arm down on the leather seat to push his own body out the way he heard a loud tearing. His clothes didn't feel loser and he couldn't see what had torn but it sounded bad...

When Tyson arrived home he squeezed himself out of his car, it felt like being freed from a sardine can but as he turned around to shut his door he had found the source of the tearing noise from earlier, in the centre of the seat, directly under where he was, was now a large split right down the leather, seats that cost over a thousand dollars to fix split apart like paper, and that wasn't the worst of it, he looked at the lower back of the seat to see how the leather had warped and swollen from the amount of sweat that had been pressed against it.

"AW MAN" Tyson moaned slammed his car door, not realising the force his arms were able to put behind it and as the door lodged into place his hand carried the momentum behind it straight into the metal of the car leaving a large dent from his palm.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME"

Tyson stormed over to his front door just wanting the day to end. He pulled up his keys to the front door and fumbled for a few minutes as he struggled to sort though them with his massive meaty fingers, finally he got in the door and shut it behind him as gently as he could which still resulted in a slam.

His stomach let out a loud groan, he had never felt so hungry so sudden in his life, Tyson tried to walk to the kitchen but realised it was more of a waddle has his massive muscular thighs slammed into each other. Arriving in front of his fridge he opened it up and grabbed one of his already made meals out and placed it in the microwave to heat up. He watched in spinning round and heard his stomach grumble as the 2 minutes felt like an entirety. Finally he heard the beep and opened up the microwave to devour his meal. What normally would have left him feeling full for hours didn't even make a dent in his hunger. Tyson opened up his fridge and moved on to his next meal without even heating it up, then another, then a protein shake to wash it down, then another meal and a couple apples, along with a banana or two, and of course he had to pull some of the muffins out of the freezer to defrost to have a bit later.

Tyson sat on his couch, feeling groggy and finally full. He looked around him, plates, protein shakers, wrappers and plastic containers were spread out all over his lounge room from the floor to the coffee table. He felt so heavy he didn't want to get up, he just wanted to pass out on his couch and go to sleep. As his eyes began to drift close...

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

The loudest belch he had ever heard forced him to jolt awake.

"aw fuc-uuuuUUURRPPP, this place is a mess"

Tyson finally realised he had trashed his lounge room in his feeding frenzy, he got up to try and clean but he didn't get very far. His body was so massive it was hard to move between his furniture and it was hard for him to constantly bend down to pick stuff up. On his second trip back from the kitchen to clean the last of the mess he finally noticed where he had been sitting, and the enormous sweat patch pressed into the fabric.

He pulled his tight tank top out from his body realising it looked like he had never washed it in his life.

"god, I need a fucking shower"

He made his way down the hall to the bathroom where he was shocked by his own reflection. He knew he had been turned into a hulking behemoth but, he looked like a completely different person now. His tank top was tight and clung to his body as his pecs hung out the sides. It was covered in sweat patches and strains from spilt protein shakes and food. His face was covered in a coat of sweat and his hair was oiler than he'd ever seen before. Tyson's gut churned as he let out another belch. He suddenly felt a tightness in his pants and he got hard.

"what the fuck..."

Tyson lifted up one arm to flex his bicep, he watched the sweat running down from his pits to his lats, he swallowed a quick gulp of air expecting maybe a small burp but was greeted with a massive room shaking belch. Tyson couldn't help it, he got rock solid staring at his sweaty body and hearing his own manly belching.

He worked his hand down awkwardly to his dick and started to pleasure himself.

He couldn't work it out, he missed his perfect body, he missed his old self, he was grossed out by being such a freak but god he was too horny to not please himself.

Right before his big moment he felt a wave of heat surge out into his body, his clothes felt tighter and suddenly the left strap of his tank top snapped as his shoulder, pec and arm practically doubled in size.

"AAH NO, NO NOT AGAIN"

Tyson watched as his dirty tank was torn to shreds by his growing body. His shorts felt tighter and tighter, soon he felt the sound of ripping fabric. As he turned to the side to inspect his growing legs he saw as his muscled ass split his pants in the back and the fabric quickly tore through making his shorts look like a bad loin clothe prop from a Halloween costume.

"OH FUCK NO, STOP, STOP AHHHH"

Tyson could only watch as his body continued to rapidly grow in the mirror...

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

3 weeks later

Tyson leant back on the workout bench groaning and gasping for air. It was the most he had ever lifted, not that he wanted to get bigger but it was the only thing he could do with his day at this point.

He heard the noise of 3 guys cheering as Mark, Jayce and Dyaln approached him.

"HEY BIG MAN" Said Mark

"oh great, what do you guys want"

"relax big guy, just wanted to bring you a snack" Dylan laughed as he pulled out a paper bag of drive through crispy chicken and handed it to Tyson.

"Dont forget to wash it down" said Jayce handing him a protein shake

Tyson didn't have the will power to hold back, his new muscle and size burnt so much fuel from simple existing he was practically starving constantly. He immediately reached into the bag and started eating as much as he could as fast as he could, washing it down with a swig of the protein shake, only taking breaks to gasp for air.

A river of chocolate protein ran down his cheek and dripped onto his XXXL tank top, which looked more like a medium crop top on him.

A young handsome gym attendant walked over to the group with a smile on his face.

"hey guys, just a reminder, you can't eat like that in here save it for outside okay" He smiled as he looked straight into Tyson's eyes.

Tyson's mind was racing, this guy was the most handsome guy he had ever seen in his life, we wanted to apologise for being such a slob, hell, he wanted to ask the guy on a date.

Tyson rubbed the crumbs and protein from his mouth away with the back of his hand and opened his mouth. Immediately he gritted his teeth and almost by instinct at this point cocked the side of his mouth open.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPP!!

Tyson couldn't help but belch and burp as he struggled to get a word out.

"bro..that's nasty" the gym attendant laughed as he walked away.

Mark, Jayce and Dylan all erupted with laughter.

"DUUUUUUDDEEEE" yelled Dylan

"You aren't gonna get a date like that dude I tell you that" laughed Jayce

"They probably wouldn't date him even if he didn't burp every couple of minutes, I mean who wants to date a bodybuilder freak right guys" Mark laughed as he rubbed Tyson's shoulders

"Yeah, you're right Mark, nobody wants a freak like Tyson" Dylan chuckled.

Tyson couldn't control it, the sound of their laughter, the way the three called him a freak and a slob. His dick got hard and he felt as a mixture of pre and cum leaked into his underwear.

They were never going to change him back, he was going to be stuck as this good for nothing muscle pig, forever....

he threw himself back down on the bench..

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Aegon The Burnt

Aegon II Targaryen x sister!reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: infidelity (reader is Aemond's wife), incest, spoilers of s2ep5. Just something short and self indulgent, hope you like it!

masterlist

taglist: @barnes70stark

When you arrived at Aegon's chambers, he was alone. Your mother wasn’t by his side, nor was his wife Helaena, much less Aemond, who you were sure had been the cause of all that. Everyone was crazy, the war for power was making everyone's head sick in the Red Keep and it had ended up bringing you to that point.

When you learned that your brother had gone into battle when he wasn’t required, you knew that the consequences were going to be disastrous and you even hoped that upon returning to King's Landing the star news was the death of the king. But thank the gods he was still alive, fighting, but alive.

You hadn't dared to look at him until that moment, mentally unable to think that his body had been stained at the hands of dragon fire. Targaryens don't burn, do they? Could it be your ancestors punishing Aegon’s recklessness?

And you were sure they would punish the sin of parading a dragon's head around town. They were sacred, they were your emblem and your heritage... you thought that your mother would have this more in mind and that she wouldn’t approve of that kind of massacre. You couldn't imagine your beloved Kaeryss going into battle, dead at the hands of the enemy or perhaps even your own brother.

But now it was a dragon war, not even men could stop it.

“For the seven…” you sobbed softly, you barely got close to your brother and the whole smell of burnt flesh and rot filled your nostrils.

The maester had managed to do a few things to him, he was completely bandaged and was breathing heavily, a hiss leaving his lips with every exhale he took. It was a horrible sight to see for anyone, much less the only person who had genuinely loved Aegon.

The sight made you stagger back and you had to hold on to the bedposts to keep from falling. The worst thing of all was to think that it was the king who had brought this on himself, no matter how much they wanted to convince all his subjects that he had fought bravely and had struck down Meleys.

If you had known before what he intended to do, you would have implored him to stop, you would have persuaded him with kisses and cuddles to stay in the palace. Damn, you would have gotten him drunk and fucked for hours if it kept him safe. Or ultimately, you would have told him how stupid he was for trying to go to war solely on a whim, with a dragon with no experience in battle being ridden by a man with less experience.

But past mistakes couldn't be corrected just by thinking about all the possibilities, instead you had to face the consequences.

You looked at him for a moment, trying to put aside the tremendous disgust that the burning flesh produced in you. If you dared to say that out loud, you knew that Aegon would feel tremendously hurt, since he had never boasted of having the best self-esteem, so you had to be cautious with your words and gestures when he came to his senses.

You took a seat next to the bed, in a modest chair that had surely been occupied by someone else hours before, and you tried to hold back the tears that were already gathering in your eyes. While you saw the king lying in bed, at risk of dying at any moment, you wondered how far this conflict would go.

Aegon had always expressed that he didn’t want to be king and now that he was, he turned out to be a useless one. You weren’t going to soften truths in your mind, because you, as everyone knew, that the king's claim had been a treacherous one. You had been happy that your sister could aspire to be a queen, even if you hated her and her unbearable descent. But hating her didn't mean you wanted to see so many people die, much less the innocent and weak ones as always happened.

Sometimes you wondered what would have happened if your parents had married you to Aegon instead of your brother Aemond. You couldn't blame Helaena for hating her husband, just as you hated yours, perhaps for different reasons but with the same impetus. You probably would have preferred to marry him because of the treatment he had always offered you, being kind, loving and careful. And you knew that it was wrong to love him secretly from your husband and that it was a very serious offense for a lady, but you didn't care and you assumed that if Aemond knew, he didn't care either. He never loved you, you didn't know the reasons but you were sure of it.

One of your hands traveled to the man lying on the bed to take it, carefully, and you gently caressed the healthy skin that still remained.

“Mummy?” you heard, like an almost imperceptible moan. Aegon could barely open his right eye weakly.

“No, no, honey. It’s me,” you whispered sweetly, leaning slightly so he could hear you over the smell of rot. You said your name out loud just in case he didn't recognize your voice.

He wanted to say something, but at first the tremendous pain in his chest prevented him from doing so. The maester said that he must have had many internal injuries and that only time and the grace of the gods could decide if those injuries were serious enough to kill him. You hoped not.

“My princess,” he managed to gesture.

You were always called that way, simply because Aegon considered that you did him full honor to the title and because you seemed to him his and no one else's.

“Don't try too hard,” you whispered motherly, reaching out to rub the right side of his face with unexpected love. You had to stay calm to ignore the burns. “You need to rest.”

Aegon, from his vulnerable position, looked at you sadly and you saw a tear escape his eye. It was as if with that look he was expressing to you everything he couldn't tell you.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you asked worried. It was an obvious answer, you thought, but you at least wanted him to realize that the situation mattered to you.

When he nodded weakly, you felt tremendously sorry for him. Seeing him like this completely broke your heart and if you could have done it, you would have wished you could take away all that pain in a second.

“My poor boy…” you murmured softly, still caressing his cheek gently. The man felt as if your touch was magical, healing in every way: the simple fact of having you close comforted him.

“Stay?"

“Of course I do, Aegon,” you said in a whisper.

“I'm… I'm horrendous”

“You're not,” you responded to his sob. The last thing you wanted was for him to think that you were despising him, like everyone else was going to do. You had managed to gain his trust before, however, with this physical change you knew that his fears would only increase “I love you always, honey. I promise"

And as a sign of this, you leaned close enough to place a kiss on his lips. You were very careful not to touch his wounded skin and tried to be as kind as possible with him. You wanted to show him that you weren't afraid of him, nor disgusted by him, as he was probably thinking.

There was no purer love like the one you were showing him and Aegon felt unworthy of it.

"Please… don’t leave”

“I won't,” you assured him, sitting back down and leaning against the mattress. “Don't be afraid, I'm here and I'll stay to take care of you all night, okay?”

Aegon cried silently and tried to hold on to the feeling of your hand holding his, for it was the only feeling that would keep him sane. He felt that as long as you continued to love him and stayed with him, he could overcome any adversity.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Try Me

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: suggestive

"Lan, c'mon..please don't go." You whined tightening your grip on Lando's shirt. "Stay with me"

"Baby, I want to, believe me, I do, but I told you I promised your brother to go out with him tonight. Why don't you come along with us?" He asked holding your cheeks between his hands and leaving a kiss on the tip of your nose.

"Because I want to spend some time alone with you. Why can't he go out with Charles or anyone else?"

"Charles is not feeling well, and besides, it will be suspicious if I turn him down for the second time today." He explained trying to get some sense into you, but you just decided to be a brat today because, well, you just felt like it. You wanted his attention. You needed his attention.

"Fine. Go with him then. I don't care." You pouted crossing your arms and turning your gaze away from him.

"Y/n.." He sighed turning your chin with his finger making you look at him. "I'm trying my best to spend as much time as possible with you here. If Carlos knew I spent the whole day with his sister in her hotel room I'd probably be a dead man right now. So if you want me alive, you gotta let me go now okay?"

Everything Lando said made sense. It's true that Carlos would haunt Lando for the rest of his life if he knew that he had been seeing his 5 years younger sister for over 6 months now. It's also true that Lando is a bit torn between the two of you. He doesn't want any trouble with his best friend, but he also doesn't want to even think about having to stop seeing you.

Lando and you were not in a relationship, well, not officially, you didn't call it a relationship because you were forbidden to him. You had been seeing each other for half a year and both of you knew that there was something more between you, more than just sex although you never put a label on it. The more time passed the more you liked each other and wanted to spend more time together so it got harder to keep it a secret.

"Give me a kiss" He said leaning down to your lips. You hesitate for a second, but give in rolling your eyes which Lando doesn't take very well. "No, no, don't do that."

You ignore him and head towards the bathroom not wanting to wait until he leaves your room. You just wanted to show your dissatisfaction with all your might.

"I'll talk to you later okay?"

"Whatever" You muttered before slamming the bathroom door shut.

Later that night, Lando was texting you just to check up on you, to see what you're doing, to see how you're spending your time without him and you decided to continue being a brat for the rest of the night. Because you just felt like it today.

'Just took a shower. Think I'm gonna go check up on Charles since he's not feeling well'

You replied smirking knowing that you mentioning Charles would completely push his buttons with you tonight. Ever since Carlos introduced you to them, both Charles and Lando have been trying to flirt with you. Only Charles has been doing it directly and Lando was more subtle with it. Lando was always more mysterious about it, that's probably the reason why you were attracted to him and not Charles.

So ever since he got his eyes on you, he hated that Charles was trying to get your attention. He hated that he was still doing it and yet he couldn't do anything about it because you two were a well kept secret.

'Oh really? Carlos and I saw him. He's just fine so you don't have to do that.'

He was replying back to your messages within seconds. You knew he was going crazy about it.

'Well, I'm gonna go check anyway'

Of course you weren't gonna go. You were all ready for bed, but since you didn't get what you wanted tonight, you decided to play with his head a little.

'Y/n..You have nothing to look for in his room'

'I mean it's not like I have a boyfriend if you really think about it. So..I don't think it would be inappropriate, no? '

'I can hear the attitude through the text. Fix it, before I fuck it out of you.'

His text sent shivers through your body. You threw your head back against your pillow sighing and reminiscing the way this morning the bed was squeaking beneath you two.

'I don't think you're gonna do anything about it'

'Oh, try me then'

[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

[bunnys-kisses]

hi can I please make an order of crème caramel, berry trifle, mango sorbet and a spicy upside down cake with a side of lemon water served by Max Verstappen please? Sorry it's a bit long tho...

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu, i'd love to hear your order! and thank you to everyone who submitted orders! i am working through them!!

crème caramel ("oh. you thought you were getting away from me?" ) + berry trifle ("wrong. try again.") + mango sorbet ("you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?") + spicy upside down cake ( "let's play a game: don't get caught.") + lemon water (university/college au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, university au, bully!max, mean!max, semi-public sex, library sex, fwb gone horrible, dirty talk/degrading language, obsessive!max, oral sex (max receives), choking/deep throating

"where are you going, schat?" max loomed over you like a heavy cloud as he placed his hands on your hips. he held you like he owned you, and in all fairness... sometimes it felt like he did.

you thought the one time you'd try to have a one night stand that everything would go swimmingly. but you picked the wrong man on campus.

graduate student, about three years your senior. with hands like bear paws and about the same strength as one in his grip. and he held you in the middle of the library.

"you just came in and now you're turning around in leaving? surely you had something to do here today. it was close to eight in the evening, the library was next to dead. you remained silent for a moment before he added, "oh. you thought you were getting away from me? is that it, you thought you could leave before i found you?"

you swallowed and lied, "i forgot something."

he chuckled as he leaned in a little closer, "was it your panties? because i found them in my car yesterday. pink with flowers? they kept me busy all of last night when you were ignoring my texts." he held onto you a little tighter, "it's not polite to ignore me, liefje."

the issue was that you wanted a one night stand with someone outside of your little english department. so you ended up with a geography graduate student... however, after that night, max became your shadow.

"what did you do to my panties, max?"

he let go of you and turned you in his arms. he smiled at you, the kind of smile that most at the school would trip over themselves to see. but you could see something else in those blue eyes, "don't worry, i washed them when i was done." then leaned in to kiss you on the cheek.

you pulled back a little, but couldn't go far as he had you basically trapped against him. you could call for help, but the student librarian at the front desk was more occupied with her phone.

max pulled your attention back to him as he said, "why don't we study together? think of it like a date."

you'd never date someone like max. not even as his thumbs tried to push up your t-shirt a little, you managed to get away. you swallowed, you could run and hide. but, max had more eyes on the school than cameras. someone would catch a glimpse of you somewhere on campus and max would find you.

max verstappen was denied very little in his life. and he wasn't going to start of trend of not getting his way.

"so why were you running away, my love?" he asked as he pressed himself up against you. his strong arms were around you middle as he pressed you to him. he smiled was threatening and you felt a cold chill down your spine.

"i told you. i forgot something." you tried to use the last bit of fight in you. but those eyes of his were all knowing.

"wrong. try again." he said before he went in and kissed you on the cheek, "i remember our first night together. you made me feel like nothing else could. you made me feel alive. i hate when you run away from me." he kissed the corner of your lip softly, "now, why don't we study tonight."

you looked up at him. he was a bit taller than you and for sure stronger. the gaze in his eyes warmed up when you nodded, accepting his offer for studying.

see, you knew what max needed. he wanted to be closer to you, he wanted to feel you all over. he even wanted to take you out on dates and make you the center of his world. he was obsessed with you, and you just needed to see that he loved you. but that meant less struggling.

he led you into the back of the library, the furthest part with two chairs in a desk. there was no one else around for a good while. most had left for the evening. which left you alone with max.

"liefje." he said as he sat on the chair and unzipped his fly, "come here." it was a siren's call before he sank his teeth into you. before he ripped you to shreds and drag you under the waves.

you knew what you had to do, you were thankful that the pants you wore were comfy because you knew that one round, even in a semi-public space, wouldn't be enough for max. you knew another pair of your panties would end up in his car.

he watched you lower to your knees and licked his lips, you looked like a doll to him. he said quietly, "let's play a game: don't get caught." before he ran his hands through your hair.

your face was up against his cock and you shuddered a little bit. the size of it was impressive and it made your mouth water a little. this was how he trapped you. the allure of his heavy cock in your face.

with a small whine he pushed your face further against his cock and you had no choice but to take it in your mouth. but few pleasantries were made when he got the tip up against your throat. you whined a little bit, it was almost a whorish noise as you relaxed against his grasp.

mad max, mean max, whatever you wanted to call him. you felt almost at home on your knees in front of him. he was your hook up gone wrong. horribly wrong.

his voice was a curl in your brain and made you shift a little bit on the carpeted ground, "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?" he knew you had to take an extra semester because you failed a course. in a slight fairness it was max's fault, he wouldn't let you go write your final exam. too busy bruising that cunt of yours well into the morning.

even if you tried to write the exam all your brain cells were gone due to how hard hew as fucking you. even now, with his cock in your throat, you felt a loss in most brain activity. no higher thinking while he was choking you on his cock.

you felt amazing around his cock, there were few words to describe how it all felt. he could feel the flutter in his chest as he rammed his cock up against your throat. and when you made a choking noise, he told you to "shut up." before he kept battering his cock up against the back of your throat.

you looked up at him, your eyes looked so innocent as he pressed his cock into your throat as deep as it would go. he still had a lot to teach you about deep throating, but for now he'd take a small pleasure in your choked noises.

"such a pretty girl." he said, "you look so good on your knees. is this how you were passing all your courses? pretty blouses and dick sucking lips." he chuckled lowly as he gripped onto your head further.

you whimpered a little bit as you held onto his strong thighs as you worked yourself onto his cock. you felt the buzz in your head as you continued to move your head.

"this is how i like you. i don't get why you don't understand that. most would kill for a chance to be in your spot. but you get it so easily." he said in a low, harsh tone.

you whined a little bit and arched your back. you felt your body splashed with heat. you trembled a little bit with a certain want. max verstappen knew how to play you like a fiddle. he knew how to take you apart and put all your pieces back together as he liked them.

"such a good girl for me. i'm glad i got a hold of you before you became a slut. now you can't cum on anyone's dick but mine." he said harshly.

in the back corner of the library you gave him head. your brain felt unfocused as he bullied the tip up against your pretty throat. he wanted to bruise it so you couldn't talk for a few days.

"no need to speak words, liefje. not when your boyfriend could do all the talking for you." he said and the words marked on your brain and made your core soaked.

"max." you tried to say with his cock in your mouth.

"shush." he said.

you looked at him once more before his grip on you started to tighten even more. he pushed his cock up against your throat once more, you knew it would be bruised come morning.

you whined and relaxed yourself enough for him to finish down your throat. he groaned and held onto you as he finished in your mouth. you tasted the saltiness down your throat. and your mind went little a blurry for a moment.

when you got your mouth off his cock, you rested your face on his thigh and looked up at him. max was almost sweet when he brushed the side of your face.

"you should be studying how to make me feel good. stupid little thing already knows enough about english." he pinched your cheeks, "be my bride."

you pouted a little, your lips glossed with spit and pre cum, "no, max."

he sighed before he gripped your hair again, "enough thinking. get on the table. i'm not done with you." max knew you inside and out, no other man on campus could compare to him. he'll teach you eventually, that his love was the only one you needed.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - FIX YOU

A/N: Guys, it's happening! It's here! Old man Logan story for you! I don't know if you'll like it. This is what I always imagined after seeing "Logan" movie. I am a sucker for happy endings, I guess. Let me know what you think. I tried my best.

Pairing: Old man Logan Howlett x Mutant! female reader

Warning: angst, some fluff, nudity, extremely light smut

Words: 6800+

Important notes: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine | Inaccurate information from the movie. I just wanted to write my own thing, so just be aware of that.

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - FIX YOU (OLD MAN LOGAN) 

Shitty year. Shitty life. The only thing that eased the pain and his thoughts was the booze. He was able to get drunk. Fucking finally. No one stopped him from the liquid poison. Why would they? No one was alive. Everyone was dead, under the daisies. Sniffing them with their skeletons. All thanks to Charles. Now, that old senile fuck wouldn’t die no matter what. Fucking telepath. 

Logan threw another empty bottle on the dusty ground, snarling as he limped back to the driver’s seat of the limo. His phone had been ringing for some time now. It meant another job for him. He took a minute to collect himself to look at the notification. He hoped to call it a day. That dream died sooner than his appetite for alcohol.

One passenger, long ass drive around El Paso. Fucking rich people that don’t know what to do with their money, he thought. Last night, he drove a bunch of drunk chicks from a bachelorette party, showing him their tits. At least some fun, nice round things to look at. Tonight, it wouldn’t be as entertaining.

Touching the screen, he accepted the offer and put the phone into a holder. His eyes found another empty bottle on the passenger’s seat. Logan threw it out the window. He drove off the side road and headed to pick up the next customer. He hoped it would be someone calm. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with drunks and skanks. 

God he wished the day would end soon -  well, night. He was tired, hungry and was already in need of booze to ease his mind and pain. This life sucked. Ever since Charles managed to kill everyone over a year ago, living in this world has been a nightmare. Instinctively, he patted the spot on his jacket where he carried an adamantium bullet. Logan kept it with him, to end his life once he felt like it wasn’t worth living anymore. 

When he came to the pick-up spot, he frowned. There was one person, as expected. He pictured a guy standing there, like the one he drove to a hotel a week ago. This was a woman. She was dressed in all black, with a big black hat and massive sunglasses. Snobby girl using daddy’s money, he thought. Besides, who the fuck wears sunglasses in the evening?

Logan was ready to leave the limo and open the door for her. However, the woman was faster. She got inside on her own. At least she was capable of doing that. 

He drove away, heading to… wait, where were they headed? He grabbed his phone to look at the final destination. There was none. He noticed a note: Please drive around the city. Fuck, he wasn’t going to do that. He wanted to go back home. 

Logan rolled down the partition, mouth open to ask the question. But he was met with the woman sitting right behind him as if she was waiting for him to address her. Something inside told him to be careful. Goose bumps ran through his devastated body. 

“Where to, miss?” was all he asked. 

Her head turned to the side. Logan noticed the shape of her lips covered in crimson-red lipstick. To him, they reminded him of someone. His mind went instantly back to the days when everyone was alive. There was one person he missed the most. She used to wear a colour like that on her lips. God, he hated thinking about her. It was too painful.

“Just keep driving,” the woman replied. 

That voice. Holy fuck, how sweet and familiar it was. The booze was playing tricks on him, he was sure of it. No, she was dead. Everyone was dead. Charles killed almost all X-men with his seizure-inducted psychic attack. 

He took a deep breath to calm down. When a familiar scent hit his nostrils, he squinted at the woman. What the fuck was this? This was just some mind game of his brain. “That’s not how things work, miss.” 

She chuckled and took off her sunglasses. When her eyes met his, Logan jumped on the brakes and the limo halted abruptly. One hand rested on the steering wheel while the rest of his body turned around to look better into her face. What the fuck was happening?

“Hey, Logan,” the woman said his name. It sounded like the most beautiful melody that hit his ears.

“Y/N?” he whispered her name. 

The cars behind them started to honk aggressively. The limo was in their way, slowing the traffic down. It wasn’t wise to stand in the middle of the street. Logan cursed and started to drive again, his eyes watching Y/N through the rear-view mirror like a hawk. He feared that one blink later she’d be gone. 

He drove them to a silent street, where he knew they’d be alone, without anyone snooping around. The shock was replaced by anger and betrayal. How the fuck was she alive after everything that happened? 

Logan parked the car, his body turned back to face her. She should be glad there was the fucking partition separating them. His emotions were running wild. He’d be able to grab her by the neck and choke the truth out of her. “Fucking sing, right now woman. How the fuck are you alive?” 

“You sure this is safe?” she pointed at the outside. 

“Fuck, talk!” he raised his voice at her. “You’re supposed to be dead. How the fuck are you alive? Explain yourself before I do something I’ll regret for the rest of my miserable life.” Logan was fuming. It was like a wicked mind game. 

“I don’t know.”

He laughed. What a pathetic reply. “I should believe that?” 

Huffing, she moved to the door and stepped out of the limo. Logan got out a second later, limping towards her as fast as he could. With a painful grunt, he took the claws out of his right hand and grabbed her by the top of her long jacket. He pressed her against the vehicle. 

Y/N’s eyes locked with his. There wasn’t a hint of fear inside her. She remained calm. She expected this reaction, the distrust. Anyone would react this way. 

Her breathing was slow, even. “I can explain everything.” 

“You have one fucking minute,” he snarled.

“I’m gonna need more than that,” she said. 

He cursed under his nose. Logan let her go and stepped back to breathe. He was spiralling. Was this happening? This was a hallucination, he was sure of it. None of it was real. “Fuck, fuck! I mourned you. You’re supposed to be fucking dead like the rest of them!” He coughed.

It was painful to see him like this. One year could do a lot of damage - physical and mental. The man she once knew was broken and bruised. Carefully, her hand lifted to his face. She pressed the palm on his grey-brown beard-covered cheek. “Logan,” she said his name. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened.” 

“Shut up.” 

“So many lost, dead because of what Charles’s power did,” she continued. “I’m really sorry about this.”

As she was about to retract her hand, he grabbed her with his left one and pressed his lips on top of it. He inhaled her scent, felt the soft skin with his lips. Logan needed to be sure she was real and not just a figment of his imagination. “How?” he grunted. “How is this possible? I mourned you, Y/N,” he repeated.

She nodded, understanding. “There is a lot to discuss,” she said. “We need to go somewhere where we can talk. That’s why I wanted you to drive around. Standing here, where anyone can see us is dangerous.” 

Logan let her go. He huffed and wiped his face with a hand. The claws on the right hand were long gone. “Get in the car,” he ordered. “I know a place.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. Y/N sat on the passenger’s seat and Logan drove them away. Both of them made sure there weren’t any suspicious vehicles following them. El Paso was a big city, lightened up with many lights like Vegas. The city woke up for the night as the temperatures got acceptable to humans. 

“Is anyone else alive?” Logan asked after a while. His voice got softer. He was able to process the initial shock.

“No,” she shook her head. “Everyone’s dead. I should have been dead too.” 

“How come you are not?” 

She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. “I think my mutation saved me. It got enhanced with Charles’s psychic attack, or what the hell that was. My mutation was always a protective one. I believe it helped me survive and regenerate. As if that whole situation unlocked something new inside me.” 

“Shit,” he gasped. “Is that even possible?”

She shrugged. “I recall something that Charles taught back at the school. High-stress situations can unlock mutant powers. Usually, it happens to teens and children. But, it’s not rare for mutant adults to have their mutation enhanced by stress, which can potentially bring out more powers.” 

Y/N reached into her boot and took out a pocket knife. As Logan stopped the limo at the red light, she showed him her forearm. “Look.” With one precise move, she cut her skin. Some blood dripped down her arm and onto her clothes. Next, it was sealed with a white light. The skin was nice and clean as if she never cut herself. 

Shit, she could regenerate now. It made sense she survived. “Damn. That didn’t happen before,” Logan commented. He thought back to the days when they were at the mutant school. She could get hurt like anyone else. Bleed like any mortal. “Just… tell me why did you decide to show up now? Why not when you woke up after that incident?” 

Logan drove them to the parking lot inside a building. It was big enough for the limo to fit through the driveway. Once he parked on the second level, he turned the gas off. 

“I didn’t know where you were or who was left alive,” she said. 

“A year, Y/N,” he glared at her. Logan’s eyes were red. He had bags under them, signalling the lack of sleep, the tiredness. “What the hell were you doing during that time?” 

The silence inside the car got heavy. This was a question she knew he’d ask. It was time to tell him everything that happened. 

Y/N turned her body to face him. Her eyes found his shaky hands. “I remember… the pain. A lot of it. My head was about to explode. There was a ringing sound in my ears. The ground was shaking. I could see our friends, the students, on the ground, yelling and gasping for air.

Then it was followed by darkness. When I woke up, I was in a morgue. There were so many of us, lying on cold tables. I was the only one alive. They were all dead.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. “I went through all the tables, saw all the dead faces of our friends and family.” 

Her voice broke. It was too painful to talk about what she went through when she woke up. How fast the world changed. Her hands trembled. “I went through all bodies,” she sobbed. “I saw all the lifeless faces. I cried my eyes out and mourned them. In the end, I realised two people were missing - you and Charles.” 

Logan’s expression softened. He was consumed by his anger and confusion. She came back to his life when he thought she was dead. He should consider it a blessing. A light came back into his dark life. Now, he learnt that her second chance at life was a complete disaster. Pain and death. 

“It took me some time to start again, trust the people around me. Afterwards, I started to look for you. I knew, deep inside, that you were alive somewhere. I made a plan, created a safe place for us once I’d find you. It took me half a year to get an intel that you were alive, here in El Paso.” 

Logan’s hand reached her face and wiped away the tears that ran down her cheeks. After all this time, he still had a soft spot for her. He always did. 

“It wasn’t easy to get here,” she continued. “Luckily, I had people from the past who owed me a couple of favours. I collected information about you. It was easy to discover you got Charles with you. I got intel about his state or how you’ve been trying to get meds for him. When possible, I’d arrange for extra medication for him.”

Logan sighed. “That was you?” 

She nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t always possible. I tried my best to help you while I prepared for the whole plan I made.” 

He huffed. “Shit, I appreciate it, darlin’.” 

Y/N smiled at him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t…” 

“That’s okay-”

She grabbed his hand. Her fingers trailed the scars on it. They hid under the sleeves of his black jacket. “Do you… Do you know what’s happening to you?” she had to ask. “I can see you’ve changed, Logan.” 

“I’m an old man now,” he said. “I’m in constant pain, healing slowly but not fully. It’s clear I finally have my expiration date. I’ve been alive for almost 200 years. I’ve been through a lot of shit, good and bad.” 

“So,” she cleared her throat. “You feel like it’s your time to go?”

“I didn’t have a reason to live,” Logan admitted. He couldn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the front window, watching the outside. “The X-men dead, no school, no mutants. I ended up taking care of Charles, who doesn’t want to die,” he grunted, frustrated. He smashed his hands against the steering wheel. 

Logan left the car abruptly. He needed to breathe, to move around and calm down. Charles once gave him a second chance at life. He welcomed him into the mutant school. Now, Logan wanted him to finally die. It was too much responsibility. And he was exhausted.

Y/N appeared before him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Logan,” she whispered his name. Her mouth opened to say some reassuring words when he pressed her against the limo. His big hands grabbed her by her face and pressed his lips to hers. 

It’s been a year since he last kissed her. She used to be his anchor, the love of his life. It got destroyed when everyone died - when he thought she died. And now, being here with her a year later, the need was back. Their lips moved in sync in a hungry kiss filled with sorrow. His tongue demanded entrance for further exploration. 

Y/N grabbed him by the white button-up. She missed his kisses, his touch. However, it felt different. The time apart made it feel a bit foreign and sad. Her heart wanted to explode.

Logan pushed away, breathing heavily. “Sorry,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“It’s okay,” Y/N quickly found his shoulders. “It’s been a fucked up year.” 

He pulled her into his arms, hiding her in a tight embrace. “With you here, back in my life, it changes everything,” he admitted. 

There was a short silence before Y/N told him something he didn’t know. “I know what’s happening to you, Logan.” 

They looked at each other. His brow lifted. “What?” His arms remained on her waist.

“It’s the adamantium,” she said. “It’s poisoning you, slowing down your healing factor and killing you.” 

“How do you know?”

She told him the story of how her trusted friend from the past was able to get to Logan’s blood sample from the time when he agreed to get the adamantium. They ran some tests and even got their hands on some of his bloody clothes from a few months back when he got shot by some men in a parking lot.

“With his help, we were able to do a full analysis and figure out that the adamantium would attack your cells more with time. It’s a toxic substance released from the metal that is killing you from the inside. It’s a whole complex situation. But,” she sighed, “he was able to figure it all out.” 

He huffed. “Well, there you go, darlin’. My time is running out. Fast.”

“What if…” she whispered. “What if there was a way to heal you? Would you want that?” 

This time, they parted away to have a better look at each other. “That’s a difficult one, Y/N. I know things won’t be the same as they were a year ago.”

The sadness appeared in her eyes and he noticed. “Oh…”

“I know things are so fucked up. No more mutants are being born. If there are any left, which I highly doubt, they are all hiding.” 

“You,” she started. “You wouldn’t want me back?” Y/N had to ask. She needed to know to move on. After everything, her heart belonged to him. 

Logan closed his eyes and thought about his reply. “I will want you until the day I die. And that’s the thing. My days are coming to an end. Look what happened to me. I’m an old fuck, who could be your fucking grandfather now.” 

“I still love you,” she said looking away. “I don’t care about any of it. You are my Logan. The one who protected me, helped me grow and made me a better person. Fuck, there was always a gigantic age gap between us. Do you think, just because you have grey hair and scars, will make me love you less?” 

Logan shook his head in disbelief. “I always knew you were too good for me. Even now, you’ve been helping me while I had no idea you were alive. Shit. Such an angel in disguise.” 

Y/N swallowed hard. A lump formed in her throat. “I have an antidote for you,” she blurted out. “If you want it. If you want a better life… with me.” She knew damn well how selfish and stupid it sounded. 

“Antidote?” 

She nodded. “I know, it’s crazy. I know you have no reason to trust me after being separated for a year, while you believed I was dead.” Her hands started to shake. The desperation was evident. She wanted him, needed him back in her life. “It’s up to you, Logan. I have it. If you want it.” 

His phone started to ring. Logan’s eyes moved to the car, seeing the phone still in the holder vibrating. It had to be Caliban. “Shit, I need to head back home.” 

Y/N’s heart dropped. Was this the end of it all? He didn’t want the antidote. He didn’t want her or another chance at life. “I understand.” 

Logan reached for her hand. “You are coming with me, darlin’. We are not done with this conversation. I am not fucking done with you.” He brought the hand to his lips and kissed it. “Get in the car.” 

“Logan-”

“No,” he shook his head. “You’re coming with me. Don’t you dare jump to conclusions, Y/N. We have a lot to discuss. And believe me, I’m not fucking letting you go.” 

A warm smile appeared on her face. “Okay.”

“I just fucking hope you don’t have to leave now.”

“No,” she smiled at him. “I’m staying. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll keep you safe, I swear on my life. I’ll get you out of here. Like I said, I already have a plan.” 

Logan helped her get inside the vehicle. He drove them out of El Paso to a place he now called home. It wasn’t much, but it was a place where they could hide and survive. It was located near the US/Mexican borders, in the middle of a dusty nowhere. 

Y/N watched his face the whole drive. She could see how he squinted, frowned out of nowhere. The smile that was on his face turned into a painful scowl. He was in pain. It was a moment like this when she wished she could heal other people with a simple touch. That’s not how her mutation worked. 

When they arrived at an old abandoned smelting plant, the air was warm. Dust and dry land hit her nostrils once she got out of the limo. 

“One more thing,” Logan said and coughed. “We have another mutant here. His name is Caliban.” 

She frowned at him. Everyone knew Caliban. “If I were you, I’d kill him for what he had done in the past. Fucker used to help Transigen for a long time, tracking mutants for them. You were too kind to take him in.”

Logan huffed. He reached his hand towards her. She approached him, taking his hand into his. He got her inside the rusty old building. Together, they walked into a section that could be called ‘the kitchen’. 

Y/N’s eyes wandered around, seeing all the empty bottles of alcohol. Old long rags hung from the walls. It was like a workroom. The smell of steel and ore. At least this was a safe place where they could sleep and eat. 

“Logan?” Y/N turned to the sound to meet Caliban. She noticed how his eyes widened when they landed on her. “Shit, you are alive.” 

“So are you,” she glared at him. 

He took a sniff, frowning. “If I had known you’re alive, I’d have smelt you. I would have known about your presence. Something is different about you. I can’t smell the mutation on you.” 

“Maybe it’s your own mutation weakening,” she growled at him. 

“Mind your own fucking business,” Logan glared at Caliban. 

“Don’t you find it odd that she’s alive?” he raised his voice, finger pointing at the woman. “How is that fucking possible? How come she doesn’t smell like one of us?” 

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Caliban. Also, I don’t care if you don’t trust me, because I certainly don’t trust you.” 

Logan’s lips turned into a smirk. He took off his black jacket and threw it on the wooden table. He rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up. There were scars over his forearms, even old bullet wounds that didn’t properly heal. He could feel her eyes on them. 

“Come on, darlin’. I’ll take you to see Charles.” 

Y/N made a face while looking at the albino mutant. With Logan, they left the kitchen area and headed to the back door. He took her into a different section of the lot, through a crooked door. The inside of the space was dark until Logan turned on a small light. 

A movement came out of an old bed. “Who’s there?” Charles’s voice echoed around. 

“I brought you, someone,” said Logan. “Someone you know very well. It might lift your spirits.” 

Y/N had to smile when she heard Logan’s softer, calmer voice. Her hand gently brushed against his lower back when she walked closer to the old man. Her legs stopped at the edge of the bed where she saw a very old Charles Xavier with white longer hair and a stubble. 

“Professor,” her voice was a mere whisper. 

His eyes found her, eyeing her face and hair to the clothes and hands. He lost his breath for a moment. As if a ghost was standing in front of him. “Y/N?” he gasped. “Is that you?” 

She nodded, smiling. “Yeah, Professor. It’s me.” 

“How?”

Her lips opened, ready to tell him to read her mind. She immediately halted. Y/N knew his powers were not what they used to be. “My mutation saved me,” she gave him the simplest answer. “It evolved, like you taught us back at the school.” 

Professor’s eyes moved from her to the man standing in the back. “You did at least something right,” he said to Logan. “You became such a disappointment. At least this-” 

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “Professor,” she scolded him. She never imagined these words escaping Professor’s lips. 

She turned to Logan. He had a plastic case in his hands. Then he handed two pills to Charles. “Take them, now,” he said gruffly. “Come on.”

Charles did as told, swallowing the pills and sticking out his tongue at Logan like a child. 

“We’ll let you rest,” Y/N said, smiling weakly at the old man. “I’ll see you again tomorrow.” 

“You are staying?” he asked. He received a simple nod from her and it made him smile. 

Logan brought her to a room with one bed. There were several empty bottles of liquor, cigar butts and other shit. It was spacious, smelled like alcohol, cigars and Logan. This was all he had. At least some privacy, a place to sleep. Those days of living in luxury were long gone. 

He turned on the light. It was yellow, illuminating the place enough for them to see. “You can take the bed,” he said, breaking her thoughtfulness. 

Y/N glared at them. “And where will you sleep?” 

He opened and closed his mouth. There were many options, including the damn limo. But he wished to sleep next to her like they used to before as a couple. Logan huffed. 

“You know, you look very handsome in those formal clothes,” she said. “Sexy, dare I say.” 

“Those were the days when I was,” he scoffed. “Now, I’m basically a fossil.” 

Y/N slowly took off her long jacket. She put her hand into her pocket, feeling the glass vial. Her hand let loose and draped the piece of clothing over a chair - or something that looked like it. The hat was long forgotten in the back seats of the limo. Then, she approached him, carefully resting her hands on his chest. When he didn’t move, she gently unbuttoned the white shirt for him. 

“Y/N,” he sighed her name. 

“Will you let me do this?” she asked, her voice soft and sweet. “Will you let me show you, that in my eyes you are still the handsome man I still love?” 

She helped him take off the button-up and let it fall on the dirty ground. “Fuck,” his breath hitched. “Darlin’.” 

Her hands moved up, gently stroking the skin on his neck until she reached his bearded face. “The beard suits you. Miss the mutton chops, though,” the left side of her lips curled up. 

Logan couldn’t resist. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. One, two and then his tongue asked permission to enter to which she obliged. His big hands slid down her back to her ass, taking a handful of it. “I missed you,” he admitted between the kisses. 

“Missed you too,” she nodded. When their lips disconnected, she grabbed him by the white tank top he wore and dragged it out of his pants. Y/N helped him get rid of it. She could sense the hesitation from him. 

Once it was off, her hands gently stroked his hard chest. Her fingers delicately brushed all the scars that littered his still muscular body. The regeneration was barely working. There was a day-old wound. Someone fucking shot him a day ago and the wasn’t there to protect him. Without thinking, Y/N pressed her lips on his left pectoral, right above his nipple and a scar he had there. 

“Why are you doing this?”

Her hands slipped to the belt of his pants. “To show you that I love you the way you are,” she admitted. “That I want you no matter what.” 

Logan stopped her by grabbing her wrists and pressing them back to his chest. He didn’t let her go. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“I…” she closed her eyes and pressed her ear against his beating heart. The sound soothed her. It was a sign he was here and alive. “I want to show you, that I do want you whether you are old or young. I want you to know, that even if you don’t want the antidote, I’m here with you until…” her voice broke. The thought of him dying was terrifying. 

“The antidote,” he sighed. Honestly, he forgot about it. The conversation before was short.

“It’s okay if you don’t want it…”

Logan helped her sit on the bed. Their knees touched. His big hands held her smaller ones. He remained close to her. “I need you to tell me more about it. All I know is that you have it and it has to do something with the adamantium poisoning my body.” 

“All I know is this: The antidote will stop the poisoning and stop the dying process. A friend of mine was able to make a new element that successfully fought the molecules of the adamantium. Many outcomes may happen once you take the antidote. There is only a 1% chance of side effects. Hell, even less than that.” 

“What are some of the outcomes?” he asked. 

“Either it’ll only cure you and stop the ageing and dying process. Or the regenerating factor will kick in and heal the scars and wounds littering your body,” she named a few. 

Logan shook his head. “So, no matter what, I’ll be stuck in this old body.” He winced when a wave of pain hit his body. His hand reached for the first bottle he found, drinking the alcohol like a lemonade. 

“Sexy old body,” she grinned at him. “Would it matter?” she raised her brows. “You’ll be strong again. No more pain. No more booze as painkillers.” Y/N reached for the bottle and took it away from his hands. “I’m here, with you, Logan. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

The next words he said were something he’d never imagined he would say to anyone. “I’m scared, Y/N. There is this fear inside of me that life will suck for another two hundred years. And now, here, with you, I fear that I’m gonna lose you again. It was painful the first time. I’m not gonna be able to do it again.” 

Carefully, she climbed onto his lap. He put her hands on her waist while Y/N buried her fingers into his hair. “That’s how I feel now. I feel I’m going to lose you just when I was able to get to you.” She then brushed the tired skin under his eyes with a thumb. “I don’t want to lose you, but I will if you won’t take the antidote. Fuck, I want to be so selfish and convince you to take it. However, the choice is yours.” 

Hot tears spilt from her eyes. The choked sobs made Logan clench his heart. He knew his girl would never force him even when she wanted to. She was never selfish. It was his choice. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling her sweet scent. Damn, she smelled better than he remembered. 

“I want to sleep on that,” he said. “I’m so fucking tired. I should take a shower.” 

She tilted her head and smiled suggestively at him. “How about we take it together?” she asked, voice innocent and sweet. 

“Hm, you really wanna get inside my pants,” he laughed which made him cough. 

Y/N glared at him. “You make me look like a perv,” she said. 

“Who was undressing me minutes ago?”

“Who let me and didn’t stop me at the beginning?” she asked back. 

Logan patted her ass cheeks. “Come on, darlin’. I’ll show you the hole I shower in. At least we’ll save some water.” 

They got off the bed. First, Logan walked to an old wardrobe where he took out a simple t-shirt and some boxers he rarely used. He handed them to Y/N. “Something to wear afterwards,” he said. 

Like Logan said, it was a hole where he usually showered. It was big enough for two, even three people at the same time. It had hot and cold water. He had a soap and a shower gel. Hell, he had a spare towel, a smaller one, for Y/N. 

He leaned against a washbasin when his eyes locked on Y/N’s body. He watched her like a hawk as she undressed from her all-black attire. Over a year had passed since he saw her like this - exposed to his hungry eyes. She was right there, showing him her gorgeous body. No shame, no need to cover herself up. Only a gentle smile tugged at her lips. 

Y/N called him in. She put her body under the warm stream of water. This time it was her turn to watch him undress from the pants. And, like before, he didn’t wear any underwear. Her eyes were met with his semi-hard member. 

More scars littered his thick thighs. Mostly slashes from knives. And yet, he was still beautiful. A sexy man who had her heart for a very long time. 

His lips pressed into the back of her neck once he stepped inside the shower. His strong arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her back to his chest. 

Logan’s hands caressed her body. He felt every curve, exploring her as if it was for the first time. Her body was soft and warm. When one of the hands brushed up through her navel to the left breast, he squeezed it and then moved up and wrapped it around her neck. “So pretty, all mine.” 

They couldn’t resist each other. Logan had her pressed against a cold wall in no time, slowly filling her up with his cock. He enjoyed every push, every clench. He muttered sweet nothings into her ear as she moaned his name. Slow, sexy and filled with love. No, he wasn't fucking her like in the past - hard, rough. This was lovemaking. Emotions played the main role here. 

After the shower, and a long soft make-out session, they returned to the old bed. Logan put her body over his. Like this, they could sleep on the bed until the very morning. Or at least Y/N did. 

Logan kept thinking most of the night about the person in his arms. Some higher force brought them back together. In the past, he lost everyone he loved. When Y/N came into his life, he hesitated to let her in. That woman swallowed his heart and made him feel things he never knew were possible. When he lost her again, and the rest of his X-men family, he was ready to end it all and die. Not anymore.

“Baby?” 

This was the first time Logan used this pet name since reuniting. Y/N’s eyes opened immediately, her head tilting up at Logan. Was something happening? “Everything okay?” she asked. 

Logan brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were small, tired. But they sparkled when he looked closer. “I’ll take the antidote.”

“Really?” 

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I have you now. I have something worth living. I thought about your survival and your mutation. Shit, you can heal now, Y/N. It’s giving me hope that I’ll be able to spend many more years with you.” 

Y/N climbed up his body to press her lips onto his. It was a sweet, short peck. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to force you or anything. This is purely your choice.” 

He grabbed her face into his hands, staring into her eyes. “I love you,” he said. “Let’s do this now.” 

“Oh, okay!”

While she went into her jacket to get the antidote and an injection, Logan sat up and cracked his fingers. His hands were shaking. A painful groan escaped his throat when he felt another wave of pain. He longed to take a bottle that called his name and drink it in one go. 

Logan’s red, tired eyes rather moved to the sweet ass of his woman. The view was nice, distracting. A smile formed behind his thick beard as he memorised it. 

Y/N got back to the bed and prepared the blue liquid. “One more thing,” she sighed. “We don’t know whether the healing process will be painful or not. I’ll be with you the entire time.” 

“I’ll manage. I’ve been through a lot of shit. It’s not gonna be painful as the damn application of adamantium into my bones. Or the feeling when I thought I lost you.” He stretched his left arm, showing her the big vein popping out. 

She took a deep breath through her nose and lowered the needle to his skin until it penetrated it. She injected the antidote into the vein and took the needle out. The tiny wound instantly closed. 

Logan’s breathing sped up. He frowned, gasped for air and grunted. He was in a lot of pain. The effect started fast. Y/N dropped the empty injection on the ground. She jumped up, grabbing Logan by his wide shoulders. “Breathe,” she told him. His body was hot, sweating. “Logan, breathe.” 

A scream erupted from his throat. His fists clenched, eyes closed shut. It was evident the pain was unbearable. The roaring brought Caliban into his room. His mutant eyes wide as he watched Logan rolling on the bed in excruciating pain. 

“What the fuck have you done to him?” he shouted at Y/N. 

She didn’t know what to do or what to say. “Wait!” she yelled at Caliban, raising a hand not to intervene. 

That’s when she noticed that every wound, every ugly scar started to disappear, leaving the skin nice and smooth. It was working. She felt some relief inside her soul. 

Logan’s chest was heaving. Grunts and snarls came out of his mouth. Luckily, the shouting was done. He was calming down. All those voices and pain turned into heavy breathing. 

“Logan?” Y/N appeared above him. She scanned his face and moved downwards his body to his rising and falling chest. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “Did it work?” 

Caliban appeared above him. “What the hell? How is this possible?” 

“Yes, it did,” Y/N smiled. 

Logan’s body healed. Every wound, scar or pain he felt minutes ago was gone. Even his eyes looked brighter. The redness was gone as well as the dark bags under them. 

He lifted his body from the bed and found Y/N’s face. Both hands pressed to her cheeks and then moved down her neck. “Fuck, you look so damn beautiful. I can fucking see. My vision was fucked. I had to wear reading glasses.” 

“Hey,” Caliban reminded them he was present in the room. “What have you done to him?” 

“I cured him,” she said. 

“How’s that possible?”

“I have my ways,” she replied, eyes never leaving Logan’s face. A smile played on her lips. She couldn’t stop staring into his pretty face. Well, he was handsome even before she gave him the antidote. “How do you feel?” 

Logan pressed a kiss to her lips, hugging her body as he pulled her into his lap. He was never fond of PDA, but now, he didn’t give a shit about it. If it made Caliban uncomfortable, good. At least that fucker would leave his room and give them some privacy.

The kiss ended. “I feel reborn. I don’t feel any pain. I can see clearly. Like a goddamn miracle.” Logan put her down on the bed next to him and walked to a mirror he had in the room. “Fuck!” he gasped. He stared at his reflection. 

He kept searching for the scars on his shoulders and his face. Or the one over his ribs. There was nothing. What remained was the grey-brown short hair or the thick beard. His fingers touched every part of his face, just to be sure it wasn’t an illusion.

“At least I don’t have to watch the puss on his knuckles,” Caliban commented. “By the way, it’s time to give Charles his medication. Since you are all cheerful and healthy, it’s your turn. I had a rough night,” he said grumpily. 

Logan glared at the mutant. “Fine.” 

Once Caliban was out of the room, Y/N walked to Logan. He wrapped his right arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Thank you, darlin’.” 

“Anything for you. Now, it’s time to move to the rest of my plan,” she said. “I have a safe place for us. It’s gonna be a long drive to Canada, but everything is set and ready. And by us, I also included Charles. We need to take care of him. He once welcomed us to the mutant school. It’s our turn to do the same.” 

He shook his head in disbelief. “Always the one with a plan. What about Caliban?” 

“Sorry, not included,” she said. “He did a lot of shit in his life. I can arrange some supplies for him once we leave, but that’s it.” 

“When do we leave?” 

“As soon as we can. Let’s give Charles his meds, pack everything you need and leave,” said Y/N. 

Logan took a deep breath. “Come here,” he whispered. He needed to kiss her. It was like sealing a deal with Y/N, that this was the new beginning, a new chance to have a better life. Was this finally his happy ending? 

[readychilledwine]

So I saw a post on Tumblr that read:

“Imagine getting fucked from behind in a broom closet of the house of wind by Rhysand, his fingers in your mouth and his breath against your ear whispering “quiet down pet, you don’t want Feyre to catch us huh?”

And I am so desperate for a fic inspired by this. ���

I love Feysand so, so much, but the thought of this did something to me.

I love your work so I immediately came to you. If you write it, thank you!!! If not, thank you anyway bc I love all of your work!! Ok byeeeee

.......alright you got me....

Extramarital Escapes

Warnings - smut, affair, slightly dub/con, abuse of power on Rhysand's end

A/n - I don't normally enjoy the idea of an affair and cheating, but I turned this into something I can work with.

Part 2

This was wrong.

So very wrong.

You gasped as Rhys hit that spot inside of you again, growling as you clenched around him.

This was not what you had in mind when he hired you to be their live-in nanny. It had started innocent enough. Rhys would seek out your company when Feyre would head into Velaris. There were short glances, a soft touch to reach around you at times. Those touches slowly became longer, though. They lingered on your waist, the sides of your thighs, your arms. You had thought you were imagining it until Feyre's first trip out of the Court with Nyx.

"Have a drink with me?" He had stopped you from sorting the heir's clothing, tilting your head up to look at him. "They say you aren't supposed to drink alone, Darling."

You had agreed, following him to the cigar room you knew even Feyre never entered. It was his sanctuary. His place to be alone. She had her studio. He had this.

That one drink turned into him getting closer to you on the couch, cornering you between him and it. He tipped the wine back further as you took a sip, trying to get you to relax with this dangerous look in his eyes.

You were pinned below him an hour later, drunk and begging him to fuck you harder, to let you cum. All while he smiled above you, eyes blown out in lust, saying over and over again that you felt exactly like he imagined.

You had told him the next morning it was a one-time thing, that it would never happen again, regardless of if you wanted it to happen. The High Lord simply smirked, undressing you with his eyes all over again. "We will see."

He cornered and took you anytime he wanted after that.

On his desk after Feyre would fall asleep.

On the table when she was out of the house and Nyx was down for a nap.

In your room during the dead of night when he decided his wife wouldn't satisfy his need to feel complete control and power over someone.

You had told him this morning that you were done. If he continued to touch you after this, you would tell Azriel, Cassian, or Feyre, believing one of them would protect you from him.

You loved Nyx and he was why you had put up with being Rhysand's whore for so long, but you needed it to end. You needed the guilt to stop eating you alive at night. You knew you were worth more, are worth more.

Rhysand had again smiled. "You love your job, don't you, y/n?" You nodded, eyes watering. "And in your contract, it is stated your job is to ensure the happiness of my family, correct?" You nodding again. "Then I suppose if you are not willing to fulfill that obligation, I should find a new nanny."

He knew he had you as you took a shaky breath, tears rolling down your face at the idea of never seeing his son again. "I'd hate to take him away from you. He loves you so much, and it is so very clear you love him."

"Rhys, please," you felt him pull you to him, slotting you between his legs as he sat on his desk. "I just can't keep being a mated males whore."

His face softened, hand moving to hold your chin. "You are not my whore. You are my escape. If you do not want that, if you do not want to be loved by me, then we have so few options."

You looked up and away from him. "I just want to take care of Nyx. Like I was hired to do."

"Then you do so on my conditions."

That was how you found yourself, chest pressed against the wall in an unused broom closet. The High Lord pounding you from behind, his fingers down your waiting throat to silence your cries.

You felt your eyes roll back, moaning loudly as you sucked those digits. His other hand was on your clit, circling the bundle of nerves in time with each heavy drag of his cock. "Shush," he growled in your ear. "Gotta be quiet, darling. You wouldn't want Feyre to catch us, would you?" He nipped your pointed ear, causing your walls to twitch around him. "Acting like you don't love my cock inside of you this morning, but now here we are. Sure, it feels like you love it when I'm inside of you. Don't you?"

You could only nod, eyes squeezing shut and moaning more as his hips met the plush skin of your ass over and over, driving into you again and again.

You could feel your orgasm building waiting for him to give the command to let go, and suddenly, he stopped. Pulling out of you and slapping your aching cunt. "This is your punishment for trying to end things with me," he whispered into your ear. "If you're a good girl the rest of the day, maybe I will let you cum tonight when she goes to Rita's with the girls."

He left you there, wet and aching for him in that broomcloset. You sunk down the wall, head falling to your knees.

A few hours later, you had finally gotten Nyx down for the night. You sighed, heading to Rhysand's office to let him know the heir was sleeping, that you would tend to him during the night since Feyre was gone, but two hushed voices had you stopping.

"You have to tell her," a feminine voice stated. "I don't want her to quit over this. Nyx loves her, Rhys."

"I know," Rhysand's voice was barely audible. "She tried today. I had to manipulate her into staying before I fucked her in the broom closet. You were supposed to catch us and join us."

You covered your mouth, hiding the gasp you made before standing silently. Feyre sighed on the other side of the door, "I got busy. Azriel had reports, and he was looking for you. I had to lie to him, Rhys. I don't want to keep lying to our family about her and what she is to us."

"Then let's replan it for next week. Since you are supposed to be out of the house. I wanted to give her the weekend off. I'm scared if I do now, she won't come back."

You walked away, having heard enough information, yet not enough all at the same time.

You could not tell if you were angry, excited, curious. You went to your room, closing and locking the door.

As you bathed, the side of you that hated games began to emerge, and you began a plan of your own. In that moment, you decided one thing, if Rhysand and Feyre wanted to play, you'd play too.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager

Rhys tag list:

@tothestarsandwhateverend

💜 If you would like to be added to my general taglist, or a character specific one, let me know 💜

[tallulah477]

Hunting the Tawtute

Kinktober Day 19: Threesome

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader x Lo’ak

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, AgedUp!Lo’ak, Dark!Neteyam, Dark!Lo’ak, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Primal Kink (Hunter/Prey Kink), Oral (female receiving and male receiving), P in V, Fingering, Handjob, Breath Play, Dirty Talk, Size Difference, Belly Bulge, Alien Genitalia, Slight Knife Play, Multiple Orgasms, Bukkake, Hair Pulling, Slight Humiliation, Slight Thigh Riding, Knots/Knot Play (but no actual knotting), Marking Kink/Biting

Word Count: 5.4K (of pure self-indulgent fantasy)

A/N: I don’t even know what to say about this. This one kinda like so fucking much got away from me. It’s like I went crazy, blacked out, and this happened. Hopefully some of you guys will like it too as much as I liked writing it.

Summary: When the Omatikaya raid an RDA outpost, you just barely escape the carnage with your life. You're stumbling through the forest when they find you, and the dark grins on their faces make shivers run down your spine. You try to run, but they’ll catch you - they’re little beautiful prey. 

Extra: Pretty, But Not Stupid

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Tawtute -  Human

Mountain Banshee - Large, dragon-like aerial predators

Sevin - Pretty

Vrrtep - Demon

Paskalin - Sweet Berry (term of endearment)

The ground is shaking underneath you as you run, booming with the force of the explosions and gunfire racking the now nonexistent RDA outpost. You can still hear the screaming, both war cries and cries of terror, echoing through the forest as your tired legs carry you further and further away. 

You’re gasping for breath, heart feeling like it's going to pound out of your chest as you sob. You hated the RDA, they were mostly all power hungry assholes anyway, but some people in the outpost were good - innocent people who fled Earth just to get away from the horror there, only to be met with a fate possibly crueler here. All the cooks, cleaners, and medical professionals who just wanted a chance - all dead within minutes of the start of the emergency alarm that blared through the base. If not by the explosions, then currently being picked off without mercy by the Na’vi. 

You’re lucky to even be alive right now. 

You shake your head, trying to ignore how your heavy, panicked breathing is fogging up your mask and how you can barely see through your tears. You need to keep going. You can’t think about it now. Can’t think about the carnage you're running from and the people you’re leaving behind. You need to find safety. 

You run a little further, trying not to trip on any more upturned roots. You fell over one a little ways back, and your ankle protests the more weight you put on it, but the fear of being found and killed keeps you going. You quickly round another tree and stop, bracing your hand on the bark of the massive trunk and lifting your hurt ankle up a bit just to relieve the pressure for a moment. Your eyes hurriedly scan the area, trying to keep an eye out for danger you wouldn’t even be able to defend yourself against. Even if you did have some kind of a weapon (which you don’t, you barely had enough time to sprint away with your life as it was, let alone grab any kind of form of defense), you wouldn’t be able to win against the strength and prowess of one of the natives anyway.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips when your eye catches movement a few trees down from you. There’s a male Na’vi standing there, long braids still swinging around his shoulders from his abrupt movement, and he has an arrow notched and pulled back, strong muscles and chest bulging behind the bow as he steadies the arrow - the arrow that’s pointed directly at you. 

“Wait!” You yell, hands instinctively coming up to protect your face as if they could ever stop the Na’vi sized arrow. “Wait! Please, don’t shoot!”

The male stops, curious amber eyes locked on your trembling figure, and to your complete shock, he lowers the arrow. Why isn’t he killing you? The Na’vi kill humans on sight, they don’t hesitate. You should have been dead the second he saw you. But you’re not. He lowered his arrow, and for a brief moment relief and hope flood your chest. 

“I mean you no harm,” You call, voice shaking. “Please, don’t k-kill me,”

The male tilts his head at you and you watch cautiously as he puts his bow away, reattaching it to his back, before reaching up to touch his throat. From this distance you can just see the outline of a necklace. A throat comm, you think. He has his fingers pressed against the buttons and you can’t hear what he’s saying, but you see his lips moving as he talks to whoever is on the other line. 

A dark smirk curls at his lips as he speaks. He’s looking directly at you and whatever hope you had disappears as dread fills your entire being. 

You are going to die. 

You can’t stay here, staying still even as he’s watching you is a risk. If you’re going to die, you’re at least going to go down trying to live. 

You turn to run, making it just a few steps away from the tree before the canopy bursts above you, a roaring shriek piercing your ears as a large blue and purple mountain banshee descends down towards the forest floor. You scream, falling back on your ass as the dragon-like animal lands just feet from you, the wind from its strong wings beating over your body and making your hair whip around your face.

The banshee’s rider descends from its back, landing on the ground with a thud and disconnecting his neural queue from the animal. He stalks towards you, golden eyes gleaming behind a few loose braids falling in front of them, and he grins, long pointed canines biting into his bottom lip.

“Where you running to, sevin tawtute?”

With another terrified sob, you scramble to your feet. The second Na’vi’s low chuckle, despite being fairly quiet, rings loudly in your ears, and you can hear the footsteps of the first’s getting closer and closer to you each second. 

“Don’t do it,” The second warns, and you don’t even have the mental capacity to realize that he’s speaking to you in English. You’re already spinning and darting away in the opposite direction. 

You run as fast as you can through the dense Pandorian forest. They’re chasing you, you can hear their footsteps pounding against the forest floor behind you. They mock you, first just making quick yipping and whooping calls, communicating with each other in a way you would never even begin to understand. And then they switch to your language.

“Better run faster, human!”

“Getting tired already, baby?”

“Can you feel my breath on the back of your pretty neck?”

“We’re going to get you!”

Your sobs get louder, terrified as you try to push yourself harder. They sound so close, like they’re right behind you, like they could just reach out and grab you. But they don’t. They’re playing with you. They’re faster than you, their legs significantly longer than yours and more adept at running and navigating the forest terrain. They’re letting you keep going on purpose, finding glee in your terror and enjoyment in chasing their prey. 

Your ankle is aching, pain shooting from the twisted limb, and your running is quickly turning into panicked hobbling. You can’t do it anymore. Can’t do it - they’re going to get you. Without thinking, you dive under a slightly uprooted tree - the tilt of the base giving you just enough room to crawl under the trunk, thick roots caging you in and separating you from the two male Na’vi. 

The second you make it through, there’s a burst of movement as the long haired male slides in front of the opening, long arm sticking through the roots and reaching for you. You whimper when his fingers brush your mask and you try to scoot yourself further back against the dirt, but there isn’t much room. 

“Come out of there,” He says, voice soft like he’s trying to coax you out, but the underlining reverb of a growl taints the attempt. “It’s dangerous under there,”

“Yes, tawtute,” The other says, long legs visible from behind his brother’s upper body. “Much safer out here with us,”

You can’t help the anger and frustration that wells inside you as you hear the absolute lie they are trying to tell you. 

“Bullshit,” You spit.

The long haired male removes his reaching arm and peers at you through the roots, eyes alight with mirth. “Oh, you hear that, brother? Our little vrrtep has a mouth on her,”

The other male chuckles and squats down to peer at you through your self imposed cage. “And what a pretty mouth it is. Can’t wait to see what else it can do,”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. That sounded . . . suggestive. That couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like, right?

“What do you say, sevin? Want your gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock?” He asks, playful fingers lifting up the front of his loincloth slightly as if to tease you. And then, suddenly, there’s a new fear taking over. 

They don’t want to catch you to kill you - they want you. 

“My name is Lo’ak,” He continues, lifting his hand from his loincloth to wiggle his fingers at you in greeting. Five fingers, you notice. “You know, just so you know what to scream out later when I’m fucking you,”

More tears well up in your eyes, cascading down your flushed cheeks. “P-please. Don’t hurt m-me,” You beg, wide eyes pleading with the large blue men holding you hostage to show you mercy. “I’ll leave! I promise! You’ll never see me again,”

“She begs so beautifully already,” The other male says, nudging his brother’s arm. “She’s gonna sound so good when she’s crying in pleasure. Go ahead and try it out for me, paskalin. Let me hear you say it: Neteyam,”

Neteyam looks at her expectantly, golden green eyes dark from where his pupils have nearly completely taken over. 

“Fuck you,” You hiss. You try to put as much malice and ferocity in your words as you can muster, but Neteyam only grins at your curse.

“Yeah, tawtute. That’s the idea,”

Lo’ak suddenly moves, shifting over to the side of the tree and you panic at the abrupt movement, scrambling over and pressing your back against the roots on the opposite side just to be as far from him as possible. 

“Come on out, baby,” He purrs, eyes hooded as he stares at you. “Don’t you want to take a ride? Feel some big alien cock in your pretty, tiny pussy?”

You open your mouth again to shoot some more choice expletives at him, but all that comes out is a scream when the roots behind you rip and a large hand grips at your hair, dragging your body from its hiding spot and into the dimming light of the forest.

Neteyam hauls you up on your feet, fist tangled in your hair keeping you from running and grabs one of your swinging arms, pinning it behind your back. Lo’ak steps in front of you, tall and imposing at nearly twice your height, but you still try to fight, fight for your life and your freedom, and your hand smacks as hard as it can against his hip.

It doesn’t do anything to him obviously, you’re not even sure if he felt it, but all the fight leaves you in an instant when the large knife the size of your forearm waves in your face.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for us now, okay?” He says, tapping the glass of your mask with the tip of his knife as if he were trying to boop your nose. The tip of the knife travels down your neck, over your collarbone, and towards the center of your chest. If you were able to think correctly, you would be amazed at the control he has over the blade to not let it cut you despite your chest heaving with your frantic breathing. “Stay still now,”

The knife travels towards the valley between your breasts, taking the neck of your t-shirt with it and pulling it down and down until Lo’ak just cleanly slices through the whole front of it. Neteyam releases your arm now that you're not fighting against them anymore, but still keeps a firm grip on your hair. The ruined shirt slips from your shoulders and Lo’ak brings the knife back up to hook underneath the band of your bra, slicing through the material like it was paper and pushing the remnants of that off of your body as well. 

“Such a pretty little thing,” He muses, running the flat of the blade across one of your exposed breasts, the cool metal making you shiver as it presses against your heated skin. Lo’ak twists the knife and places the very tip of it at your nipple. The sharp edge makes you gasp, the bud starting to harden immediately at the feeling and you can’t help but feel mortified when you feel wetness pool in your panties. 

Lo’ak’s nose twitches, a wicked grin pulling at his lips as his large amber eyes catch yours, but it’s Neteyam that digs the metaphorical knife deeper, furthering your humiliation and making your face burn.

“Aw, is the cute little tawtute getting wet for us? We can smell you,” Neteyam laughs, dragging your head back further so he can get a good look at your face. “Look, brother. Look how flushed she’s getting,”

“You think that flush is going all the way down here?” Lo’ak asks, the tip of the knife leaving your nipple to tease your clit over your shorts.

“Rip them off and find out,” Neteyam suggests, and you start to wriggle again in his unrelenting grasp. 

“Wait!” You shout. Your neck is still craned up towards the sky, so you only feel rather than see Lo’ak undo your button and zipper. “Wait, please. I’ll do anything,”

“Yeah,” Neteyam agrees, looking down at your pleading face. His fingers latch onto one of your hard nipples and pulls on it, eliciting a sharp gasp from your plump lips. “You will,”

In an instant, Lo’ak yanks your shorts and panties down and Neteyam moves behind you to kneel on the forest floor, one knee pressing into the ground while the other acts as a stabilizer, foot flat against the ground. Neteyam’s grip on your hair is released as he grabs you by your hips instead, pulling you up to sit on his thigh, bare pussy pressing against the bulging muscles. 

The feeling of his muscles tensing under you makes more heat pool in your stomach, and your pussy is wet and sticky already as you squirm against him. Your legs fall on either side of his and even with him kneeling your feet still can’t touch the ground, toes just barely brush against the grass and only if you’re actually stretching to reach it. But the additional stretch just makes you push your cunt harder against his thigh and you whimper, not knowing what to do or how to move.

Neteyam wraps a restraining arm around your chest, trapping one of your arms under his and grabbing onto your other bicep, his large hand practically spanning the entirety of your upper arm and pinning it down. His other hand moves up to his mouth, long middle finger sliding between his lips, licking the long digit and pulling it out when it’s wet and glistening in the setting sunlight. He brings his wet finger to your core, dipping it between your folds and circling your clit. 

“So wet already, tawtute,” He whispers, lips brushing against the curve of your ear.

You whimper as he rubs you, dipping his finger down lower to gather more of your wetness and dragging it back up to tease small circles around your pulsing nub. When his fingers trail down again, it's to press at your entrance, and you can’t help the whiny moan that escapes you as his finger slips easily inside your leaking hole.

Lo’ak’s been watching you this whole time, crouching down to get a good, clear look at your glistening pink cunt, and the sight of his brother’s finger sliding inside of you prompts him to have some fun of his own. He stands, fingers moving quickly to untie his loincloth, the material loosening and sliding down his legs, flittering to the ground below him.  

You’re distracted, Neteyam’s finger is rubbing against your gummy walls, sliding in and out effortlessly while his thumb plays with your clit, so you don’t realize what’s so wrong with Lo’ak’s body until he’s directly in front of you - naked pelvis and even more naked center only a foot away from your face. 

Your eyes widen as you look at it, confusion written all over your face as you stare at the empty, flat space where his member should be. Lo’ak laughs at the bewildered look on your face and Neteyam mouths at your shoulder to hide his own grin. 

“Don’t worry, pretty girl,” Lo’ak says. “I’ve got plenty of cock for you. It’s just hidden. I’ll get it out for you since you're a little tied up.”

His fingers reach down to rub at the empty space and you watch in fascinated awe as he plays down there, fingers pressing in harder and sliding against the hidden slit you hadn’t seen before. His fingers dip inside, eyes closing in pleasure for a moment before they flick back open, sultry hooded orbs locked on your own. 

“What the f–ahh!” You cry, eyes squeezing shut, back arching in pleasure against Neteyam as another of his fingers pushes inside you. They’re long enough on their own, the combined thickness enough to feel like a cock inside you already. 

When your eyes open again, they lock immediately on what’s happening between Lo’ak’s legs. There’s something poking out from the slit and it takes your scared and pleasure hazed brain way too long to realize it’s his cock. It’s just the head peeking out, the mushroomed lavender tip like a bright, slick beacon between his dark blue thighs. He grins when your mouth falls open at the sight, fingers dipping back into his wet slit and pulling out another inch.

Every inch of his cock has your eyes widening, the long and hard length now fully unsheathed and bumping against his belly. Blue skin and even darker stripes litter the shaft, small bioluminescent freckles scatter towards the top and lead to the light purple tip. A fleeting thought has you thinking it's pretty, the colors blending in beautifully with one another, but when you see the textured bumps decorating the entire length, the panic hits you again.

“Let me go!” You scream, fighting against Neteyam’s hold, but hold is firm. “It won’t fit! You can’t! It won’t fit!”

“That’s why we have to stretch you out first,” Neteyam mutters, mouth pressed against your shoulder. His third finger nudges at your entrance and you stop breathing when it pushes against your already stuffed hole. The stretch is intense, your small body struggling to take the invasion as his long finger pushes in beside the others. His thumb rubs lovingly at your clit, distracting you from the stretch and working up the pressure starting to build in your belly. 

Lo’ak strokes at his cock, shuffling forward until the weeping tip of it is inches from your face. 

“You wanna taste it?” He asks, his other hand gripping onto the bottom of your mask. 

You whimper, terrified at the prospect of him pulling your mask off, but can’t get out anything more than a stuttering, “P-please,”

“Be a good girl and hold your breath for me,”

There’s a loud hiss of air as the seal around your face breaks, and then you can’t breathe. Can’t even make a sound when he pulls the mask halfway up your face to free your mouth, letting the bottom of it sit below your nose as he pushes his fingers into the hinges of your jaw to pry your mouth open. 

The lavender tip of his cock pushes between your lips, the underside dragging along your tongue. You can feel every bump and ridge as it pushes in further, the texture both unusual and intimidating as it slides against the warm wet muscle. 

And then it’s gone, your mask replaced and the burst of oxygen rushing into your lungs makes you feel even more lightheaded than without having any oxygen at all.

“Good girl,” Lo’ak coos, hand once again gripping the bottom of your mask and leaning down to press a sweet kiss against its glass. 

Neteyam’s fingers are still working themselves in and out of your stuffed pussy, and you see Lo’ak’s ears twitch a second before you even hear it: the horrible squelching sounds your pussy is making as it rocks against his three fingers.

“Such a good girl,” He grins. He stands up, holding his cock steady and pulling your mask up again, the hiss of air mingling with the wet sounds coming from your drenched cunt. “Let’s go again,”

His cock pushes inside of your mouth again, barbed length sliding against your tongue and nudging the back of your throat. You gag, choking from both lack of oxygen and Lo’ak’s thick cock, and you can barely register the light and strangely sweet taste of his precum as it coats your tastebuds. 

Neteyam’s fingers are ruthless inside of you, curling and dragging against your gummy walls with skilled expertise and his thumb is practically a blur on your clit. When Lo’ak replaces your mask and air once again fills your lungs, it's only there for a second before you’re screaming and gasping, the coil in your stomach almost too much to bear as it tightens, threatening to rip you apart when it snaps.

Your screaming is cut off again when Lo’ak lifts the mask away, shoving his cock harder and deeper into your mouth until the glass of your mask is pressing against his pelvis and his cock has slipped down your throat. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you take it, legs shaking against Neteyam’s thigh. When it's replaced this time and air is once again allowed into your lungs, Neteyam’s teeth latch onto your shoulder, sharp canines digging into the tender skin. The bite brings about a sharp pain immediately followed by a flood of intense pleasure - your body jerks in his hold, shaking violently as the coil in your belly snaps. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, gushing against his hand as your orgasm rips through you without mercy. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Lo’ak grunts, fisting his cock with one hand while checking to make sure your mask is secure with the other.

You mumble a weak reply, but the words don’t make sense, they don’t even sound like real words to your own ears - and your ‘not words’ turn into a forlorn whine as Neteyam pulls his fingers from your still pulsing pussy. 

He tilts your upper body to the side, sliding most of you off of him except for your leg still draped over his thigh at the knee while your other foot presses onto the ground, leaving you spread wide. His free hand falls behind you, somewhere around his hip where you can’t see, and then something large and round shaped is nudging between your folds and prodding at your entrance.

“No,” You mewl. “Won’t fit,”

“Shh, be quiet, ma sevin tawtute,” He grunts, pressure pushing at your hole as he starts forwards. “It will fit,”

You take in gasping breaths as the pressure intensifies, dripping hole resisting the push as much as it can before relenting to the large male Na’vi’s wishes and the thick mushroom head of his cock pops inside. Neteyam groans when he breaches you, unwrapping his arm from your upper body and gripping both of your thighs with his large hands, hauling you up and in the air as he stands up.

Your back is pressed tightly against his chest, thighs spread open and vulnerable to Lo’ak’s hungry gaze as gravity pushes you down further on his brother’s cock. You whimper loudly, hands desperately gripping at Neteyam’s forearms as he impales you on him. The bumps on his cock drag without mercy against your sensitive walls, and your right leg shakes in his grip from the overwhelming intensity. 

It feels so good, so devastatingly good inside of you, the barbs and ridges sliding just right against your gummy walls and you toss your head back with a silent scream as he bottoms out, tip nudging against your cervix.

You’ve never felt so full before. It feels like he’s all the way in your stomach, cock barreling through your important organs and rearranging your guts just to make enough room for him to fit. You chance a look down, letting out a wailing cry that’s half pleasure, half horror when you see the large bulge protruding from your abdomen. 

“Fuck,” Neteyam moans. “She’s so tight,”

Lo’ak grins mischievously as Neteyam lowers his mouth to the side of your neck, pressing gentle kisses there as he starts to rock into you. One moment he’s in front of your face, sending you a cheeky wink when you gasp as the cock inside of you hits just the right angle to brush against your special spot, and then the next he’s crouching down, textured tongue lolling out of his mouth and licking against your swollen clit. 

You squeal at the feeling of his rough tongue, textured similarly to that of a cat’s, lapping at the sensitive nub. 

“T-too much!” You cry. You can’t close your legs, Neteyam’s hands holding them firmly open as he thrusts harder inside you, and your hands push against Lo’ak’s head, but he doesn’t budge - large head staying put while his tongue continues to swipe against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

When Lo’ak decides he’s had enough, he lifts his head, trailing kisses up your stomach starting just above the disappearing and reappearing bulge in your belly and up your chest, tongue laving over the swell of your breast and latching onto your nipple, sharp teeth nibbling on the hard bud as you yelp.

His lips wrap around it, suckling on it for a moment before pulling off with a pop. 

“You taste so good, baby,” He murmurs, reaching down to play with your clit. “Like the sweetest little treat,”

“Feel so good, paskalin,” Neteyam grunts, lifting your body up and slamming it back down on his cock to fuck into your harder. “Snug little pussy squeezing me so well. You were made to take Na’vi cock, weren’t you?”

“Oohh my goooooood,” You moan, eyes rolling back into your head from the overwhelming stimulation. “C-can’t t-take i-itt,”

“Sure you can,” Lo’ak teases, face so close to yours that in your haze all you can see is his bright golden eyes. “Didn’t you hear what he just said?”

Neteyam’s thrusts are getting sloppy, moans and grunts a constant source behind you, and he hisses a quick “Fuck, take her,” at his brother. Before you know what’s happening, you’re suddenly pressed against Lo’ak, chest pressed tightly against his and Neteyam releases one of your thighs in favor of gripping your hip. Lo’ak’s hand cradles your released thigh instead, keeping you steady against him as his brother uses his new found leverage to pound into your tight cunt. Your arms instinctively wrap around Lo’ak’s neck, holding on for dear life as you moan and whimper loudly with the cool glass of your mask pressed against his collarbone. 

You can feel the knot in your belly tightening again, and you can’t think about anything other than how impossibly full you feel and how good the ridges and bumps on his cock feel as they scrap and drag inside of you. Neteyam’s grip turns bruising, fingers digging into your hip and thigh as he fucks you harder. 

“Who’s pussy is this?” Neteyam growls, mushroomed tip pounding into your cervix. “Go on, tawtute. Say it!”

“Neteyaaamm,” You moan. “Please, please, please,”

Distantly, even through your hazy, fucked out brain, you can feel something thick and round prodding at your entrance, bumping and stretching you out even more with each thrust. You cum, sobbing as you contract tightly around him, body shaking in Lo’ak’s hold as his large hand rubs up and down your back soothingly. 

Neteyam pulls out of you with a tortured groan and your eyes flutter shut, pussy still contracting and squeezing and wanting - wanting his long, hard length inside of you again, wanting it splitting you open, and now that it's gone, you can’t believe how empty you feel.

Lo’ak lowers you gently to the ground, resting your exhausted body on the soft moss. You feel the way he pulls your thighs apart again, settling himself between them, what’s left of the setting sunlight filtering in behind your eyelids getting blocked as he hovers over you. 

“Stay awake, vrrtep,” He says, smacking your thigh lightly to wake you back up. Your heavy eyes peel themselves open, watching as Lo’ak braces one hand above your head while the other guides his cock to your core. You whimper as he drags the head of his cock through your dripping folds, teasing the tip against your clit before running it down your slit and lining it up with your entrance. “It’s my turn,”

The slide is easier this time as he pushes in, but still no less intense. Your tired and overstimulated body tenses at the intrusion, tightening around him as he spears you open with his thick girth. 

“Such a pretty demon,” He moans, pleasure shooting through his veins at the feel of your tiny body hugging his cock like it never wants to let him go. “Tempting us the way you did,”

His hips start up a gentle tempo, rocking inside you to help you get used to his size and letting you feel the pleasurable drag of his barbs against your oversensitive walls. 

You whine, denying his comment. “D-didn’t do anyth–”

He silences you with a sharp snap of his hips, upping the rhythm of his thrusts and leaning down further so his pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust. Already you can feel another orgasm barreling towards you, threatening to rip you apart the same way his cock is splitting you open. 

“Fuck!” You squeal, back arching as your pussy squelches between your bodies. “Oh my god, fuck!”

“Say my name, baby,” Lo’ak grunts. “Wanna hear you moan it,”

“Looo’aaaaak,” You moan, bliss clouding your judgment as your hips buck into his in return. 

Out of the corner of your eye you see Neteyam, standing just to the side, watching as his brother fucks your very soul from your body as his hand strokes along his raging length. Your eyes catch on something unusual towards the base of his cock -  a thick, round bulb that shouldn’t be there and he smirks as he sees you gaping at it, hand stroking down to the base and squeezing the thick engorged knot of tissue tightly, moaning at the sensation.

Lo’ak thrusts in you harder and you feel that same thick, round ball bumping at your entrance that you felt when Neteyam was fucking you. The same bulbish ball of tissue that must be the same as the one you're looking at right now.

“Great Mother,” Lo’ak groans, face scrunched up in pleasure. “I wanna knot you so fucking bad,”

“Don’t,” Neteyam growls, jerking forward as if to pull his brother away from you, but Lo’ak curls his body around yours protectively, a deep hiss of warning ripping from his throat as he bares his teeth at his brother. 

Neteyam freezes, hands up in surrender but he glares at the brother inside you all the same. “Don’t. We don’t know if her body can take it yet.”

Lo’ak grunts, resuming his thrusts. “I know. Just back off,”

His cock pounds you relentlessly, kissing your cervix and his hand reaches down to caress the bulge in your belly. He presses down on the bulging bump firmly at the same time that his teeth sink into the still unmarked side of your neck, making you scream, the blissful agonized cry echoing through the forest as you cream all over his cock.

He pulls out, groaning woefully like his brother did, and fists his cock furiously, aiming the leaking tip directly at your puffy, spent pussy. Neteyam does the same, crouching low and close, stroking his cock beside you as he aims for your chest. 

They cum within seconds of one another, shooting hot, thick stripes of pearly bioluminescent cum all over your body, covering your chest and lower half with their release. 

You can barely feel your body anymore, can’t move a single limb on your own, and, despite not having any use of anything, your body won’t stop shaking - oversensitive and overstimulated and completely satisfied in a way you never thought you could be. 

“Ready to head home, sevin tawtute?” Neteyam asks, breathing heavy as he recovers from his orgasm. He just came but his eyes are still dark and sinful, looking at you like he wants to eat you whole. Your exhausted eyes flick to Lo’ak only to see the same desirous expression. 

There’s a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach as you close your eyes, listening to their dark chuckles as your body forces you to rest. The last thing you hear before you drift off to sleep is a low, deep voice say . . .

“You’re ours now,”

Extra>>>

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife

[mythica-ithaca]

the fact that I see some of y'all posting more about how important it is to vote for Biden than you ever have about Palestine just shows that you fucking "vote blue no matter who" people genuinely don't give a fuck about anyone but yourselves.

you only choose to speak up when YOUR hypothetical rights are threatened. you love to fear monger about how much hypothetically worse it would be under trump than acknowledge the actual atrocities that Biden is committing and condoning every single day. how exactly is he the "lesser" of two evils for?

do any of you actually look at the images coming out of gaza, or are you too fucking ~triggered~ to fully acknowledge other peoples suffering rather than your own. have you seen the video that came out recently of the little boy whose brain is exposed, about to be laid next to his dead family members, only to twitch and seize in his fathers arms as he screams and runs in horror to find a doctor, because his son is alive. his brain is literally falling out of his skull but he is still alive. that is one brief example of the most horrific shit you've ever seen in your life coming out daily for almost a year. how on this earth can you watch that and possibly claim that Biden is in any way shape or form "less" evil.

instead of demanding that the dnc force a different candidate, you're trying to guilt trip people who have actually seen the mutilated bodies of children on their timelines every single day and watched the press briefings of bidens administration denying genocide and defending Israel at the expense of literally everything else for the last 8 months, into voting for a man who supports it 100% and has not and will not be convinced otherwise.

this is where allowing them to push widely unpopular and centrist candidates has gotten us. it didn't work with Hillary in 2016. it BARELY worked in 2020. and hate to break it to you, but its probably not going to work again. so congrats. your "vote blue no matter who" rhetoric has got them thinking that they can push the most right leaning liberals on us and think that we'll vote for them just because they're in a blue tie instead of a red one.

if you care about democracy like you say you do, then the Democrats should be fucking TERRIFIED that you won't vote for them if they don't deliver. not constantly reassured that they can commit literal fucking genocide and still get your votes if they dangle abortion rights over your heads. you realize they see those posts too right? the ones that say "Yes! protest vote in the primary but make sure to actually vote for the guy in the general!!" like. you are literally telling them how performative your activism is.

if every election at this point is the one where democracy is on the line then we are already fucked. if they don't get it through their heads now that we will not support this shit, then every election to come will be between a fascist and a fascist who cares slightly less about whether gay people get married or not. but that's all you care about right? as long as your domestic policy is in your favor then the rest of the world can suffer at your tax dollars.

this isn't about morality voting. this is about recognizing that there is not actually a "lesser" of two evils in this situation, just because you think that the causes that you personally care about will be less affected one way or the other. because what if it was abortion rights? what catholic Joe Biden was firmly against abortion and was threatening to ban it completely and throw anyone getting or giving one in prison for murder. what if it was videos of lgbt people being slaughtered coming out every single day for a year. genuinely fucking ask yourself if you'd still be saying "vote blue no matter who" and that he's the "lesser" of two evils.

vote for whoever the fuck you want. and I do genuinely urge you to vote for the most progressive candidate you can for the house and senate and your local elections. but for the love of god, stop trying to convince people that there is, in any sense of the word, a "Lesser" evil in this situation. stop trying to absolve yourselves of the fact that you are CHOOSING evil. it's genuinely sick.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Hi would it be okay if i asked you why you detest richard dawkins?? Cause i also hate him to pieces and would like to share some indulgent hatered of this fucking old ass shit man. Please go off

I mean, to go FULLY into it would require me to write an entire essay, and I just don't want to?

But the short version is

antitheism is cultural genocide and patently bullshit

focusing on genes rather than the whole organism in evolution is patently ridiculous when the minimum unit of evolution is the *population*, not the gene

in fact, when you realize the minimum unit is the population rather than the gene, you see that altruism and social behavior are very beneficial, even across species (see: symbiosis), and "selfishness" "red in tooth and claw" "law of the jungle" are just bullshit things some people made up to justify their crappy behavior (re: racism. their crappy behavior was racism.)

IQ and intelligence are smoke and mirrors we invented to convince ourselves we're more evolved than other animals (we're not, and every organisms has the intelligence it needs for its environment, adapted for its ecology, and that means that a diversity of intelligences is actually a good thing like diversity of anything is a good thing)

the man is a eugenecist and that speaks for itself

I hate him, and I hate that we live in a world where he is still alive and Stephen Jay Gould is dead, zichrono livracha

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

We got each other (and that's a lot)

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 18

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

Rated: M

CW: Violent imagery; aftermath of injury

Tags: Steve got vecna'd (he's okay, though); Angst; Trauma; Fluff

Notes: Continued from day 3. They'll be fine, they just need to kiss some and get a lot of therapy, probably.

Wanna see these soft, broken boys sleeping? Check out the heartwrenching art by @house-of-the-moving-image

Eddie drifts.

Inky blackness surrounds him like cotton, every sound, every thought muffled. His neck and fingers and arms still hurt, but it's the dull kind that comes with exhaustion, the tingle of adrenaline finally rushing from his body. Some distant part of him is still stirring, demanding that they stay alert … but the darkness is warm and soft and alluring as it pulls him under. 

Something cold touches his hand. 

Eddie flinches awake, heart kickstarting in his chest, fear zapping into his limbs like an electric current.

He fell asleep, he realizes, and the terror of it claws its way up his throat like a slimy, rotten tangle of vines. He fell asleep and when he opens his eyes it'll be to find Steve floating under the ceiling again, to find Steve's mangled corpse on the bed, eyes sucked from their sockets, face twisted in an eternal, grotesque scream, it's too late and he fell asleep, he fucking fell asleep while- 

Steve is awake. 

Steve is awake and he's looking at him and he's alive and his hand is lying on top of Eddie’s. It's cold and there's a needle in it from the IV cord and he's ghastly pale against the sheets, but he's smiling softly and he's alive, he's alive and Eddie wants to scream, to cry, to kiss him and never stop, to hold him and never let go-

"Hey," Steve whispers. 

"Hey," Eddie croaks. "You look like shit, man."

"Aw," says Steve, and the corners of his mouth twitch and Eddie thought he'd never see his smile again and shitshitshit don't cry, Munson, don't cry. "Thought I was pulling it off real well." 

He jerks his head in the general direction of the cast on his right leg, the one on his left arm. Eddie thinks he'll hear the sound of the bones breaking in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

"Typical," is what he says. "Half dead and still worried about your looks." 

Steve hums a not-quite-laugh. His fingers caress the back of Eddie’s hand. 

"Is he …?" 

"Dead," Eddie blurts. "For real this time. It's over." 

"The kids?" Steve's fingers twitch.

"Fine," Eddie says, watches how Steve's entire form sags with relief. "Buckley and Wheeler, too. And everyone else. It's over." 

"I- good." Steve screws his eyes shut, gulps. Draws a shuddering breath. "That's good." 

Eddie watches how his shoulders start shaking. Following a sudden impulse, he flips his hand and tangles his hand with Steve's, careful not to upset the needle. Steve blinks down at their entwined fingers. 

Eddie forces himself to smile and rambles on before either of them can question the gesture. 

"El was so fucking metal, you should've seen her. Like, the way she obliterated that douchebag? Remind me to never get on that girl's bad side! Seriously, man, I don't think any of us would be here if she hadn't-" 

"Well, I don't think I would be here …" says Steve. "... if it hadn't been for you." 

Eddie’s words barrel to a stop. Steve’s fingers tighten against his, trace the callouses on his hands. Steve’s smile is small and soft, but his eyes are serious, trained stubbornly on the ugly pattern of his hospital gown. 

"I thought you hated Bon Jovi." 

Eddie huffs. "Fuck, yeah, I do. Forcing me to besmirch my Sweetheart's strings with that mainstream shit? You owe me big time, man. Better start thinking of ways to pay me back."

"Yeah?" Steve raises their tangled hands lightly. "How's this for a start?" 

And then, before Eddie can even wonder what he's about to do, he ducks his head and presses a kiss to his knuckles. His lips are soft and warm. 

Eddie blinks. Waits for the world to stop spinning. 

"For … a start?" he repeats dumbly. 

Steve's eyebrow quirks. 

"Dude, I'd like to do so much more, but I'm glad I managed to lift your hand, to be honest. We should also first talk about stuff, I guess." 

"Oh," Eddie says intelligently. "You mean … like that thing you wanted to tell me?" 

"Yeah, like tha- … that thing." Steve needs to interrupt himself for a huge yawn halfway through. Since one of his arms is in a cast and the other hand is refusing to let go of Eddie’s, it ends up open-mouthed and adorable. "Probably'll have to sleep some more b'fore that, though …"

"Sure thing," Eddie is out of his chair and fussing with the pillow before he realizes what he's doing. Steve's eyes are already drooping as he helps him settle down. "I'll … I'll be outside, tell the others you're-" 

"Eddie?" Steve's grip around his wrist is light as a feather, but he still stops like he's been tethered in place. When he turns, there's fear swimming in those pretty eyes. "Stay? I don't … I'd rather not be alone." 

Eddie is back in his chair before Steve can finish the sentence. 

"Can you…" Steve's eyes are slipping shut again and his words are slurred, so that Eddie must lean closer to catch them. "D’you think you can sing? So I can find my way back, if- … Your voice is like light."

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if there's anything he could possibly say to that. So he says nothing. Just swallows around the lump in his throat and takes Steve's hand and starts singing softly. 

By the time Steve's breath evens out and his fingers go limp, Eddie’s other hand has found its way into his hair. 

Eddie keeps singing for a long while.

For as long as he's here, Steve will always have someone to guide him back.

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles