18+ ❤︎ . . . when a mission with him goes terribly wrong and ends with him deep in your guts...
satoru gojo ℘ fem!sorcerer!reader . . . aphrodisiac ( reader affected ) : reader is kind of mean but he's into it, canon-universe — explicit smut !! oral (fem rec.), fingering, p in v, slight overstim, cock drunk reader, messy confessions, mutual pining, slight brat taming, cocky gojo, reader cries during sex, orgasm denial ( in a way.. ), slight after care, cutetiful ending ♡ w.c 8.2k
you and satoru gojo were partners. best friends even.
in his eyes at least.
no matter how many times you swore you hated him whenever he pissed you off, he was somehow insanely persistent in trying to get you to like him. it was as if riling you up was his love language.
not that you didn’t like him — you did. more than you should. you just didn’t show it very well, per se..
you were kind of like a black cat girlfriend to him, while he was your golden retriever boyfriend. and he knew it. always did. even when he insisted on asking you the stupidest questions:
“so! if i got bit by a snake on my dick, would you suck the venom out to save my life?”
...
“what the fuck is wrong with you?”
yeah…
so even if he was the strongest sorcerer alive, he still insisted on tagging along on your missions whenever he could. not because you needed protection—you were perfectly capable of handling yourself—but simply because, according to him, you were his favorite person.
“and you are here again because..?” you hummed, stepping through the warped entrance of the abandoned inn where the special grade cursed object was rumored to be hidden, floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet.
behind you, gojo followed without a shred of caution, hands tucked behind his head like some sort of casual stroll instead of a mission for grade one and above.
he chuckled. “why can’t i? i just wanna spend time with my favorite girl.” his voice tilted into a teasing sing-song. “don’t act like you hate it~”
you stopped and turned to face him.
“im not acting. and since you’re here,” you began flatly, crossing your arms, “why don’t you ... go find whatever it is we’re looking for.”
he gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “i came all this way and yet you decide to dismiss me? i guess they were right…” he sighed, shaking his head. “you truly are a cruel woman.”
your eyes widened and you slapped his chest. “what? whose they?!”
he let out that stupid familiar giggle of his before turning and dashing off in the opposite direction, disappearing down the dark hallway.
“stupid idiot…” you huffed under your breath.
you wandered through the inn for a while, your flashlight sweeping slowly across warped walls and half opened doors as the old hallways creaked with every careful step.
the place smelled like dust and rotting wood, the kind of quiet that made every little noise feel louder than it should be.
you walked endlessly, the hours blurring together as every room you entered stood just as the last—dusty, abandoned, and hollow.
and despite knowing satoru was somewhere nearby, you couldn’t help the small tension settling in your shoulders.
“satoru?” you called once, mostly out of habit.
no response.
rolling your eyes, you continued down the hall, pushing another door open with your foot and flashing the light around the empty room before stepping back into the corridor—only for a voice to suddenly appear right behind you.
“boo.”
you yelped. the sound tore out of you before you could stop it, your flashlight jerking wildly as you spun around to find gojo standing there, already laughing.
god you just wanted to slap that infuriating smirk off his face. or kiss it off. you weren’t exactly sure of anything whenever it came to him…
“satoru!” you snapped, slapping his chest again, warmth spreading in your face from embarrassment. your punches and hits always landed easily, because, for reasons you’d never quite questioned, satoru gojo never kept his infinity up around you.
you dusted yourself off, ignoring the crippling wave of embarrassment that washed over you. “have you seen anything?”
even behind the fabric of his blindfold, it felt like his gaze hadn’t left you. it was always so heavy, unwavering, like he could you and pin you in place with his eyes alone if he really wanted to.
“nope!”
“gosh.. you are seriously useless.” you muttered, walking toward one of the last rooms in the hallway. one where the cursed energy felt strongest.
“well you could try to be nicer to me instead of mouthing off to me all the time, maybe i’d be nicer to you.” he pouted, following right behind you.
“really? be nice? how old are you again???”
in the center of the room sat an old incense box, the wood darkened with age and wrapped loosely in forgotten talismans. you knelt down beside it while gojo leaned against the doorway behind you.
“seriously…?” you murmured, opening the box. a faint pink mist drifted upward, slow and almost pretty in the dim light.
“this is our cursed object? they couldn’t have sent one of the second years? ridiculous.”
the scent that followed was surprisingly sweet and warm, something soft and calming that made you pause for a second longer than you meant to.
you took a breath.
“uh..” gojo spoke suddenly from the doorway, his voice losing some of its usual laziness. “i don't think you should go around sniffing random cursed objects princess.”
you huffed, rolling your eyes. “whatever.. besides, what did i tell you about the pet names?”
“well, i think they're cute.” he hummed, taking the box from your hands, slender, cool fingers brushing briefly against yours before he snapped the box shut with a quiet thud. the sudden shift in his energy left you slightly confused, but he only gave you a reassuring smile like nothing had happened.
“i’ll call ijichi and we’ll be on our way, yeah?”
you nodded slowly, thinking nothing of it.
the two of you waited outside the inn with your arms crossed against the cool night air while gojo paced in loose circles nearby, talking loudly enough into the phone that you could hear half the conversation even from where you stood.
when he finally finished, he stuffed the cursed object into his pocket.
“good news!” he announced. “ijichi said it’ll be handled. bad news is he thinks it’s some weird—”
oh.
satoru's voice softened slightly. “hey.. you okay?”
you blinked at him slowly.
there was a warmth spreading in your stomach that wasn’t there before, a heavy, unfamiliar sensation making your thoughts feel a little slower, a little foggier around the edges. you pushed yourself straighter against the street pole, trying to ignore how your face felt slightly warmer than it should.
especially around gojo out of all people.
“m’fine…” voice small in a way he’d never heard before.
that’s when he noticed it properly.
you, who never slipped. you, who never needed anything from everybody, especially not from him. the weariness and hesitance in your eyes.
“you don’t look very okay..”
he frowned slightly, stepping closer, his hand rested lightly on your arm as he spoke. “you sure? you look sick. if you want i can get us to shoko and—”
and the warmth in your stomach sharpened, more intense than before.
“—no!” you blurted suddenly, louder than you meant to.
gojo blinked.
“sorry,” you said quickly, already turning away from him. “no. i- i’m gonna go home, you can wrap this up.” you huffed, breath more shaky and worn out than you’d like it to be.
the night air clung to your skin, biting and sharp, a stark contrast to the warmth still lingering in your body. the moment hung quiet, too quiet, before gojo shifted closer, spinning you back around gently.
his free hand lifted, cool fingers brushing your cheek as he gently angled your face toward him. the chill of his touch seeped into your warmth, but this time there was nothing casual about it. his movements slowed, more deliberate as he studied you.
his thumb hovered near your cheekbone, lightly turning your face side to side checking for any physical markings as for what was making you act so strange.
“how can you even go home like this? i'm serious, let me.” he muttered under his breath, the usual teasing edge in his voice replaced with worry.
a soft whine slipped from your lips, more reflex than intentional, and you immediately swatted his hand away—half protest, half instinct—breaking the contact as you huffed in quiet defiance.
“i’m serious too.” annoyance bubbled in your chest, turning on your heel and storming off into the night, leaving behind a very confused satoru.
+ ❤︎ ℘
as soon as you got home, you showered.
once.
then twice.
letting the cold water run over your skin until your fingers went slightly numb and your breathing felt slower under the steady hiss of the faucet. the warmth in your stomach didn’t leave. it only sat there stubbornly, dull and heavy like something pressing quietly beneath your thoughts.
you turned the water colder, leaning your forehead briefly against the tiled wall, trying to focus on anything else — the sound of water hitting the floor, the faint echo of your own breathing in the empty bathroom — but every time you closed your eyes you kept remembering the way he had touched your arm earlier, light and warm and far too distracting to shake off.
fuck.
it felt like your body couldn’t settle no matter what you tried, you changed into the lightest, thinnest clothes you had, hoping the strange heat under your skin would ease even a little bit.
but it didn’t.
satoru had been pacing the emptied out office ever since you went home, anxiety slowly gnawing at the back of his mind. it had been hours—no call, no text, nothing at all—and even though he told himself you were probably just resting.
the silence felt wrong.
so when his phone finally lit up with your name and his favorite photo of the two of you: where you had fallen asleep and slumped against his shoulder on the train back home, cheek squishing against his chest — his heart fluttered with a pang of hope before he answered.
“hey, i was just thinking of you,” he said when he picked up, voice instantly softening. “did you get home safely?”
he frowned when you didn’t answer right away. “uh, helloooo?”
on the other end of the line, you were clutching your phone tightly, his voice alone making the strange warmth in your chest feel sharper, harder to ignore.
“satoru—” you called, practically moaning out his name, breath uneven. body burning in embarrassment and taut with need as you buried your face into the arm of your couch, the scratchy fabric pressing against your sweaty forehead.
“i’ve tried everything. my fingers, my fucking shower head, my vibrator–” you whined, voice strained as you couldn’t stop yourself from blubbering everything out to him.
“i just— s’no use.” you wailed in defeat. the way your top brushed against your overly sensitive nipples each time you moved, the way your panties rubbed against your throbbing clit — it was all so overbearing, you couldn’t even think properly.
poor satoru couldn’t help but feel like a pervert.
the image of your legs spread, cunt swollen and fluttering around nothing, desperate to relieve the ache... just front and center in his mind, making his chest flutter. and well..
his dick throb in his trousers.
“hey, hey,” he said quickly, doing his best to ignore the slow strain against fabric. “it’s alright. what do you need me to do?”
“can you come over? please.”
the words were quiet, but they carried a weight he understood immediately.
not just any “come over.”
that kind of “come over.”
“be there in ten.”
“no.” you said immediately, voice stubborn and a little whiny. “five.”
he huffed quietly on the other end of the line.
“…fine. i’ll be there in three.”
you could’ve swore you heard the man smirking as he spoke.
truthfully, satoru wasn’t sure he had ever moved this fast in his life. he made a quick stop at a 24 hour convenience store on the way to yours.
if whatever this shit was had you asking for his help and using your manners???? it had to have been serious.
he avoided eye contact with the elderly lady at the register while she scanned his items, a faint beep cutting through the silence.
his items of choice?
a container of your favorite flavored mochi’s.
for you! post sex..
and a box of xl condoms.
also.. for you.. during sex.. if the two of you were to have sex that is.
soon enough, satoru was standing at your front door in just about two minutes, thanks to his inhuman abilities of course.
he was also a man who, annoyingly enough, did stick to his word.
he knocked once.
no answer.
he was about to knock again when the door suddenly swung open, revealing you standing there. a soft sheen of sweat on your skin, eyebrows knitted together in irritation—or arousal—lips stubbornly pouting while your body was enveloped by one of his worn out shirts with some faded digimon print on it—the same one he had left at your house last time he was there.
worn because you likely wanted to hide the fact you only had panties on under there.
“you said three minutes,” you said, frowning up at him
“yes. and i got here in two princess.” his tone was light, but his gaze dipped briefly below your chest, taking in the scene in front of him.
normally, his pet names pissed you off. so what the hell was this? why were you getting lightheaded??
“…is that my shirt?” he hummed, unable to fully hide the amusement threading through his voice, a grin already tugging at his lips, “—where exactly are your pants?”
you let out a groan, already regretting calling him in the first place. “it’s too hot for anything else.” you muttered, pulling the fabric of the shirt down a little.
as if that would make a difference…
you glanced down at the bag in his hand, raising an eyebrow, ignoring the way your pussy throbbed maddeningly at the sight and faint smell of him.
he noticed the shift.
of course he did.
his head tilted just slightly, quietly piecing together a thought he didn’t bother to say out loud, the corner of his mouth tugging up in quiet amusement.
“it’s stuff for you, don’t worry about it,” he spoke with a small, reassuring smile.
he stepped inside fully, the door clicking shut behind him as he locked it without a second thought.
“you’re gonna listen to me for a bit, yeah?”
his voice was light. easy. infuriatingly so.
his hand came up anyway, despite the fact you usually punched him if he tried, tilting your chin just enough to make sure you were looking at him.
his touch softened, less insistent now, more reassuring than anything.
“don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make your breath catch.. “what is it you want?”
your breath hitched. “i… i wanna see you. please.” you mewled, embarrassed at how such a low level curse made your libido and sex drive skyrocket – to a point beyond your control.
he caught on right away.
slowly, he lifted his blindfold and unraveled it, the fabric falling away in one smooth motion. his blue eyes were clearer now without the barrier, sharp but unusually soft when they settled on you, the loose strands of his hair framing his face in a way that made your chest tighten.
you didn’t think about what was to come next. couldn’t, really.
the words died somewhere between your thoughts and your tongue, and before your mind caught up, you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer on pure instinct, locking your lips with his in a bruising kiss.
one large hand shot up instinctively, steadying you, while his eyes fluttered shut for a split second. he leaned down, meeting your eager lips.
he caught himself with ease, grip on you firm but controlled. satoru had always been ready for anything… just not that.
as you clung to his jacket, satoru tossed the bag aside—quick, almost careless in its urgency.
with his blindfold gone, his sharp gaze met yours without anything in the way. one hand settled on your hip, firm enough to steady you, but gentle in its hold—quietly letting you take the lead, giving you exactly what you needed.
you pushed him back until the couch hit the back of his knees, forcing him to drop down onto it with a soft thud, instantly following him down, settling on top of him.
a soft grunt slipped from him as you crashed into him, your whole body shuddering before you buried your face into the crook of his neck, trying to regain some form of self control.
you let out an embarrassingly loud moan as you slotted yourself right over his clothed cock, warmth seeping through the point of contact and spreading throughout your body.
“fuck… m'sorry toru,” you groaned, your face burning with embarrassment, frustration, and something you couldn’t name.
his breath hitched. toru…? well that was new.
he blinked, caught off guard, a grin threatening to slip past his composure. fingers tightening just enough on your hip, not to control, just… to keep you upright.
“…toru, huh?” his voice was low, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it, something he barely recognized in himself.
his smile dropped slightly when you didn’t indulge in his teasing.
“hey… look at me,” he hummed, gently tilting your head up, his finger resting lightly under your chin as he guided your face toward his. “don’t apologize, okay? aphrodisiacs aren’t that bad… you just need a bit of help is all.”
his hands settled at your waist to steady you, thumb brushing lightly against your sides as he met your gaze.
your eyes kept avoiding his, unable to settle. he noticed, gently tilting your chin up once more to meet him halfway.
“nuh uh—eyes on me, princess,” he murmured. “i’ll only do anything you want,” he hummed, booping your nose, making you blink abruptly.
“now tell me,” his teasing tone returned, though his gaze remained attentive. “this you or that cursed thing talkin'?”
you scanned his face rapidly, heat pooling in your stomach, growing heavier the closer he leaned. his large hands molded against your curves with ease, and his scent—soft, yet intoxicating—made it impossible to think straight.
“i—” you tried, but the word caught uselessly in your throat.
he cocked his head to the side, gaze sharp behind the faintest smirk. “don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy on me...” he murmured, his thumb pressing soft, steady strokes against your hip. “you were just mouthing off to me a couple of seconds ago.”
your grip on his shirt tightened immediately.
“yes—fuck, it’s me talking, satoru!”
his gaze lingered on you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah… i know,” he murmured softly. “that’s my girl. we’ll go at your pace.”
you groaned, still visibly annoyed, though the edge in your voice gave you away. “you don't need to coddle me satoru…” you muttered, pout lingering.
he let out a quiet breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “sorry for trying to play nice,” he murmured, though there was no real bite to it. “don’t wanna break you sweetheart... now c’mere.”
his hand slipped to the back of your head, steadying you as he kissed you first. slow, deliberate, giving you time to change your mind.
a chance to back out.
you let out a sigh as his lips met yours again, hands gripping at his jacket, entire body on fire as your hips moved on their own, gently grinding against him.
a purr of delight rumbled inside his throat as your hands hiked up underneath his shirt, tongues brushing against each other in tandem. you moaned into his mouth as his hands found your hips, rolling you against him, firmer than you had been doing — an attempt to ease the raging pool of arousal in you.
and only after a long, quiet moment did he pull back just enough to breathe, eventually (and regrettably) pulling from your lips, a string of saliva bridging the gap between you two. his forehead still hovered near yours, close enough to feel every shallow inhale you took.
“please… toru,” you whispered, voice small, urgent, almost trembling. “i need it…” grinding down on him once more, a spark of warmth building up and throughout your nerves.
he let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, tilting his head at you.
“mouth or fingers then?”
…
“w-what?”
you fumbled over your words, the need coiling tight in your chest, twisting sharper with every second he kept teasing.
if anything, it only made you wetter.
“w-w-what?” he echoed, a quiet laugh slipping out. “you heard me. mouth or fingers—pick.”
“now’s not the time to be fucking around, you dickhead,” you bit out, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.
you hated it—hated how he was still trying to be playful when you felt like you were falling apart inside.
he always knew exactly which buttons to push.
and somehow, you always reacted anyway.
“fucking around? i just want to be thorough.” his voice low but not unkind.
…
“h-hands…” you muttered, barely getting the word out, eyes refusing to meet his.
he let out a soft chuckle, clearly entertained, canines catching in the dim moonlight that creeped in through the cracked curtains. “there it is,” he murmured. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”
he hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips, canines catching the dim light.
“though, i was hoping you’d aim higher.” — making you roll your eyes with a heavy scoff.
normally, you’d tell him off. tell the six-eyed freak to go fuck himself.
but not tonight.
tonight was different.
he shifted slightly, guiding you with careful, deliberate movements until your back rested against the arm of the couch, lowering himself to his knees in front of you.
your thighs pressed together instinctively, a small whimper slipping out as if you could hide from him—hide how badly you really wanted it.
“c’mon… what'd i say about getting shy?” he murmured.
“can’t help you if you’re hiding from me pretty.” his grip shifted, and with an almost unfair ease, he used just the span of his hand—thumb and pinky guiding your legs apart, your slick having already soaked through the thin cotton of your panties.
if you knew satoru gojo was going to be fingering you until you came all over his hands tonight… then you definitely would’ve worn something a lot cuter.
maybe something silky, with lace around the edges, something easy to slip off.
but it’s not like he minded.
his breath caught in his throat. “…fuck,” whispering under his breath. and for a brief moment, his usual composure slipped. his gaze lingering just a second longer than before..
he was just so fucking obsessed with you.
with one slender digit, he hooked your panties, knuckle slightly grazing your entrance, collecting some of your slick along his knuckle. he pushed your panties aside with a slow, careful motion. exposing your sopping cunt to the cool night air.
after about a minute of tense silence, he hadn’t even realized he’d been gawking at your pussy. he couldn’t help himself. the way it was practically leaking, every curve, every clench.
so fucking pretty…
“satoru!”
he blinked, dragged back to the moment, and after a brief pause, finally looked up at you, a faint chuckle escaping.
“heh… sorry.” his voice steadied again. “just tell me if it feels good, okay?”
and with that, he inserted two of his slender digits past your wet folds, your juices coating his fingers entirely as he slipped in and out of you. a loud, sinful ‘shlick’ shattering the quiet of your living room.
your jaw went slack and your eyelids fluttered shut instantly with a loud moan as he angled them deep inside you, occasionally curling up and reaching spots you couldn’t even dream of reaching yourself—whining each time he did so.
you reached for the nearest couch cushion and pulled it over your face, attempting to muffle your moans, but you just couldn’t help yourself.
you weren’t normally vocal in bed. you had no reason to be, not with others or when you got off on your own.
you couldn’t tell if it was satoru’s effect on you… or just the curse wearing you down.
everything felt contradictory, like it shouldn't make sense.
and yet… it did.
it felt wrong and right all at once, as if somehow, he was the only one meant to see you like this.
it just felt so good. so perfect.
you bit your lip, holding back a sob, trying to ignore the aching in your tummy temporarily ceased to make way to utter bliss as waves of pleasure wash over you.
his free hand lifted, fingers catching the edge of the cushion. he didn’t yank it away.. instead, he tugged it down slowly, giving you a chance to stop him.
but you didn't.
“you’re doing a terrible job of hiding from me, you know that?” he hummed, tossing the cushion somewhere behind him.
“such a messy girl..” he added, adoration oozing through his voice. the way your cunt refused to let go of his fingers was almost hypnotizing, his knuckles glistening in whatever light came through the curtains, covered in your wetness.
“better than your own?” he hummed.
though it may have come across as condescending in practice, there was a hint of concern underneath it. his tone softened just enough to reveal something more genuine beneath the usual teasing edge.
“t-toru… fuck,” you whined, tears already brimming at the corners of your eyes.
“yes! somuchbetter.” mewling as he continued to work your pussy open.
his smirk widened, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“you mean that?” he asked, tone playful, cocky, as if daring you to take it back.
he wasn’t going to let you live that down.
not ever.
“hmm… that good, huh?” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, thumbs brushing at your waist, letting you feel him, letting you know he knew exactly what he was doing.
“you sound way too easy to please, princess.”
“please. just. shut. up— hngh–!”
your complaints died in your throat, as an unexpected stretch pulled at you, sharp and delicious, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.
satoru had added another digit.
“gojo—” you choked. “toru! w-wait—” writhing against his grip, mind going fuzzy.
without a second thought, his other arm wrapped around your thigh, hand slithering down with deliberate ease, thumb circling your clit with a quick light hand, making you arch into the couch. moans getting louder with each press and swipe.
“i take it you like it?” hummed, curling all three his fingers up against you, his fingers grazing a perfect spot inside you, vision going hazy as your pussy clenching desperately around his digits, refusing to let go.
“hah… easy…” he hummed, watching the way your body tensed under him.
there weren’t enough words in any dictionary to capture how overwhelming it all felt.
too urgent, yet the perfect pace.
like it had been building far longer than you’d like to admit. everything amplified beyond reason, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.
you needed this. needed him.
but still… it wasn’t enough. the aphrodisiac clawed at your senses, twisting every nerve into ache and frustration rather than pleasure.
“toru… please… i can’t—” you gasped, desperation lacing every word, trembling against him.
huh…
normally, this would have anyone else gasping and cumming in seconds, he was satoru gojo afterall.
this shit really was taking a number on you.
not that it mattered to gojo. he could keep up just fine.
“yeah… yeah.. of course you cant” he murmured underneath his breath. “you always this hard to handle?”
“j-just stop talking. so fucking—annoying.”
“annoying??” he huffed, warm breath ghosting your cunt.
“i’m hurt. thought you’d have something better for me than that princess.” a low purr escaped him as he brought his fingers to his mouth, savoring the evidence of you as his lips glided over them, tongue insistently circling around his digits, all while making eye contact with you.
every nerve in his body ached. he’d waited for this moment for so long. too long.
his thighs clenched underneath his slacks, his dick pressing up against his zipper, a painfully obvious bulge in his pants.
but he ignored it, for you.
the only thing on his mind was making you feel good. he could handle himself later; right now?
it was all about you.
the couch groaned beneath him as he leaned in, arms snaking around your thighs, yanking you down to his waiting face.
and without a second thought his plush lips latched onto your cunt. his tongue lapped up your juices, slipping in between your folds, eagerly exploring your velvet walls. “oh– satoru!”, you moaned, voice coming out cracked and quiet, eyes snapping shut in pleasure.
you choked on a sob as his tongue dipped lower, teasing your hole, completely drunk on how sweet you tasted. he fought back a smile as he practically made out with your pussy, working you open with his tongue before dragging upwards, tongue pressing flat onto your clit.
you sobbed again, hands flinging down to his messy white strands while he tucked his arms under your thighs.
tighter.
harder.
as if you were trying to run.
well… maybe because you were.
he lifted your hips to meet his mouth. your thighs trembled as your small whimpers filled up the room.
he was good at this. too fucking good.
you gasped, arching against him, brain melting into pure chaos.
tears brimmed at your water line as your body trembled, betraying just how far gone you were.
you tugged on his hair, some sort of signal that you were close. or so you thought.
your pussy pulsed under his tongue as he continued to lap at your hole. tongue swirling faster. the occasional digit plunging inside you over, and over, and over, juices coating his entire hand.
his cock achingly hard, pressing into the couch — the small friction relieving the ache in his pants.
you were certainly going to have a talk with him. about where the hell he learned all this, how he always gets it right, and why it feels like he knows your body better than you do…
you were so out of it, you hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking until a low, humming vibration shot through your body.
“good?” he murmured, muffled by your puffed up folds, reinforced by the soft slurp of him drinking you up.
when you finally forced your eyes open, satoru was already staring straight into you—bright blue eyes cutting through the dim room like he’d been waiting for this exact moment the entire time.
normally. such a sight would've made you cum immediately.
you had the strongest sorcerer on his knees… for you. every movement, every sound he drew from you, made your chest tighten, and your mind screamed at you: how the hell is this happening?
but the loudest thought pounding through your dazed brain was simple.
more.
your thighs began to quiver, hot tears of frustration spilling down your cheeks before you slapped your hands over your face—and out of his hair—letting out a frustrated groan.
your body didn’t wanna let you come.
it was the same thing over and over again: the pleasure built, warmth spreading, but no peak. it was never enough.
normally, crying in front of someone didn’t faze you—no one would believe them if they tried to say otherwise. so why did it feel different with satoru?
he noticed immediately, a wet pop breaking the quiet as he paused, wiping his face with his sleeve, leaving a dark mark on the navy fabric. his eyes met yours as he rose to his knees, eyebrows furrowed as he took in your flushed, trembling body.
“fuck… was it too much? i—”
“fuck me.”
he froze, eyes wide. “what?”
you sat up on your elbows, cheeks wet with tears, lips red from biting down on them so much.
it was so incredibly sexy.
“need your cock— toru. fuck me.”
he blinked once, them twice. “well, that escalated real fast..” he murmured. “you sure about that angel? or are you just talking all big again?”
“do it.”
“bold,” he chuckled under his breath. “but i didn’t hear a ‘please’,” a faint smirk forming. “try again, sweetheart.”
you groaned, hands gripping into the couch, brows furrowing.
“please.” you deadpanned.
“pretty please with a—”
“satoru!!”
he broke into a quiet laugh, clearly entertained, shoulders easing as he looked at you again. “alright, alright,” he murmured, still smiling. “you don’t have to shout.”
“where do you want it? here or—”
“—bed. now please.”
without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you effortlessly and placing you gently onto the mattress.
he leaned over you, slotting himself in between your legs caging you in completely, capturing your lips in a messy bruising kiss.
he pulled away from you, leaving you panting, that maddening, insufferable flutter in your stomach returning tenfold.
in one swift motion, he stripped off his uniform, tossing it somewhere across your room, revealing a chest and arms sculpted like they’d been carved from stone.
every muscle was defined, taut and powerful, a perfect balance of strength and sleekness. his shoulders were broad, his biceps solid yet flexible, his torso a masterclass in controlled power.
even the faint line of his abs beneath the pale skin hinted at raw endurance.
underneath all those fabrics, satoru gojo was full muscle. a sleeper build if you’d ever seen one.
he couldn’t help but let out a low, amused chuckle as you shamelessly ogled him, eyes wide and stomach twisting.
his gaze lingered on you as he exhaled a quiet chuckle.
“go ahead, princess. it’s all yours.”
you let out a small whimper, pushing yourself up onto your knees, hands instinctively finding his waistband.
your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the waistband, tugging slowly, deliberately. every motion was careful, teasingly slow, letting satoru see exactly how desperate you were, every second stretching out, electric with tension.
his eyes stayed locked on you, bright and sharp, a small smile tugging at his lips. the way he watched you… it made your pulse race even faster, stomach fluttering with anticipation.
after a shaky moment, you finally succeeded, the last piece sliding free under your fingers. you froze mid-motion.
“hello kitty… boxers…?”
your eyes widened, staring up at him.
“what? i have class.” he said, utterly unfazed.
you couldn’t believe you were about to fuck this idiot.
he hummed, interrupting your thought process. “hold on, let me go get something.”
you shot up instantly, grabbing his wrist. “what could you possibly need right now??”
“err… condoms?” he hummed, tilting his head innocently.
condoms.
“satoru. are you fucking serious?” you barked, frustrated and need overriding all rational thought.
“well… yes!” he huffed. “gotta be safe, princess.”
with a sharp tug on the waistband of his boxers, you pulled him forward, and suddenly he was hovering over you again, chest just above yours, a flash of surprise in his bright eyes.
“i’m on the pill,” you murmured, eyes glinting with unadulterated lust. “don’t worry about it.”
he paused for a moment, letting out a low hum. “god… you really are something.” he spoke, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.
then, with a soft, deliberate movement, he pulled back slightly, settling on his knees and locking eyes with you—cocky, amused, and just a little surprised by how bold you were.
he dipped his thumbs into the corners of his boxers, tugging them down completely, his hardened cock coming up with a ‘thwack’ to his stomach.
it looked borderline painful… his tip was a crimson red, clear rivulets of precum dangling off, threatening to hit the sheets beneath.
the weight of it was unmistakable. large, thick, and traced with faint veins that made him feel even more…
big.
it was almost impossible to ignore—you couldn’t help but stare, eyes tracing every twitch, pulse, and everything in between. unsure if you should laugh at the absurdity or flat out cry...
he dipped back down over you, close enough that you could feel his breath fan across your skin, his cock sliding in between your folds, the tip occasionally nudging against your clit, a small squish each time he made contact.
“say the word,” he murmured. “and we stop.”
you shook your head almost immediately, breath uneven.
“does it look like i wanna stop?” wrapping your arms around his neck for support.
his brows lifted slightly, then relaxed as a small smile tugged at his lips.
“fair point. didn’t think you’d be this eager.” he murmured. “…but you tell me if that changes, alright?”
and with that, he lined himself up with your entrance, making your breath hitch in your throat. he tilts your chin up slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, eyes sharp with focus.
“eyes on me pretty.. it's a big stretch.”
he slowly pushes in, inch after inch, your pussy swallowing him entirely, the two of you choking up in unison as he bottomed out inside you.
he filled you up entirely. cunt already spasming around him, nails digging into his back leaving small red crescents.
he was so close you could feel every exhale, every uneven beat of his heart—like it was syncing with yours. and he felt it too.
“fuck—” he choked, voice rougher than before. “are you okay? can i move?”
“satoru.”
“alright, alright…” he huffed, a breath of a laugh slipping through. his forehead dipped closer to yours, lips brushing the air between you.
“so bratty…” he murmured. “maybe i should stop going easy on you.”
“oh please, like you—mmph!”
he silenced you with a hard thrust, knocking the wind out of you.
then another.
and another...
they started coming back to back, all perfectly timed.
and for a minute, neither of you said anything.
the only sounds were the occasional whine from you, a groan from him, and the soft smacks of his sack against the curve of your ass as he gradually sped up finding his rhythm, a white ring already forming around the base of his cock.
lewd thwaps bounced off the walls, filling up the room, his eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unblinking, lips a breath away from your own.
a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, his hand finding the flesh of your hip, voice low and teasing, tickling the shell of your ear.
“this what you needed?” he hummed, lengthy cock stirring up your insides. “hm? some dick—hah—just to make this pretty pussy feel better?”
“satoru—” a pathetic whine ripped through your throat as his mushroom tip grazed one of your sweet spots, picking up his pace, your tits bouncing upwards with each slam, digimon shirt covered in sweat and the smell of sex.
“shh, m’gonna take care of you baby, gonna take care of this pretty pussy, gonna feel so nice..” he hummed, teeth grazing your pulse point.
and unfortunately, you couldn’t deny it.
you felt every inch of him, every movement, and it was impossible to ignore. you always felt this way with him—like the world had narrowed down to nothing but heat and sparks. your vision danced, stars bursting behind your eyes, heart racing, completely undone.
he always made you feel good.
this time it was just with his dick.
your sopping cunt squeezed down on his cock, as if trying to milk him, simply refusing to let go each time he pulled back away from you.
he choked on a laugh, eyes flicking down at you, lips twitching with amusement. “s-so needy…” he murmured.
you tugged him down, just enough to bury your face in the crook of his neck.
he fucked you so good. almost too good.
you weren’t surprised, he was satoru gojo after all. your arms curled around him, clinging tighter, while your body pressed closer, desperate for every inch of contact you could get.
“been thinking about you for so fucking long.” he grunted, the slaps of his hips knocking into you, the force sending waves of shock throughout the meat of your ass. “always wanted you on my cock, to be mine—”
your legs wrapped around his waist, pressing into him instinctively, pushing him deeper inside you. every small movement pressed your bodies together, your arms clinging tight as you let out soft huffs of breathless laughter, face buried in the crook of his neck.
he let out a soft, almost pathetic whimper, chest rising rapidly. “fuck… feel what you do to me baby?” he hummed, pressing a large hand over your tummy, pressing down so that he could feel his cock inside you, drawing out pathetic syrupy moans from you.
his voice was rough. strained.
and just low enough to send shivers down your spine.
satoru was in heaven. the way you clamped down on him refusing to let go of him. the way his cock slid in an’ out of you with ease — a loud wet squelch echoing each time, length completely covered in your juices, the soft sheen of his cock blinding him every time he pulled out of you, just to slam back into you once more.
so wet… and so… nasty.
and all for him.
your mouth went slack, drool pooling at the corner, threatening to spill over. he couldn't help but let out a sharp laugh.
who knew that all you needed was a little bit of dick to act right?
every touch sent shivers down your spine, every stroke of his cock made your pussy flutter helplessly, the way his cock filled you up was so… perfect. his tip grazed every nook and cranny of your walls, a white froth coating your folds and dripping down his sack as they slammed into you.
it was all too much. your folds were puffy from hours of torture pleasure: his slender digits working you open, his tongue lapping up at your cunt like a man starved. and now. this. fucking you so good as if he was trying to imprint himself into every part of you.
you couldn’t even form a proper sentence, just blubbering and whining about how good he felt, how big he was. he pressed down on you further, pressing you into the mattress as he slammed into you, curving up right into your sweet spot.
“such a good girl.. so perfect for me…” he breathed out, eyes locked on you
“ngh!— satoru– pleaseplease–” you whined helplessly, lips finding his flesh, biting down softly to muffle your moans and cries.
“look at youuu…” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to your sweaty forehead.
“so fuckin’ cute. gonna cum all over my cock like the pretty little princess you are?” crooning, as if he wasn't drunk off you and you alone.
he let out an absurd laugh, sharp and breathless, like he couldn’t believe how much he was unraveling under you. “m’close already.. you’re giving me a bad rep here..”
he looked down at you, expecting some sort of answer—only to be met by a small glare, or at least what you were trying to manage. your eyes were hazy, brows scrunched up, and it was laughably pathetic, but in the best way.
he let out a soft huff of laughter.
“right… sorry,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips at the fact his dick rendered you speechless.
“f-fuck— toru, m’close—” you whined, burying your face into him, squeezing your eyes shut.
he pulled back just enough to get a good look at your face, taking in the tremble of your lips, the warmth radiating from your cheeks, the sweat glistening off your skin…
so fucking pretty.
“don’t hide that pretty face from me, angel… i wanna see you,” he murmured, placing sloppy kisses along your neck and jaw.
you couldn’t help it—breath coming in short, uneven huffs, eyes locking onto his as if begging for more. your hands curled around his shoulders, clutching him tightly, legs instinctively wrapping closer, pushing him deeper into you.
he chuckled low and absurdly, leaning in so your faces were inches apart, breath mingling. “there you are… see? wanna see your face when you cum all over my cock.”
small, desperate whines escaped your lips, soft and almost helpless, and every tiny movement pressed you harder into him, “satoru—”
before you could react, he cut you off with a bruising kiss, noses knocking together, lips pressing hard and claiming, stealing your breath. your hands fisted against him, pulling him closer, while your legs instinctively curled around his waist, clinging like you couldn’t get enough.
he dragged his tongue from your bottom lip, down to your chin, before placing a sloppy kiss right below it. his hand slid down from your hip, his thumb carelessly found your clit — pressing hard firm circles making you cry out, his hips stuttering and becoming sloppy.
“…fuck… i love you, so perfect f'me” he gasped, voice raw and trembling, eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t look away.
the warmth in your stomach multiplied tenfold, spreading through every nerve and pulse.
“w-what?” you choked dumbly, voice trembling, before your body betrayed you and locked up, every muscle tightening as if it couldn’t handle him.
your orgasm had snuck up on you, hitting you like a truck.
your pussy spasmed helplessly as your lips pressed into a thin line, eyes crossing into each other as all the air got knocked into your lungs, toes curling uselessly in the air.
“that’s ittt...” he purred, smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you shiver, rolling his hips against yours.
soon enough, his own orgasm came rushing up on him, choking on a soft gasp as thick hot rivulets of his seed spilled out inside you.
rocking his hips back and forth, slow and controlled, pubic bone crushing down on you, burying his cock as deep as it can go.
his body locked up over you, thick white ropes still spilling out inside you, his balls clenching until they completely emptied out inside of you.
you slowly regained your senses, breath heaving, the warmth in your tummy slowly dying.
for a quiet moment, the two of you just stayed there, hearts racing in unison. he pulled out of you slowly, thick warmth slowly rolling out from your cunt.
he practically collapsed on top of you for a brief second before rolling onto his back, pulling you with him as he leaned back against the headboard, instinctively settling you on top of him. your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath you..
his hand reached for a nearby throw blanket, careful not to move you too much, dragging it up and over the two of you, covering you both as he settled you against his side.
as your chest rose and fell against his, his touch lingering in your hair, soft and grounding
he let out a small cough.
“did it work?” brow quirking as he glanced down at you.
“uh-huhh,” you croaked out, chest still rising and falling fast, eyes still hazy and utterly exhausted.
another quiet minute passed, him absently stroking your face and tracing lazy patterns along your back.
“i got you mochi,” he spoke softly, his gentle caresses not ceasing.
you lifted your head from his chest like a newborn just learning how to use their motor skills for the first time.
“you did…?”
“mhm… thought it'd make you feel better.. though it might have melted. you didn’t give me a chance to put it in the freezer.” he added with a small chuckle.
“i hate you…” you groaned, plopping your head back onto his chest.
“don’t think you’re off the hook, satoru.” you slurred, poking his cheek lightly.
“wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips, thumb idly tracing along your arm.
“soooo..” he began, brimming with way too much energy for what he just put you through, practically vibrating on the spot. “this means you'll go on a date with me right?”
you blinked up at him, lazy and teasing, then simply patted his cheek.
“don't make it weird.” you hummed, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“i didn't even get to say anything weird..” he pouted incredulously.
“don't have to.”
“date me. please.”
“you seriously are so annoying.”
“considering we just had sex, i can't possibly be that annoying.”
...
with a roll of your eyes, you pressed a small, fleeting kiss to his cheek. the soft press of your lips lingered longer than you intended.
despite your gruff exterior, your heart was pounding in your chest, betraying just how flustered you actually were.
“fine. only one,” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent, though it was clearly a lie.
he blinked, smirk tugging at his lips, eyes glinting with amusement. “hm… i’ll take it,” he said, voice low and playful, tugging you a little closer as if to savor the moment.
he leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially, “you know, one of these days, i’m gonna get you to confess your undying love for me.”
your breath choked up — “dont get greedy.” you huffed before laying back down against him, your cheek squishing against his bare chest.
he pulled you closer, fingers lazily tickling your back.
you were perfect.
absolutely perfect.
❤︎ inspired by this tweet by @baobei-bu . . . more
likes && reblogs appreciated ໒꒰ྀི っ ⸝⸝ ˂ ꒱ྀིა !
a/n play this to set the mood or wtv...!! yall this my first time writing full on smut dont flame me
The argument had been building for days.
Not over anything real—not really. You'd been tired, short-tempered, snappish in ways you couldn't explain. He'd been patient at first, the way Aang always was, his calm voice and steady hands trying to soothe you. But even the Avatar has limits.
"You're not listening to me," you'd said, arms crossed, back turned. "I am listening. You're the one who keeps interrupting herself."
You'd spun around, fire in your eyes. "Don't get smart with me."
"I'm not getting smart. I'm stating a fact."
His jaw had tightened. That was when you knew you'd crossed a line—not because he looked angry, but because he went still. The way the air goes still before a storm.
there's silence.
"Y/N."
"You want to be factual? Fine. Fact: you've been gone for three weeks. Fact: you came back yesterday. Fact: you expect me to just—fall into your arms like nothing happened. Like I didn't spend twenty-one nights staring at the ceiling wondering if you were alive."
His expression had shifted. Something flickered behind his grey eyes—hurt, maybe, or guilt. But you were too angry to care.
"I can't do this right now," he'd said.
"Then don't." You'd grabbed your pillow. "Sleep on the couch."
You'd slammed the bedroom door behind you. Not locked it—you never locked it—but closed it hard enough to rattle the frame.
That was two minutes ago.
Now you're under him.
You'd fought him. Or at least tried to. For about half a second. Your hands had pushed at his chest, your teeth had nipped at his lower lip, your body had twisted in his grip. But he hadn't let go. He never let go.
Now you're on your stomach. Your hands are fisted in the sheets. Your back is arched—deep, obscene, the way he likes it. Your knees are spread wide on the mattress, and he's kneeling behind you, one hand on your hip, the other pressing your upper back down into the pillows.
His cock is at your entrance. Not inside yet, the head pressing against your slick folds, teasing.
"Look at you," he says. His voice is different now—lower, rougher, threaded with something that makes your thighs tremble. "All that fire two minutes ago. All that fight. And now you're arched for me like a good girl."
"Shut up."
He pushes in. Just the tip. You gasp.
"Mngh—"
"That's not shutting up."
He pushes deeper. You feel the stretch—the impossible, delicious stretch—and your fingers claw at the sheets.
"You're so tight," he murmurs. "Always so tight for me. Like your body knows what your mouth won't say."
"I hate you—ah—"
He thrusts. Hard. Bottoming out in one smooth motion, and you scream into the pillow.
"No, you don't."
"too big- s' too big-"
"come on...you've taken it before baby"
"s'different...you've been gone for so long.."
"I'm sorry," he says. His voice softens. Just a little. "I'm sorry I was gone so long. I'm sorry I didn't—"
"Don't—ngh—don't apologize while you're inside me—"
"Why not?"
"Because I can't—mmph—I can't be mad at you when you're—"
He pulls out. Almost all the way. Then slams back in.
"—when I'm what?"
You sob. "When you're fucking me like this—"
He does it again. Harder. The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. Your body jolts forward, and his hand presses down on your back, keeping you in place.
"Say it."
"I can't—ah—"
"Say it, Y/N."
You turn your head. Look at him over your shoulder. His grey eyes are dark, intense, fixed on your face. His arrow tattoos are faint against his skin—not glowing, not yet, but there's something simmering beneath the surface. Something that makes your stomach flip.
"I can't be mad at you when you're fucking me like you mean it."
He smiles. It's not a nice smile. It's cocky, a little mean, a little mocking—the kind of smile that makes you want to slap him and kiss him in equal measure.
"I always mean it."
"Prove it."
He does.
His hips snap against yours. Hard. Fast. Relentless. The sound of skin on skin fills the room—wet and obscene—and you bury your face in the pillow to muffle your screams.
"None of that." His hand tangles in your hair. Pulls. Your head lifts. "I want to hear you."
"Ngh… mmph… ah-"
He pulls out. Leaves you empty. You whine at the loss, your hips pushing back, searching for him
"mn..? aang—"
He pushes back in. One thrust. Deep. You cry out.
His hand reaches around. His palm cups your breast—full, round, soft—and he squeezes.
"So soft," he says. "So perfect. These tits are mine, aren't they?"
"Yes—"
"Say it."
"Yours—they're yours—"
He pinches your nipple. Rolls it between his fingers. You moan and push back against him, and he groans—low and guttural.
"You want more?"
"Please—"
"Please what."
"Please—harder—"
He gives you harder. His thrusts turn punishing. "I'm going to fill you up," he says. His voice is low, rough, almost a growl. "I'm going to fill you with my cum. With my babies. You want that?"
"Aang—"
"You want me to put a baby in you?"
"Yes—yes—please—"
"You want to be round with my child? Swollen and heavy and full?"
"I want it—I want it—"
"Tell me you're sorry."
"I'm sorry—"
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours—"
"Tell me you know who's fucking you right now."
"You—ah—Aang—"
"That's right."
You whine. High and desperate. "Ngh… Aang…"
"You wanted this." He pulls out almost all the way. Slams back in. "You ignored at me and yelled at me. You made me wait. You made me worry."
"I'm sorry—"
"You will be."
He fucks you. Hard. Deep. Ruthless. His hips slam against yours, and the bed creaks, and the headboard hits the wall, and you can't do anything but hold on and moan.
"Mmph! Ah… nnm… ngh…"
"Listen to you," he says. "So pathetic. So pretty. All those sounds you're making—"
"You're making me—ah—you're making me—"
"I'm here. I've got you baby."
He slows down. Pulls out almost all the way. Teases you with just the tip.
You sob.
"You're so mean—"
"You like it."
"I hate it—"
"You're dripping." His voice is low. Dark.
You are. You can feel it—the wetness sliding down your thighs, soaking the sheets, making everything slick and obscene.
"You're so—ah—so dirty—"
"You love it."
He fucks you. Hard. The way he fucks you when he's been gone too long and come home too late and found you waiting, angry and beautiful and so full of love you don't know what to do with it.
His hand leaves your hair. Slides down your spine. Grips your hip. His fingers dig into the soft flesh, hard enough to bruise, and you moan—loud and pathetic—and push back against him.
"So pretty like this," he murmurs. "Arched for me. Taking everything I give you. And you were so mad two minutes ago. So ready to fight."
"I'm still—ngh—still mad—"
"You don't feel mad."
"I am—ah—I am—"
He thrusts deeper. Angles his hips. Finds that spot inside you—the one that makes your vision go white, the one that steals your breath and your thoughts and your anger.
"Feel pretty fucking good for someone who's mad."
You can't answer. Your mouth is open, sounds spilling out—soft, desperate little noises that you'd be embarrassed about if you had any shame left.
"Ngh… mmph… ah…"
"I missed you," he says. His voice is softer now. The cockiness fading into something real. "I missed you every day. Every night. I thought about you—"
"Don't—"
"I thought about this. About coming home to you. About fucking you until you couldn't remember why you were mad."
"Jerk—"
"Mm. You love it."
He's not wrong.
He shifts your weight. Pulls you up, your back pressed to his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him, and his other hand finds your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, his fingers curled around the column of your neck.
"You feel that?" he asks. His voice is right in your ear. "Feel how deep I am?"
You nod. Can't speak. His cock is inside you at an angle now—deeper than before, hitting places that make your toes curl and your eyes roll back.
"Tell me."
"I—I can't—"
"Tell me, Y/N."
"How am I supposed—ngh—how am I supposed to-hic- talk when I'm stuffed with 9 inches of your dick?"
He laughs. Genuinely laughs. The sound vibrates through his chest and into your back, and you feel it everywhere. His hand slides down from your throat to your breast. "You're so soft," he murmurs. "So warm. I dream about this. About you."
"I dream about you too—"
"Yeah?"
"Every night—"
"What do you dream about?"
You turn your head. Look at him. His grey eyes are soft now, the darkness fading into something tender. His arrow tattoos are glowing—just faintly, just at the edges, the way they do when he's close.
"This," you whisper. "I dream about this."
He kisses you. Deep and slow and sweet. His tongue slides against yours, and you taste yourself on his lips, and you moan into his mouth.
"I love you," he says.
"I love you too."
"I'm sorry I was gone."
"I know."
"I'm sorry I made you wait."
"I know."
"I'm close," he says. His hips stuttering.
"Me too—"
"Come with me."
"I—"
"Now."
You come apart.
Your body convulses. Your inner walls clamp down on him, squeezing, pulsing. You scream into the pillow—his name, just his name—and your vision goes white, and your ears ring, and you feel everything and nothing all at once.
He follows. His hips stutter. His grip tightens on your hip. And he tattoos glows for a hot second before he spills inside you.
"Aang—"
"Fuck—"
He groans. Low and rough. His head falls back. His body trembles against yours.
You've never heard him curse before. Not like that. Not with that raw, broken edge.
He collapses beside you. Pulls you into his arms. Your back presses to his chest, and his face buries in your hair, and his arms wrap around you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
------------
i was writing this and accidentally deleted the best part of the fic n i cant remember it at all...END ME.
I know he’d never but I need him to put me in a headlock SO BAD
Oh fuck can you imagine the juxtaposition between his big muscled arm wrapped around your throat because you’d begged for it and his soft tender concerned questioning because you’d begged for it ??
You can breathe but not comfortably, and that’s why you’re throbbing, hole pulsing around his cock over and over again as he thrusts in and out. You’re relishing in the way that his bicep barely fits between your chin and your chest and you’re happily going light-headed as the bed rocks back and forth on its legs. Your face would be mushed into the mattress if it wasn’t forced upwards by his arm around your neck, and you’re probably drooling a little because your mouth has been perpetually open for a long time. Moan after moan is flying from your mouth and all you can do, all you want to do is sit there and take it.
He’s got his face pressed against yours, his lips working overtime to pucker and press against every square inch of skin on that side of your face. His nose is dragging across your skin, and he’s got his arm just tight enough that he can murmur comfortably against your face without straining his neck or yours. He’s constantly checking in, ‘you okay?’ ‘this good?’ ‘you like this?’ ‘does it hurt?’ And you answer when you can but mostly it’s just frantic nodding that cuts your air supply off further and sends waves of pleasure roiling below your gut.
Once he lets go you’d best believe he’s gonna be inspecting the skin of your throat to make sure you’re not bruised, and he’ll rub lotion or gel on it if it got a bit raw from grating against his own skin for so long <3
Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, copied or put through AI!
Summary: You eat a weed gummy (or three) and are on cloud nine when your boss comes to check on you.
Word count: who knows (on mobile)
A/N: the depravity got to me on this one folks 🥴 more author's Notes at the end!
Dividers by @/kodaswrld
Green collection | Navigation | Lloyd Masterlist
Being a PA to Lloyd Hansen often meant jet-setting across the globe but Amsterdam was the one place you never expected to be heading to for a flying visit. Especially when the meeting itself could be done over Teams.
The hotel you had booked was lavish; nothing but the best for Mr Hansen, as always. You were too jet lagged the first night together do any exploring despite Mr Hansen's insistence.
"You're no fun, Sweets." He had sighed at you.
"I'm sorry Mr Hansen. It's just been a busy day."
He rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. "Suit yourself. I'll bring you back a souvenir."
"Thank you, Mr Hansen."
Your hotel room was adjacent to Mr Hansen's but no less extravagant. A double bed with sheets neatly tucked beneath the mattress, plush carpet and a large bathroom with a tub.
Sighing, you collapse onto the bed. Your boss was a hard-ass. You were worked like a dog with very little praise or acknowledgement for your hard work; running around arranging meetings, booking hotels, dealing with pissy clients. Although, you weren’t sure if praise and gratitude were in Mr Hansen's vocabulary.
You need a vacation. Or a cocktail.
Or three.
You roll onto your back and stare at the cieling. There was something that kept you around, other than the pay, and that was despite his demands and seemingly heartless demeanour Lloyd Hansen was a very good boss. Paid sick leave, paid vacation time, even maternity leave was discussed when you were negotiating your contract. You were taken care of, even if it meant dealing with the man himself.
Your eyes flutter closed, images of Lloyd's sneer creeping in. When he did thank you, it made your chest fill with pride and your legs squeeze tight. You heave a breath. You'd be stupid to deny that your boss wasn't hot but you felt incredibly stupid that, deep down, you loved being his little PA.
Feeling a little more relaxed, you sink into the pillows and fall into a deep sleep.
The next morning, you're rudely awoken to Lloyd entering your room and throwing the curtains open.
You couldn't remember falling asleep and you woke up groggy in the same clothes as the night before.
"Rise and shine, cupcake." Lloyd lilts before frowning at your clothes. "Why the hell are you wearing those?"
"Sorry sir, I fell asleep." You say, sitting up and rubbing at your eyes. You reach for your phone, reading the time as just past seven-thirty a.m. and frown. The meeting wasn't until ten thirty.
Across the street.
You look at Lloyd, struggling to keep your expression neutral. "Mr Hansen, it's seven thirty."
"I know what time it is." He snarks, folding his arms across his chest, towering over your bed. "I wanted us to get some breakfast together downstairs and for you to brief me. Seems like waking you up early was the right choice."
He raises an eyebrow at you and you flush under his gaze with embarassment. Of course he'd want a briefing. How silly of you.
"I'll shower and change and meet you downstairs, sir." You nod, swining your legs over the edge of the bed. "Sorry."
"Pfft." Lloyd waves a hand. "Twenty minutes, sunshine."
Without so much as a goodbye, he stalks out your room and closes the door with a thud. You sigh getting to your feet and stretch, making a stumbled approach to your bathroom.
You definitely need a vacation.
You're actively glaring at Mr Hansen as he grins at you over his coffee.
"What's with the look, Sweets?"
"What look, Mr Hansen?" You respond coolly, picking apart your croissant. Lloyd snorts but doesn't respond. Your briefing had taken half an hour, your notes neatly scribbled and highlighted in a manila folder that sat in front of Lloyd.
You place a piece of the flaky pastry in your mouth, savouring the buttery notes that danced along your tongue. You're not sure why he's intent on tormenting you today but you can feel his eyes on you as you chew and you have to suppress the shiver that threatens to crawl up your spine.
"When was your last vacation, Sweets?" Lloyd asks suddenly. Your brows shoot up as you look up at him, utterly taken aback.
"Um, about six months ago sir."
"After this meeting I want you to take a few days to relax." He takes a sip of his coffee. "Scratch that, start now."
You gape at him. Not only had you been woken up at seven-thirty, he was now forcing you to go on vacation? You'd heard his short temper had others fired on the spot but surely, after working so hard for so long he wouldn't do that to you?
"But sir-"
Lloyd hold up a hand and your mouth clamps shut.
"I can take notes in the meeting if I need to. You've been slacking the last few days. I need you in tip-top shape if you're my PA." He flashes you a smile and you don't know if it's genuine or if he's trying to play mind games. "Can't have you bumbling around and tired. I need you looking fine and ready for anything."
Your jaw sets. You know better than to argue but you know he's not wrong. Lloyd chuckles, setting his cup down.
"Aw, don't be like that cupcake." He coos teasingly. "I know you want me around twenty-four-seven but this is in your best interest. And mine."
When Lloyd catches your look of discontentment, he rolls his eyes with a sigh. "If you want to work that badly my laptop is in my room and you can sort through emails and meetings or whatever else it is you do to make my life easier. The souvenir I got for you is there."
Lloyd's room is a mirror of yours the only difference is that it's slightly bigger to accommodate the king-size he always preferred to have booked for him. There are what look like gummy worms on the bedside table. They must be your souvenir. Your boss certainly had a sweet tooth but gummy worms? You pick up the box and inspect the seal - broken. He must have broken into them last night. You roll your eyes.
So much for your gift.
You'd have preferred a magnet.
Still you pop a gummy worm into your mouth and settle against the headboard and open up the laptop.
"Ooh." You nod as you chew. "Spared no expense, Mr Hansen."
The gummies are delicious and after the first one, you're already munching on a second. All is well for about twenty minutes as you place your third gummy into your mouth, your head feeling heavier than usual. You shake it off. It has to be jet lag.
Another twenty minutes go by and your cheeks feel funny, the words on your email are melting and you slam the laptop lid shut. Your mind doesn't even race, it takes a leisurely jog to try piece together what has happened.
You need to lie down. You crawl to the end of the bed, sprawled flat, head spinning. You feel motion sick, you're on a rollercoaster you can't get off. You don't know how long your there for, or if you fall asleep but when you hear the clock of the door you turn on your back, greeted by your boss' smiling face. Your heart jumps erratically.
"Mr Hansen!" You say a little too excitedly, trying to sit up, swaying violently as he approaches before collapsing back onto the mattress. He kneels at the edge of the bed, his face close to yours.
"Hi." You grin at him and giggle. Was he always this handsome or had you just zoned it out because you worked for him?
"Hi." He grins back, spotting the opened box of gummies next to the discarded laptop. "Honey, how many gummies have you had?"
The nickname, the sweetest he's ever called you, makes your body light up with heat.
"I dunno." You say slowly, your tongue feels too thick in your mouth. "Like three. I think?"
You blink, eyes heavy and glassy. "Why?"
"They have hash in them sweetie." Lloyd says, brushing wisps of hair from your face. "You're high as a fucking kite."
"Hehe hash..... hash 'stache," you giggle prodding at Lloyd’s cheeks. You can feel your breathing grow heavier as you knead his cheeks with your thumbs, his lips twitching into a vicious sneer, but your expression softens.
"You're so handsome." You murmur dreamily to him. "Even for a hard-ass."
"Oh? I'm a hard-ass?" He hums thoughtfully, leaning closer. "Even on you?"
"Yeah." You add dreamily, sighing heavily. Your brain is all gooey grey mush, filled with images of Lloyd's face; a smile, a sneer, a smirk. Every single one made you more light headed than the last. "But you're still a good boss."
You slip further off the bed, your head against curve of the mattress grinning up at Lloyd, eyes puffy and half-lidded.
Lloyd sighs a long breath and moves some of your hair out of your face, looking at you curiously as you shiver under his touch.
"Good bosses don't think about shoving their cock down their PA's throat or bending them over their desk."
"Oh." It's a quiet sound but you know Lloyd's heard it from the smug grin that creeps along his face. You can feel goosebumps rise along your skin, your nipples pebbling against the lace of your bra. You can feel horniness begin to stir but you don't mind it, in fact, you welcome it.
"Why have you never asked before?"
Lloyd exhales and looks away from you grinning like a mad man. He can't believe his ears. "Because, sweetcheeks, I don't want to get sued for sexual harassment."
"Oh yeah." You say slowly, realising what you'd just said. "That'd be bad PR."
"Very bad PR." Lloyd repeats, looking back down at you. "Even if you look absolutely fuckable right now."
"Sir," you breathe out in a whine and Lloyd's brows furrow as his eyes close, trying to focus.
"Jesus Christ, shut up. Let's get you sat up and get you some water." He stands but you make no effort to move, too busy taking in the sight before you. You always wondered why Lloyd wore such tight slacks. Not that you minded much because his ass looked absolutely delectable in them. But now as he stands above you, you realise there's another bonus to them being so tight.
The outline of Lloyd's cock is clearly visible against his slacks. He was so hard already, you almost commended your boss for managing to keep that monster in his pants. If your mouth wasn't so dry, you'd probably be salivating right about now.
However, your brain being the pile of goo it was at the moment in time, did decide to speak it's thoughts out loud.
"Mr Hansen," You shift your legs on the sheets to ease the ache in-between them. "Your cock is huge."
Lloyd groans, running a hand down his face. You can see his cock twitch and strain at your words and your cunt throbs knowing he wants to fuck you so badly right now. And it's kinda turning you on that for once he's being a gentleman.
"You're such a whore." He sighs wistfully as you open your mouth to him tantalisingly. "You want me that badly?"
"Mayyyybe." You say with faux-coyness, erupting into more giggles before stretching with a cute sigh. "Your cock just looks delicious in those slacks."
"Want a taste, huh Sweets?" Lloyd presses, grinning smugly when you nod. "Well, who am I to deny my favourite employee? Especially when she's on vacation."
Your eyes are glued to his crotch as he undoes his belt, unbuttoning his slacks slowly to tease you. Your breathing is almost silent - completely focused on the show Lloyd is putting on for you and Lloyd absolutely fucking loves it.
When his cock springs free of his boxers you audibly gasp with excitement, your legs moving against the covers. You watch with a pout as Lloyd pumps his cock in front of you just for good measure before tapping it gently against your lips, smearing pre-cum over them. He only means to tease but when he pulls back to see the look on your face he groans loudly, as you diligently run your tongue along your lips and stick it out for him.
"Fuck, you want more?" Lloyd runs his cock over the length of your tongue, smirking when you press kisses along his hot shaft in response to his question.
"Please sir." You murmur in a hushed tone, licking stripes up and down his cock. It feels so wrong and so right all at once. "Wanna taste you all the way down my throat."
Lloyd curses but obliges your request, slowly pushing into your mouth, relishing the way your throat convulses around his thick cock. When he hears a choked noise he halts, thinking you've reached your limit.
"Aw, poor little slut," He coos, pulling back just a little. "Can't fit this big cock into your mouth, huh? What a shame. You'll just have to- ah!"
Lloyd's hands brace against either side of your hips on the bed as your nails dig into the flesh of his ass and pull him further down your throat.
"Shit!" He curses, bemused by your eager show as you grope at him, humming around his cock with delight. He's buried to the brim in your throat and your nose nudges at his sac when you bob your head slightly to suck and Lloyd, for once, has no quip to offer you; fully indulging you in letting you service him.
You're surrounded by Lloyd's scent; musky amber mixed with whatever expensive lotion he decided to bring with him and he tastes just as good. You hollow your cheeks as Lloyd's hips begin to move and his chuckle is breathless.
"Oh fuck. You want me to fuck this pretty throat of yours, huh baby?"
You hum excitedly, clawing at the flesh of his ass and urging him to fuck your throat faster. It's suffocating and sexy all at once; hearing Lloyd's moans, the lip-smacking noises and breathless gasps for air as his cock bruises and fills your throat, feeling your spit get smeared across your mouth and cheeks thanks to Lloyd's balls smacking against your lips.
You can feel your skirt hiking over your hips and your clit pulses with arousal as Lloyd peels your soaked thong away from your heated flesh. You make a garbled squeak when you feel Lloyd's fingers spread your silken folds to the cool room air, letting your boss bully his cock further down your throat. You can feel tears forming as you gag around his cock, but force yourself to breathe slowly through your nose.
"All for me? You shouldn't have, Sweets." He taunts, running his fingers down to your dripping hole and back to your clit again. "You are soaked."
Your moan vibrates around his cock when you can feel Lloyd’s spit land on your clit, choking on his cock as he smears your cunt with it, dipping his fingers into your tight hole and working you furiously. Your legs writhe and you try to focus on keep your cheeks hollowed, letting Lloyd's cock slam into your mouth as he lavishes your pussy with toe-curling attention.
"That's a good girl, keep those legs open when you choke on my cock." Lloyd coos, second hand moving over your clit to rub the bundle of nerves raw. Your scream is muffled by Lloyd's thick cock when you soak the sheets beneath you with cum, legs still writhing limply as your body shudders.
Lloyd pulls his aching cock from your mouth, glistening with your spit, and hearing your pants as your body settles after your orgasm. You lamely make an attempt to shuffle back to swallow his cock again, unabashedly cock-drunk, but end up slipping further off the the bed; balanced awkwardly on your shoulders as your legs dangle limply downwards, too heavy to keep up. You start to giggle and catch Lloyd's lips twitch into a smirk, towering over your body with a twitching cock.
"Don't think we're done yet sweetcheeks," Lloyd huffs, taking off his shirt. "I've not cum yet."
You squeak as you're spun on your shoulders with your back to Lloyd, your legs held apart as Lloyd buries his cock into your still-pulsing pussy, making you both moan loudly.
"Tight little cunt," Lloyd grits out, straightening his knees so just the tip of his cock twitches against your walls. "Perfect fit."
He doesn't wait to slam back into you, fucking you into the hotel carpet as he holds you up by your legs. You whine, gripping at the carpet, Lloyd's cock splitting you open in the most debauched and delicious way.
"You stupid little cocksleeve," Lloyd taunts, thumbing your clit as his cock pounds into you. "You should know better than to eat things that don't belong to you."
"I'm sorry sir!" You wail, gasping for air as electricity pulses through every nerve. "I thought they were mine."
"Well, you thought wrong." Lloyd retorts. "The fuck would I get those for you? Don't you think I know you by now?"
"Yes! Yes I - ooohh fuck." You cut yourself off loudly when his cock hits just the right spot that has you seeing white splotches across your vision. Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him down into your tight channel as your clit throbs from Lloyd's consistent attention. You barely have time to collect your thoughts before warning him of what was about to happen.
"Please Mr Hansen," you half sob. "I'm going to cum."
He removes his cock just before you squirt, furiously rubbing your clit with his fingers to make your legs shake as you soak your thighs, your own cum dripping down onto your torso. Your moans of ecstasy quickly turn into pitiful yelps as Lloyd smacks your overworked clit, weak apologies tumbling from your lips. You should feel embarassed but your head feels stuffed full of clouds and the only thing on your mind is having your boss fuck you stupid; all inhibitions, morals and worries are long forgotten.
"Fuck me." He huffs as the head of his cock dips into your soaked cunt again."You're my very own self-lubricating fleshlight honey. Feels so good having you wrapped around my cock like this."
You only moan in response. Your thighs strain from their own weight but you feel like you're on cloud nine; fucked out and strung out whilst Lloyd uses your pussy. You whimper thinking you may squirt a third time. His cock is relentless and so deep, especially with his palms pressing on the backs of your thighs to keep you wide open.
"I could just start fucking this sweet ass right now and you'd thank me for it." Lloyd jeers, squeezing at your thighs hard to hear you cry out.
The fullness of his cock stretching you out disappears entirely but before you can pout and beg for him to keep going, you see spit from his lips careen to your asshole and you jerk with a yelp at the sensation.
"Shall we see if you do?" Lloyd murmurs, running the tip of his cock downward through his fresh spit against your puckered hole.
There's a feeble, half hearted attempt to call for him to stop but the moment his fat cockhead breaches that tight hole you're moaning louder than before.
"Ohh," comes Lloyd's breathy response as he pushes down further, slowly intruding on your other tight hole. "Your ass is just welcoming me in!"
The stretch isn't as painful as you'd expected. Being so relaxed from the gummies and two orgasms later you're pretty much primed and ready to be stuffed. And Lloyd is more than happy to fulfil that promise.
Through your dazed expression you can see that signature smirk of his. "You like this don't you? You like me using every hole?"
You pant, trying to think of words. Evidently, you take too long, and Lloyd smacks at your cunt making you scream and jerk against him.
"Answer me, Sweets." Lloyd demands, starting to move his hips as your ass accommodates his cock.
"Yessir!" You hiccup out, earning you a beaming, proud smile from Lloyd.
"Good girl," he purrs fucking into your ass in a steady rhythm. "Now, say thank you."
"Thank you sir!" You squeal as his thumb circles your clit again and again and again. You can feel Lloyd’s sinful gaze on your cunt as it squeezes and gapes around nothing, his thick cock busy ruining yet another hole. You can feel the wetness of his hand toying with your pussy, strumming your clit lazily. You can't take the pressure, or pleasure, of his cock any longer both holes contracting tight as you cum with a mewl.
"That's it." Lloyd praises, pushing your thighs so you're almost bent double, tips of your toes behind your head. "Don't think, Sweets. Keep cumming."
Your body is wrecked, you're seeing everything in a haze of overstimulated tears, smiling a big, dumb pleasure-riddled smile back up at Lloyd. There's a curse and he pulls out of you quickly, pumping his cock a few more times before painting your pussy and clothes in thick, sticky ropes of cum.
You're both huffing trying to catch your breath and you let your legs fall, half curling under you. Lloyd gives you a devilish smirk and steps over you stepping into the bathroom. You're still sprawled on the floor when you hear the door open again, your head still spinning. All of your muscles ache from being stretched to their limit, thankfully dulled by the edibles you'd mistakenly eaten.
"Now that's a sight," Lloyd purrs, stepping out of the bathroom. Even without looking in a mirror you'd have to agree; lying on a hotel room carpet, your clothes creased and covered in cum.
Lloyd offers you a hand and pulls you up to your feet, chuckling when you flop into him. Your muscles strain and you wobble, earning you another grin.
"Aw sweetheart, fucked so good you can't walk straight? Come on." He urges you to the bathroom where you can now hear the distinctive sound of running water.
You strip as Lloyd checks the temperature before helping you step in, helping to keep you upright while you clean up, even going so far as to let you use his expensive body wash. He cleans up after you, an arm around your waist so you don't slip or fall. You help brush his hair out of his face when it gets drenched in the shower and you catch a glimpse of what might be a real smile.
"Thank you, Mr Hansen." You whisper sincerely into the shower stream between you, breathing in the scent of his soap.
"I think you have earned the right to call me Lloyd off-shift, honey." He says softly, shooting you a small smirk.
You smile a little and take a brave, yet still wobbly, step out of the shower and dry yourself with a soft towel. Lloyd quickly follows suit but smacks your ruined clothes from your hands when you attempt to re-dress.
"What are you doing?"
"Sir, I-"
"Lloyd," he corrects sharply before shooting you a quizzical look. "You're not gonna leave me high and dry after letting me fuck you like that, are you?"
"Um..." your eyes are wide as you stare back at him. He couldn't be serious. But this was Lloyd. Your boss. "No?"
"Good answer." Lloyd says, tugging you from the bathroom, and pushing you towards the bed. You clamber into it, getting comfy under the sheets and ignoring the slight damp patch you left earlier. Before you can say anything else Lloyd tosses a water bottle from the mini fridge at you, moving to join you with a bottle of his own.
"Just doing my due diligence, cupcake." He smiles down at you. No shark's grin, no mocking smirk; a real smile that makes your stomach swoop. "You're a good employee and I want to keep you around."
"Just as an employee?" You scoff half expecting him to agree. Whatever had happened between you had most definitely blurred the lines between boss and employee... but Lloyd didn't seem to care so why should you?
Lloyd hums thoughtfully. "We'll see. If you keep letting me fuck you stupid, I'd be inclined to update our arrangement."
You nod, cheeks growing warm at the thought, something Lloyd doesn't miss and without missing a beat, drapes an arm over your shoulders and tugs you closer into his side.
"And if that's the case, you deserve some room service. My treat."
End
A/N: And yes, Lloyd got you a magnet. Vote for who's next here
the hat rule (n.): you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.
summary: when eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.
pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader
warnings: reader is described to be wearing a dress. reader is also dressed up as a black cat. premise is everyone is wearing 'slutty' costumes. overuse of pet names. public teasing, unprotected sex, choking kink, oral (f receiving), ass slapping. 18+.
wc: 13.3k+
happy early valentine's day, babes. shout out to @hellfire--cult for beta reading, as well as @andvys for giving me this idea to begin with.
If someone had told you last week that you’d be attending a slutty costume themed night at a club tonight, you would have laughed in their face.
And yet here you were, at Steve Harrington’s apartment, donned in a black cat costume that shows more skin than you have in years.
The elaborate plan had sparked on a random day after Steve encountered a flyer for the event. It was a nightclub your group had attended before, and one look at the line free drinks for participants had Steve running down your entire group to insist that you all needed to dress up, to participate in this, for the luxury of free Tito’s.
He’d never considered that the ad might not be targeted towards the male population. And now, you were all gathering at his apartment to pregame, ‘slutted out’ as Robin had so kindly put it – men included.
Nancy pulled out some sort of angel costume she claims she had bought but certainly not worn a few years back, Robin had conglomerated an alluring pirate attire from items you hadn’t even been aware were in her closet. Jonathan arrived in his erotic yet pensive writer’s costume (you’d hardly understood it, but he seemed confident, so you all went with it), Argyle in tow donning some sort of seductive surfer costume, in which you certainly recognized the unbuttoned shirt and cargo shorts that had had a pocket knife taken to them to disregard a few inches. Steve even stuck to his own demands, going all out – a sensual bunny costume.
And then, there was Eddie.
Eddie fuckin’ Munson.
“Pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart,” he teases as he shuffles around you in the kitchen to grab a drink, “Gonna start catching flies otherwise.”
“There’s a joke in there somewhere about how sweet I am, right?” you blandly reply, keeping your eyes on your room temp cocktail that Steve had so graciously mixed for you upon your arrival, “Something where you call me honey or sugar, yeah?”
Eddie pauses, bottle of vodka in hand, looking at you with big eyes lined in coal, “Oh, baby, you know me so well.”
“Cut the pet names, Munson.”
You try to scowl. You really do. But you don’t mean a damn word you say.
Sweetheart. Baby. Hell, even honey would have done it for you when he was wearing that costume.
Tight leather pants, flared at the ankle. Worn leather boots that certainly had to have been thrifted, clicking with each of his steps. A cow print vest, and just a vest, over what looked to be an oiled chest.
And that fucking hat smashing down his curls, adding a shadow across his face that only built into the illusion.
You hate him. You hate this stupid party. You hate Steve for ever suggesting this.
“You don’t mean that,” he sing-songs as he pours his own drink into a red solo cup. The vodka mixes with cranberry juice, you think, before he’s dropping a few ice cubes out of the freezer. “Or maybe you do, and I should try saying them with a southern drawl,” Fuck, he does a good southern accent. Slow and syrupy sweet, molasses down the throat as he flutters his lashes at you, “That better, darlin’?”
You pluck the thin black straw that had been added to your cup for flare, probably stolen from a hotel at some point by Steve and positively meant for drinks of the coffee variety, and flick it in his direction without hesitation.
“Terrible,” you flatly lie, “Cowboys aren’t even from the south, idiot. They’re from the West.”
You have no desire to hear Eddie’s Western accent. No desire to hear Texan twang on those lips, putting on his best John Wayne impression. In fact, the faster you can get away from him, the quicker you can get yourself under control.
It had always been this way between you and Eddie. Push and pull. Will they, won’t they. A game of cosmic shores as the two of you toed at each other’s orbits and bantered effortlessly. Flirtatious threats, inappropriate compliments, lewd innuendos – you had done it all, specifically with Eddie.
That’s just how the friendship worked.
The friendship.
Friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
Eddie won’t leave you alone, though, choosing to lean up against the counter beside you, forcing his way into your peripherals, “Damn. You’re right. Wayne would kill me if he knew I mixed that up.”
“Oh, I think he has plenty of reasons to knock some sense into you.”
“Yeah?” he leans forward, tauntingly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “Why don’t you do it for him? I think I’d like a slap more coming from you, honestly.”
He’s acting like he always does. This is normal. The fact that his entire torso is on show and you can’t stop staring at the way his tattoo on his peck is shimmering doesn’t change that.
You play the role, knowing your part well as you lean in as well, forcing a smile right back at him, “Wanna kiss my knuckles before I do it, or am I gonna have to do all the hard work here?”
“Oh, trust me, you’d never have to do all the work with me, ba-”
“Can you two get a fucking room?” Robin interrupts as she enters the room, clearly coming in for a refill but getting more than she bargained for.
You’re aflame with the shame and embarrassment, feeling it lick from your ankles up to your throat, as Eddie only chuckles lowly.
“Sorry, Robs,” Eddie chirps, not sounding apologetic at all, “I promise I’ll behave myself the rest of the night.”
And yet, despite the words you’re hearing him say out loud, he does the exact opposite.
There’s no real need for him to do it. There’s plenty of space amongst the kitchen for him to maneuver his way out without laying a single hand on you – and yet he still fucking does.
His palm is shockingly warm when it curls around your hip, his other hand occupied with a drink, encouraging you to move a step forward so that he can brush behind you far too close for comfort. You nearly stumble over himself as he does it. The feeling of his barren chest barely bumping your bare shoulder blades sends your mind reeling, and his staple rings that have incorporated into his costume press right through the thin fabric of your dress.
Your breathing stops entirely as he pauses, the slightest bit of skin still brushing against yours, and leans in with a boyish grin, “We’ll both be on our best behavior tonight – right, kitty?”
Something clicks in your mind. The way the nickname rolls off his tongue as he’s looking at you with eyes flaming with mischief, hand lingering on your hip for far too long.
Your eyes flicker up to the hat on his head, and you smile slowly, meeting his toying gaze, “Right, cowboy.”
Best behavior, your ass. Tonight, you have decided, ends the will they, won’t they of it all.
It’s about to either be the best night of your life, or the worst.
—
Another shot with Nancy. Another smoke with Argyle. Another adjusting of Steve’s corset when he complains he can’t breathe (he certainly can, but you’re starting to think he just likes the attention). The pregaming continues on as more of Steve’s friends from work show up, the apartment slowly beginning to buzz with the chatter of more strangers than you can count on one hand.
You’re not even at the club yet and you’re already regretting your revealing attire.
Eddie stays mostly preoccupied with his own devices, and only gets scolded a handful of times by Nancy. You can hear every lewd joke he makes, of course. At some point, you make a private drinking game out of it; a sip for every time he makes the stereotypical joke of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’.
Well, it was a sip the first time. A slightly larger gulp the second time. A chugging of half your drink the third time.
“There’s no fucking way,” Steve laments at the table the boys as well as a few guests you don’t recognize have taken over for a game of strip poker, “Jonathan is cheating. Or counting cards.”
“I concur,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, scowling at his losing hand.
“You’re also cheating, asshole. This is the first round you’ve lost the entire game.”
“Or maybe I’m just really good at cards, Harrington.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I’m really good at-”
“He’s not cheating,” Nancy interrupts with a sigh from the couch, lounging as she’s served as a referee of sorts for the group. Her entire body weight is draped against Robin, and you’re certainly not going to comment on Robin’s hands toying with her permed locks, “Stop being a sore loser and just strip.”
You get why Steve was the most upset. He was down to his underwear and socks, corset tossed somewhere far behind him and bunny ears placed on Robin’s head in place of her pirate hat that she had claimed became too warm.
“I think Steve should trade both socks and put back on the bunny ears,” she quips as she reaches up for the headband, flicking at one of the floppy ears, “He’d look cuter that way.”
“Fuck off,” he snaps, throwing up a middle finger as Argyle finally loses his shirt.
When your attention has drifted, you know he did exactly that, though.
The game had been boring you half to death, honestly. Watching Steve strip without fail every round, hearing the loud cheers from Argyle when he managed to win a few rounds in a row and exclaimed it was a turkey (it had taken a ten minute intermission to explain to him that was bowling, not poker), watching a few of the girls that Steve had invited fawn over him as they carefully removed boots and gloves when they lost – none of it sparked your interest. The only saving grace had been every smug look Eddie offered as he’d win, time and time again. So far, he’d only lost his boots.
He was hot when he was cocky. There was no way around it.
And now, as he carefully pondered as to which part of his precious costume to part with, you were on the edge of your seat. He was lovely and enticing when he was excited, when he was jubilant with victory, but as a sore loser?
Dear God, Eddie Munson was a gorgeous specimen with a pout on his lips.
“Trying to decide what to take off, Munson?” Jonathan notices the way Eddie is hesitating, even through the offset of conversations that had sparked up in the brief pause amongst the growing group.
You lean forward on the couch, almost subconsciously.
You don’t care what Stacy from Steve’s job thinks of their manager or the latest drama ongoing there, and Steve would probably agree with you if it weren’t for Stacy’s all-red, latex Devil costume.
Eddie scoffs, waving a hand over his attire, “Obviously. You know, it’s not easy to choose when you have a costume as damn good as mine.”
“What? Don’t think you’ll be as pretty without your hat?” you decide to contribute to the teasing, shocking yourself in the process.
The last thing you should do when you’re staring him down in this way, is bring attention to yourself. And yet you were, like some fucking idiot with a death wish.
“You think I’m pretty?”
It’s the fluttering of his lashes as he says it that gives you the courage. They match all that fluttering in your stomach, all that buzzing across your nerves. Because – yeah, you thought he was real fucking pretty. You’d spent the last half hour imagining how pretty he’d look in all sorts of places, too, especially between your sheets and between your thighs.
You’re up off the couch, taking confident steps towards where he’s seated at the ground on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a little inconvenient now, but it had been a blessing in disguise for most of the game as you’d had a front row seat to the sight of him.
“Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease, entirely ignoring that lightheaded feeling you get anytime Eddie looks up at you this way. Half-lidded eyes, crooked grin. He’s dangerous and he doesn’t even know it, “I only meant you were pretty with the hat.”
“You wound me,” he gasps, dropping back on his hands dramatically, his pout now for dramatics rather than genuine, “Gonna stand there and tell me I’m not pretty when I dressed up just for you?”
You have to take a deep breath to compose yourself, cross your arms to steady your guard, “Just for me?”
He was playing that same old, tired game of yours. The same dance the two of you had memorized the steps to – and something inside of you has grown restless of it. You don’t want to keep skirting around each other with double-meaning jokes, you don’t want to keep painting humor over your flirtatious remarks. You want a damn answer to the age old question of will they, won’t they?
And you want that answer to be will they – terribly, terribly so.
His eyes trail along the room slowly, not avoiding you but trying to draw out the anticipation in you as he sucks in a breath, “Okay, and maybe for Steve. And Nancy. And Argyle. And Jonathan. And- Well, I’d say Robin, but I don’t think she’s looked twice in my direction all night.”
“I haven’t,” the brunette chirps happily from the couch, still letting the weight of Nancy comfortably dig into her.
You have no idea how she’s tuned into the conversation, given the way most of everyone else around the room was entirely ignoring the two of you.
“So,” you all but purr, leaning down to be more level with Eddie. You already know where his focus wanders when his eyes don’t meet yours, “Not just for me, cowboy.”
He’s distracted, staring at your chest as you notice him slip up in his brave facade for a second. Almost as though you’ve gone too far, pushed the limits a bit too hard. Good. You want to break this. You want to shatter whatever cage the two of you have built.
In one smooth movement, your hand reaches out and snatches the hat right off his head.
He lets out a yelp and tries to grab it away from you, but you have the advantage as you stand up straight once more. Your free hand reaches up and tears off the cat ears you had donned, and in their place, the hat is deposited.
It fits you a little big, and you nearly make a joke about the size of Eddie’s head.
“Hey!” he argues, moving as though he might stand up and put up more of a fight, “I didn’t say the hat is what I wanted to take off.”
“Took too long,” you shrug innocently.
“Yeah, well, just carefully add it to the pile,” he jabs his thumb over his shoulder, towards his boots, as he relaxes back into his recline.
You should probably behave yourself.
“No.”
But this is more fun.
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in shot, disappearing behind the bangs that are flattened far more than usual. The entire crown of his head is absolutely crushed. No sign of his usual frizzy roots and unruly volume, “No?”
“No,” you confirm a second time.
And you’re done with this game of back and forth.
The hat’s staying on your head. It smells ever so faintly of his shampoo, the slightest whiff of his cologne even, and it’s staying on your head for the exact reason he believes is about to be a gotcha! moment.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he’s just tipsy enough that he’s not putting on any specific accent. Instead, his natural Appalachian accent inherited from his uncle begins to break the surface, “Surely you know about the hat rule.”
Damn right, you know about the hat rule.
You cross your arms, huff a little, tilt the hat for effect, “The hat rule? Please, enlighten me.”
“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”
Perfect.
You don’t even attempt any sort of surprised act. No exaggerated gasps, no fumbling to remove the hat. You knew all about this rule, and it had been one of the first things to come to mind when you’d seen him enter this damn party with the hat on.
“Yeah?” you question, mocking raising your eyebrows at best, “Hm. What a shame.”
And then you turn on your heel, not awaiting a single response from Eddie as you escape to the kitchen.
You almost wish you would have stayed an extra second to properly witness his reaction. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s gone pretty and pink, a flustered mess for at least a second as low laughter sounds from the rest of your friends. A tell-tale snort from Robin, and a silent cackle from Nancy. You swear you even pick up on one of the extra guests muttering a confused what just happened? that goes entirely unanswered.
Strip poker doesn’t continue on for long after that.
You refill your drink, this time sans the alcohol, and return to find Steve has officially begun to call for cabs to the club. He busies away on his phone as everyone debates who’s riding with who, the entire party slowly coming to life as everyone stands to prepare to leave for the main attraction.
When you meet Eddie’s gaze from across the room, the shadow of the brim of his hat cutting into your vision a little, his cheeks match the cranberry juice in your cup.
Good.
—
The ride to the club is a blur, and all that really stands out to you is that Eddie makes sure he does not ride in the same cab as you.
Which is fine. Really. It doesn’t cause a single spark of panic in your chest. Not one.
You’re definitely not working yourself up over the thought that your plan is crumbling right before your eyes, that you’ve gone too far and entirely misinterpreted everything Eddie has ever done during your entire friendship. You’re not mulling over every dirty joke, not dissecting every single line that felt like he was flirting with you and attempting to look at it with fresh eyes. No, the entire ride to the club, you are definitely not beating a dead horse dead.
Maybe you should have set off to ride the dead horse and not the cowboy. Maybe, then, Eddie would have gotten into the fucking cab with you.
Your anxieties only worsen once you get inside the club. Pulsing beneath your skin, right in rhythm with the music. Your entire group had each been handed a drink ticket on your way in, and you had noted the fact that the girls of the group were slipped extra tickets.
Nancy had given all her tickets to Robin, and Steve had given his singular ticket to Stacy.
“So,” Robin runs up to your side, Nancy not far behind, “Do we waste our drink tickets on shots or real drinks?”
“Real drinks,” you immediately reply, eyes scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain head of curly hair, “Shots are… well, they can be cheap. We can just avoid the top-shelf shit.”
Was Eddie really going to ignore you the entire night?
He needed his hat. He couldn’t ignore you the entire night.
“You’re right,” Robin shuffles the drink tickets in her hands, turning to Nancy, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be me to ask you to flirt with men to get me-”
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll have us a round.”
Nancy’s smile is sweet, courteous, as she gives Robin’s shoulder a squeeze on her way past her.
Where the fuck is Eddie?
“Did you see where the guys ran off to?” you blurt out. Most of the guys, aside from Steve, took the same cab.
Robin also joins you in a quick survey of the club, lifting onto her tippy toes to squint over the current light show, “Honestly? I have no idea.”
Fuck.
As she drops back down onto her heels, Robin looks at you knowingly, eyes flicking up between your twisted expression and the hat on your head.
“Trying to find a certain cowboy?”
“What?” you look at her, already defensive, even if it was stupid at this point. Who cares if everyone knows you have a crush on Eddie? Who cares if everyone finds out the very foundations of your friendship with him were built upon quite a bit of truth? “I mean- yeah, he kind of needs his hat to complete his outfit.”
“Should have just given him your ears for an even trade,” Robin shrugs, clinging to your elbow to avoid getting separated as a few bodies push past the two of you, “I’m sure he’ll pop up soon enough, though. Besides, I don’t think anyone’s too focused on what everyone’s costumes are as long as they’re… well…”
“Slutted out,” you finish for her flatly, trying to not get jealous as your eyes look across the sweaty crowd, stomach churning as you wonder how many other sexy black cats in the crowd would be approaching your cowboy.
You fucked up. You shouldn’t have taken his hat.
“Exactly!” she’s excited, unaware of your crisis, already moving along from the topic as she spots Nancy somewhere near the bar top, “Look, free shots!”
The free shots don’t do much to quell your unease, but free alcohol is always nice.
You take the liquid down, burn and all, more than willingly. And then again, not even five minutes later when Nancy has caught the attention of another random man at the end of the bar. You almost partake in a third, but you finally hear a familiar voice saying a far too familiar joke.
“You know what they say,” he’s flirting – he’s using a tone of voice that he has never used with you, and it’s clear he’s fucking flirting, “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”
Instead of continuing your drinking game from Steve’s apartment, you slam the shot back down and mutter some sorry excuse of being right back to Robin and Nancy before taking off in the direction of Eddie.
He’s stood a few stools down at the bar, hands leaning against the worn wood as his arms bracket a pretty blonde. It almost looks as if the line might be working on her.
“If you’re a cowboy,” she giggles, and you almost stop dead in your tracks, “Then where’s your hat?”
Well, that’s as good of a queue for your arrival if any.
“Good question,” you pipe up as you take a few brave steps towards him, “Where is your hat, cowboy?”
You’d expected him to be angry, or startled, or possibly even immediately take off running in the opposite direction of you. He doesn’t.
He slowly turns, and his flirtatious smile has turned into more of a salacious grin as he faces you, “Well, well, well. Nice of you to join us, Kitty.”
The blonde looks between you two a few times before shimmying down off her stool, “I think…. I’m gonna go. Nice to meet you, cowboy.”
You expect Eddie to react, but he hardly does. A quick glance in her direction, a pathetic wave.
You’ve just trampled over one of his chances of getting properly lucky tonight, and he isn’t even phased.
“Been lookin’ for you,” you mumble, looking over him. His hair seems to have been unstuck from his scalp a little, at least. As though he may have been running his hands through it repeatedly, “Thought you might have gone home without your hat.”
“Not a chance. I haven’t forgotten about the rule, you know.”
Something twists in you, deep in your gut, between your hips.
“No?” you hold your breath as he leans in a bit closer to you to be able to hear over the music, “Good thing I haven’t either.”
He tilts his head, eyes glittering in the multi-colored lights, “You haven’t? Then that means you’ll be giving it back, right?”
Over my dead body.
You’re on a mission tonight. You’ll either be ending this night in sore disappointment, drinking away your sorrows of rejection, or you’ll be ending up in a bed with Eddie. It’s up to him.
You lift a hand to the worn rim, tugging it a bit more securely onto your head, “Not a chance, Munson. You know where to find me once you’re done playing around.”
As soon as your fingers leave the rim, holding tense eye contact with him, his own hand is coming up. You tense, worried he’s about to steal the hat back now, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers pinch the same spot yours just had, slow tracing over the rim as his tongue darts out to carefully wet his bottom lip.
From the front point, around to the side. When he reaches the bit above your ear, his touch drops to your cheek and tucks back some of the baby hairs sticking to your skin with sweat.
“I do, don’t I?” he hums, voice dropping a bit lower, focused entirely on you. “I don’t think I’m the one playing around right now, though, Kitty.”
Does he think you’re joking? Does he actually, genuinely think this is all a game to you?
You nearly make the decision to grab him right there, right at this moment, and shatter all the tension. Get his lips on yours and drag him into the darkest corner just to prove to him how serious you truly were.
Suddenly, his hand drops away from you entirely, and you almost want to whine. You miss that warmth, that feathery caress, until it aches. “It’s okay, though. Always knew cats were playful things.”
Is there a dark corner somewhere near you two? Is there a dark hallway to drag him into? Just enough shadow to cover all the sins you’re desperate to commit, just enough light to see that blush rise across his cheeks again.
“I’m not playing,” you whisper, eyes drifting down to his hand cradling a glass. Something deep and russet, just like his eyes. Likely whiskey. You wonder if you’d be able to taste it all over his tongue before you had him putting it to work where you need him most right now. “Whenever you get that through your big head, come find me.”
“Big head?” he throws his head back in a laugh, and the tension mists away in seconds. “Who says I have a big head?”
“I do, as the one wearing your hat,” you readjust it for emphasis.
You thought the tension had misted away until he’s smirking, tsking a little, “Oh, thought you meant the other one.”
It’s a replay of the scene in Steve’s apartment, but this time, the roles are reversed. You’re the one left in shock, mouth agape, as Eddie spins around and walks away, leaving you to sit with what he’s just said.
“Bastard,” you breathe out as you watch him disappear in the crowd, eyes locked on his broad shoulders until one too many bodies separate the two of you.
A bastard you want awfully, terribly, bad.
—
You wish you could say you threw back drink, after drink, after drink. You wish you could say you danced with a hundred different beautiful strangers, and each one strayed your mind farther from Eddie.
You wish you could say you did anything but what the reality of your night had been.
A few men had approached you, only to be turned down repeatedly. Most of your night was spent all but moping at the bar, eyes diligently scanning the bouncing crowd for a certain curly haired figure that seemed to escape you. One moment, you’d catch him pressed against a flirty stranger, hands holding onto whatever bare skin was available to him. And then, his eyes would find yours, and there would be a spark; a wink, a smile, a whisper across a bustling room daring you to come out and play with him.
You never did. You’d look away, take a sip of your plain coke, and wait a few seconds until it was safe to look back and find him seemingly vanished.
That in itself had started to become a game. Just like the hat, weighing heavy on your head.
You’re starting to accept that maybe you had just been a bit too brave. You’d jumped the gun, flown feet first into cold and ragged waters you weren’t prepared to navigate. You knew you wanted a change with Eddie, but were you ready? If you had been, you would have accepted one of his various invites. Would have strode across the room, shoved away whatever man or woman he was dancing with, and slotted yourself into their place. You would have been swaying your hips in rhythm with his rather than allowing him to cycle through strangers, and you’d be reminding him that you wore his hat.
You’d be the one bringing up the hat rule to him consistently, not him to you.
When the night begins to wane, you’ve already talked yourself out of it all.
“I’m heading out,” you announce to Robin when she finally returns back to where you’ve sat at the bar to babysit their drinks, hopping down from the stool before she could argue, “I’m getting way too tired.”
“What?” your friend gasps, face pink from the heat of being in the crowd, a shimmering sheen of sweat across her forehead, “No! Stay! We can take turns watching the drinks, or just-”
“Robs,” you smile as sweetly as possible, patting yourself down to make sure you have all your belongings. A whistle sounds from a group down the way at the bar, and you ignore them, “It’s seriously okay. You’re having fun! I’m just a senior citizen who needs some sleep. My bedtime was like…. An hour ago.”
You highly doubt you’ll be getting any rest when you return to your apartment. Maybe some confidence can be built out of fantasies, letting your hands wander and sheets catch fire with all that could have been if you hadn’t talked yourself out of your perfect plan.
Maybe, imagining Eddie’s hot hands on you rather than getting to properly feel them will light a damn fire under your ass for the next opportunity that arises.
“I…” she sighs, glancing over her shoulder in the general direction of Nancy, “Okay, fine. But do we want to do brunch or something tomorrow?”
Not a chance, you think rather quickly, eyes scanning once more for the metal-head-turned-cowboy. Not if Eddie’s going to be there.
“Sure,” you lie, already knowing he will be there, “Just text me.”
With that, you make your grand escape.
Borrowed hat on head, phone in hand, you push your way out of the club with a newfound determination. You want to get home and take off this uncomfortable dress, finally do away with the thigh highs that have been rolling down at the most inconvenient of times, driving you insane the entire night. Trade the sexy attire for something comfy – stay true to the cat essence as you curl up beneath your blankets for the night. Hang that damn cowboy hat on your door as a cursed reminder-
“Where do you think you’re going, Kitty?”
You stop a few feet short of the curb, a cab ordered as you turn to find that bastard leaning against the wall. Cigarette smoke is still clinging to the air around him as he looks at you curiously.
“Home,” you shrug, trying to ignore your pounding heart. You’d figured you wouldn’t see him again tonight, that your fate had been sealed. “What are you doing out here?”
“Smoke break,” he lifts his hand with the cigarette pinched between two fingers casually, pushing off the wall to come closer, “It’s hard work, keeping you entertained all night.”
You scoff, falling back into what’s almost a normal rhythm for you two, “You were not the one keeping me entertained all night.”
“I hardly saw you dance with anyone at all.”
“I did!” you try to defend yourself, deciding this could be fine. Some casual conversation as you wait for your ride, a way to pass the time. This is fine. “Robin dragged me out into the crowd at least twice.”
“I watched you swat a guy’s hands away not once, but three times.”
“Unsolicited touching isn’t a compliment. He should have taken the hint the first time.”
Eddie nods in eager agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Damn right. If he had gone in for a fourth try, I was considering dragging him out here for an early smoke break.”
“Why do I highly doubt it would just be a smoke break?” you question, glancing at him with a smile. Scandalous plans aside for the night, embarrassment swallowed down whole, it’s nice to remember that Eddie is a friend. Albeit a bit flirty, and capable of driving you fucking insane, but he’s a friend.
And maybe that isn’t the worst thing in the world.
“Oh, no, yeah. You’d be posting my bail.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’ve got my hat, ” he reaches out and flicks the brim with his free hand, and you freeze up a little. You had hoped he wouldn’t mention it again, “Kind of makes me your problem until the end of the night. Speaking of….”
You already know what he’s about to request as he trails off. This is it. You either give up the bit, hand the hat back over, and go home for the night – or you make one final attempt to get what you had wanted.
Eddie. You wanted Eddie, as more than a friend.
“I’m gonna need that back, sweetheart.”
At least he’s asking politely, you consider, before it hits you why he’s asking rather than taking.
The looks across the room. The way he’d been unbothered by the girl he’d been flirting with running off at your appearance. The way he never just took back that fucking hat when he’d been provided ample opportunity.
He thinks it’s a game for you, and keeps bringing it up, because it isn’t for him. He’s giving you one last chance to back out, or to stand your ground. To say you really want this.
And fuck, you really want this.
“Nope,” you lean into his space, pressing closer, fully committed. Your phone dings with the notification of your ride approaching, and you fully ignore it. “My hat now, cowboy.”
He quirks an eyebrow, and you hear the crunch of gravel behind you. Your ride. “Is that so?”
“Yep.”
Another ding, another buzz of your phone.
Go ahead. Bring up the hat rule.
“That your ride?” he asks, tilting his chin in the direction of the car.
You glance over your shoulder, “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”
“And you remember the hat rule?”
Your stomach twists with excitement. Your previous pity party is long forgotten – you’re still hoping to get out of this dress, but you highly doubt you’ll be slipping anything on after it. “I do.”
“Great,” those hot hands you’d been fantasizing about the entire night suddenly reach out to you, gripping your hips tightly as he tugs you into his body. You collide with his chest as he leans down and whispers in your ear, “In that case, that’s my pussy now.”
His lips linger against the shell of your ear an extra second, warm breath sending chills up your spine before he’s keeping an arm around your shoulders as he guides you to the car. His cologne and the scent of tobacco is suffocating, and you crave to drown in it. You want him to consume you; you want him to take over every breath you breathe, every move you make, to finally get those hot hands and lips everywhere you’ve only dreamt of.
You barely hear him confirm with the driver that it is in fact your ride – you can only focus on that hand on your lower back, palm heavy on you as his thumb traces arcs that nearly spend you spiraling.
“After you, kitty,” he murmurs, motioning for you to slide into the backseat first.
In that case, that’s my pussy now.
You hope he ruins you.
In the backseat of the ride, it’s all polite distance and hands to yourself. You can’t even make eye contact with the driver, terrified he might be able to mindread and see all the filthy thoughts racing through your head.
Eddie between your thighs, mouthing at your hips.
Eddie hovering over you, pulling your knees to your chest as he stretches you out.
Eddie, proving that your pussy is in fact his for the night. That it was made for him, sculpted out to fit the curvature and every single vein of him.
Eddie simply fucking your brains out.
Some polite conversation is exchanged, mostly between Eddie and the driver. The classic questioning of how the night has gone, small talk that buzzes in your ears mindlessly.
The entire time, you can see Eddie’s hand in the space between you two, fingers tapping away at dark leather incessantly. His rings shimmer like a siren calling to you.
It’s a small movement, when your own hand drops near his. You keep your eyes trained forward once you begin your mission, inching your pinky closer and closer until it finally collides with his. You swear, you feel him fully jump out of his seat.
Slowly warming the water, you start off simple – playing with his fingers. Gentle caresses over his knuckles, little pricks to the pads of his fingers. He tries to capture your hand in his, but you have bigger plans at play here.
You’ve spent the entire fucking night waiting for this. You’re going to have fun with it.
He huffs after you deter his second attempt at properly holding hands, his knees falling apart a little further. You twist at the ring on his middle finger, a clunky skull you’ve always admired. It has minimal signs of wear, probably pure silver if you had to guess, and you can only imagine how cold it’s going to feel against your skin.
You can only imagine the imprints it’ll leave if he grabs your hips just right.
“You know,” the driver hums mindlessly over the low volume of the radio, “You guys are my first ride of the night, surprisingly. Thought it might be busier with all the parties and clubs, but I think it’s just barely picking up now.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks politely, nodding as he looks out his window. Perfect, “I think you’re right. It is getting pretty late-”
He’s entirely distracted, your hand out of his line of sight as it moves in on its target.
His thigh.
Just a few inches above his knee, your hand grips at what is clearly sensitive flesh. You watch his entire body turn to stone when you do it, and he moves his head quickly to look in your direction.
You’re looking straight ahead.
There had been a time, a few weeks ago, where you’d learned Eddie had… sensitive knees. You’d been joking around about one thing or another, and when your palms had gripped at them through the torn fabric of ripped jeans, he’d nearly launched himself across the room. He just kept insisting they were ticklish, that that skin was just delicate.
You’d seen the tent in his jeans then. You’d just been a bit more polite, a bit better behaved that day.
“What are you doing?” he hisses in a whisper, reaching for your hand, but you’re quick to slide it even higher.
His hips jump a little, and the driver is none the wiser.
“Nothing,” you innocently say, still looking ahead, watching the passing streetlights with intense interest. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
The entire ride, at every red light, your hand inches higher.
And every time, you relish the way he squirms in your peripherals.
By the time you’re five minutes out from your place, you’ve riled him up to impossible heights. Every little noise has him on edge, constant twitching and shifting in his seat as he tries to get you to just look at him. You know he’s catching every sly smile that attempts to creep up on your lips – you’re pathetically failing at every turn to cover them up.
You think you have him like putty in your palms as you give yet another squeeze to his thigh, fingers starting to dance up even higher. When your eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second, you see him straining against that tight leather.
And then he flips the script.
You’re so focused on your own goals, you never see that ringed hand creep to your own thigh. It’s not until cool metal nips at you, briefly, before you feel the warmth of his hand overtake, that you realize the predicament you’ve gotten into.
Just as your hand was beginning to skim over his crotch, Eddie’s hand found solace between the meat of your thighs. Even as you try to clench them together, deny him the access he was seeking out, he finds his way in. Scandalous fingers dipping under the hem of your dress, fighting fire with fire when he lets his middle finger brush across the fabric of your underwear.
Your touch from him nearly retracts entirely.
“What?” he leans in closer to you, the driver still focused on the road, “Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?”
As he says it, his fingers dip lower. Hovering right over your protected clit, making your entire abdomen clench.
You swallow hard, a bit of your jagged pride somewhere amongst the spit as you turn your head to look at him, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Still playing games I see.”
In sync, the two of you lock eyes as you continue to test waters. You apply pressure with your palm and note the way his breathing hitches, and he draws a feather-light circle around the wet patch forming in your underwear. You can feel your bottom lip quiver as you try to refuse to give him any satisfaction, but when he’s this close, it’s a hopeless battle.
When had he gotten so near you? What happened to all that static distance from when you’d first crawled into the backseat?
You’re trying to only focus on your own hand. Eyes darting to guarantee the driver is still oblivious as you roll the heel of your hand harder against the seam of his pants, and biting your lip to hold back a successful grin when he has to cover a gasp with a cough. It’s all fun and games until the action is rewarded with his payback; his knuckle curling up against your cunt through your panties, pressing in hard before slowly sliding his way up, up, up.
He deliberately stops when he catches on your clit, and you’re the one coughing now.
“Had enough?” he mutters under his breath, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks good in this lighting, flashes of the streetlights bathing him in soft yellow, headlights of other cars fluttering in through the windshield as they hit his brown eyes just right to bronze them.
“Never.”
You almost think you’ve won when his knuckle pulls back.
But suddenly, his entire hand is cupping your cunt, two fingers pressing against your fluttering hole as another drags up your slit slowly once more. This time, when he reaches your clit, he continues moving in small circles.
You have to bite your lip to hold back any noises, eyes closing for just a second as you hear him huff out a laugh.
The final damnation is when he brings his lips to your bare shoulder, merely grazing your skin with them as he mumbles, “You sure about that, Kitty?”
You clench around nothing, and you know when he feels it from where his fingers remain pressed against you. His own hand twitches as the finger circling your clit stutters for a moment.
“I-”
“We’re here!” the driver says, not having looked into the backseat yet as he finds a safe place to pull the car into. In an instant, you and Eddie remove your hands from each other. You’re both visibly flustered – you can feel how warm your cheeks have gotten, and you can see clouds of pink splattering over Eddie’s chest and neck.
“Thanks,” Eddie is the one to speak up as the car comes to a halt, not even waiting for the driver to put the vehicle in park as he throws the door open.
A bit rushed, but still polite as ever before he’s grabbing you by your bicep to pull you out of the cramped space right along with him.
You can hardly muster a weak wave to the man as Eddie is dragging you towards your apartment building, knees still a bit weak and mind still blank after getting a taste of your own medicine, as Eddie had put it.
He doesn’t let go of you until you’re at your front door, those cursed shaking hands of yours fumbling with your key ring.
“Here, let me-” he starts to offer, reaching for the keys that continue to clank together, just as you find the one you’re looking for.
“I’ve got it-” you try to cut him off, just as you drop the fucking keys in your haste. “Shit.”
You quickly drop to the ground to grab them, pausing once you have the metal digging into your palms once more. There’s no real reason for you to do it, but you do – you take a second to look up at Eddie from this position, and nearly drool at the sight of it.
Him, standing over you, still a bit flushed and still visibly uncomfortable in his pants. Pretty curls a mess and lips darkening from how much he’s been biting them.
You want him to ruin you. You want him to absolutely, entirely and utterly destroy you.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he laughs, chest heaving a bit as he watches you carefully, pupils slowly growing in the dim light of your building’s hallway.
You can see his bare torso clenching, the twitch of his hands at his sides – the same fingers that had just been caressing you over your underwear in the backseat of a stranger’s car.
“Like what?” you’re dragging out the moment, taking time to appreciate the sight of him.
“Like you want me to just press you up against the wall and fuck you out here, for everyone to see.”
That’s a new one. That’s a vision that hadn’t come to you in all your dirtiest dreams of the night.
It sends your clit throbbing.
You rise slowly, pushing the hat back a bit to see him better, keeping your voice quiet so your neighbors won’t hear as you ask, “Would you? If I asked nicely?”
He doesn’t let out a laugh, but a breath of air, like you’ve just sucked all of the oxygen out of his lungs.
No need to say it – you know he would. You probably wouldn’t even have to ask nicely.
You’re staring at him when he finally moves, one hand snatching your keys out of your hand and the other gripping you around the waist. Back to pulling you, man-handling you to get you right where he wants you – where he needs you.
One second, you’re pressed against his body in the hallway. The next, he’s managed to unlock your front door and throw you both into the safety of your apartment.
Hidden from the world, and you’re still reeling as you wonder what it’d be like for the entire building to witness you calling out his name. Or him calling out your name.
Here within these four walls, Eddie has put some space between the two of you, staring with blown out eyes and a shaking chest as he breathes out, “Sweetheart.”
A few seconds pass, the two of you just standing there, the click of the front door’s lock being the only thing echoing in the silence. If you focused over the roar of the blood pounding in your ears, you might catch every single gasp of his as he stares in awe – but your focus is elsewhere. Far away and out of grasp for the time being. You can only think of one thing, and one thing only.
Your body isn’t your own as you move to get exactly what you want; you drop to your knees hard enough that you should cringe at the thought of the pain that will linger, possibly for days, but it doesn’t even cross your mind as your hands begin to fumble with Eddie’s pants. The oversized, gaudy belt buckle is in your way, glinting at you as if mocking the way your shaking hands can’t undo it fast enough. You’re about to give up and just start unzipping the leather pants, desperate to get your hands, and your mouth, and your eyes on him properly, when he stops you.
“Hey,” he sounds breathless - he is breathless - as his own hands quiver a bit and grab onto yours, “Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.”
Those hands let go of your wrists and reach for the hat, and you’re quick to try and swat them away only for him to grab at you, surprisingly gentle, as he drags you back up to your feet.
“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy – right?” you insist, chin held high, your gaze refusing to waver from his.
His slow and buttery grin makes you lightheaded, his low chuckle sends shakes through every nerve and bone. “That’s right, but maybe the cowboy wants to take his time. Ever think of that, hm?”
Were you moving too fast? Were you going to scare him off?
Small, baby steps are taken by Eddie, the click of his heels shattering against your wooden floors until his hips are flush with yours.
And - oh.
Oh.
That surely didn’t feel like you were scaring him off.
You could feel the outline of his cock, hard against your hip, as he gives a little roll. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a hard breath, and the fear leaves as quickly as it had arrived.
He wants this. You want him.
“I’m not a very patient person,” you murmur, eyes glued to his lips now as his head leans in closer, and his hands begin to explore your body. Taking their time as they travel down your arms from where he’d held onto your biceps, slowing as they reach your wrists. Even the press of his thumb against the sensitive inner skin there sends jolts up your spine, little gasps attempting to escape your mouth.
His fingers tangle loosely with your own for a few moments before his palms find your hips, and he continues his journey.
“That’s okay,” he whispers back, close enough now that his lips have begun to brush against your own. His nose bumps yours as his hands skate up over your ribcage, thumb sweeping out over the hill of your breast and intentionally avoiding your nipple, “I can teach you, baby.”
Your mouth finally collides with him at the words, nearly going limp in his arms at the words.
You’ve thought about kissing Eddie for a while now. Every time a snarky remark fell from his lips, you’d wonder how his tongue might taste afterwards. Every time he’d pout his lips at one of your comebacks, or blow a kiss teasingly in your direction from across a room, you’d wonder how hard you might have to bite down to make him bleed. Every drag of a cigarette you’d witnessed, every hard gasp in faux offense, every breathless chuckle at a joke he didn’t want to find funny but did – you had spent a lot of time wondering what it might be like to steal all the air from his lungs, to kiss him until the two of you were both blue in the face.
“Can’t the lesson wait until tomorrow?” you mumble against him as his mouth, your own fists now gripping onto the lapels of his vest. His hands have reached your shoulders, memorizing the outlines of the curve of your neck where it meets your collarbones, the slope of your chest as you take hot and heavy breaths.
“Nope,” he insists, pulling back from the kiss, a little bit of spit on his pink lips, “But it’s nice to know you’re thinking about tomorrow.”
A hand finally finds your chin and pinches it carefully between his thumb and fingers, a careful grip on you to angle you just right so he can all but devour you. Lips, tongues, teeth – it’s a messy ordeal, and you almost make a smart-ass remark that this kiss doesn’t feel very patient.
But you can’t. Eddie’s taken away all your breaths, all your words, as he starts to guide you backwards.
Your knees hit the cushions of your sofa, making you jump back from him with a gasp, palms going flat against his chest.
He feels good. Tender skin soft to the touch beneath your hand, tattoos tempting to trace the outline of. Later.
“Figured you might want a more comfortable ride,” he laughs against you, breath smelling ever so faintly of mint and whiskey washing over you, before he dips to mouth away at your neck.
You drop back onto the sofa, bite your tongue on a comment about how this cheap piece of furniture most definitely wasn’t the most comfortable option, simply eager at the fact he was letting this move along.
You want him, you need him, and you have no time for patience.
His exploration of touches have lit you aflame, and you’re growing a bit desperate at this point. It might be pathetic, it should be embarrassing, but you really don’t care.
“By all means,” you break out of his hold entirely, catching the way his hand holding your chin lingers a few extra seconds, reluctant to let you go, “Take your seat, Cowboy.”
He joins you on the couch, eyes never leaving yours even as he throws himself down. Knees spread wide, inviting lap on show, cock still straining against his pants.
The best seat in the house, as far as you’re concerned.
“You just gonna keep starin’,” he mocks lightly, looking you over slowly. Taking his time, you suppose, “Or you gonna get over here?”
His words are all you need. You’re quick to climb onto his lap, swinging your legs so that each thigh brackets his hips, your cunt pressing down on crotch carelessly. You love the way it feels – the outline of him hard against you, the cooling effect of the leather, the sharp edges of the zipper catching just right.
“There,” he huffs out, grabbing onto you when you give the slightest roll of your hips, “Now we’re both in our seats.”
When you go to press down harder, guiding yourself over his lap, hands steadying you by gripping his shoulders, he surprises you by his hips jumping up to meet your slow rhythm.
“What happened to being patient?” you try to tease him right back as your forehead meets his, hat comically struggling to stay on between the two of you, “Thought you were gonna take your time with me-”
“Between you and me, I’m not gonna last,” he pants out, hands finding your hips. Those rings you’d been fantasizing of leaving an imprint on you are doing just that as he guides you, “Been dreaming of you too long, sweetheart. Wanted this for so long.”
Your heart nearly stops. Your hips stutter, pausing as his words rush over you.
“What?”
Your head lifts away from his completely, grip on his shoulders tightening.
He’s wanted this, too? This entire time?
Eddie takes your pause as a bad thing, a terrible omen as his face pales, “I mean- I just-”
“Munson,” you say lowly, narrowing your eyes at him, “You’re telling me, this entire time, you’ve been flirting with me?”
Had that tone he used with the girl at the bar been flirting as you’d thought, or simple for show? You’d so cluelessly assumed he’d never used that tone with you because he’d never genuinely flirted with you – and yet, it seems, he’d never used that tone because he’d been genuinely flirting with you.
“I-” his cheeks are brilliant red, and the wide eyes are from something different than lust now, “Maybe?”
“Maybe?” you almost laugh, throwing your head back. The hat falls off, but Eddie is quick to retrieve it, “My God, we’re fucking idiots.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who stole my hat-”
“I like you, dumb ass,” you state plainly, “I wanted this for a while, too.”
He pauses, one arm outstretched as his hand grips onto the hat, “What?”
“Been thinking about this, too,” your voice drops a little, almost a whisper, even though you two are the only ones in the room. For all you know, you two might be the only two people left in the world with the way he’s looking at you, “Thinking about you and your lips. Thinking ‘bout your hands and the places they’d go,” as you point out every detail, his body seemingly reacts. A lick of his lips, a squeeze of his hand still on your hip, “Thought about your fingers and tongue a lot, too. How good they’d feel inside me.”
His hips thrust up at that, and suddenly, he’s placing his hat back atop your head.
That, it seems, was all the encouragement Eddie needed.
He deals with that belt buckle that had given you hell, bouncing you a bit on his lap as he fumbles with yanking the entire belt off and tossing it to the side. One hand busies with undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, as the other starts to bunch your dress.
“Nice and slow,” he insists, looking up at you, absolutely vibrant. Somewhere between the tightness between your hips, all the throbbing between your thighs and in your chest, you feel a sort of bubbly delight creeping up along your spine. “Got it, kitty?”
You nod once. Twice. On the third nod, he cuts you off with a kiss.
Your dress is up to your waist, and you don’t know how, but he manages to shimmy off his pants without throwing you off his lap entirely. It’s impressive, really. Probably a symptom of him having thought about this, dreamt about this. He’d probably thought up every scenario possible, and was prepared.
“Oh, and these?” his fingers find the waistband of your panties, tsking a little as he pulls at the elastic and lets it slap back against your skin, “Those definitely have to come off.”
“Whatever you say, cowboy.”
You take your time sliding off his lap, making sure to grind against him before you properly lift away. He throws his head back in a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as you stand up straight. You take that moment to just admire him, capturing the clench of his jaw to memory, the way his eyes screw shut in pleasure at your influence.
He’s fucking perfect. You’re sure there’s others who disagree, but you’d pay them no mind. He’s perfect, and he’s all yours.
You make a show of taking off your panties only once he’s properly looking at you once more, craving his eyes on you as you keep all your movements fluid and steady. No rush, exuding all that patience he’d prattled on about.
You want to see his face when you gently toss the black lacey piece in his direction, watch him fumble with his own desperation to catch them.
“Seems a bit unfair that I’m the only one undressing,” you hum as you go a step further and begin to shimmy out of the dress.
“Yeah, well,” he grins cheekily at you, fisting your panties, a hand trailing down to the waistband of his boxers as he eyes you, “One of us was showing a bit more skin than the other.”
“Take off the vest, Eddie.”
Your command is velvet, and he’s quick to obey. His hand stubbornly refuses to let go of your panties as he rushes to shrug out of the thin fabric over his shoulders, tossing the vest to join his pants and your dress on the floor.
“And the boxers.”
You stand there, in nothing but his cowboy hat, as you wait pretty and patient for him to listen. And listen he does.
The moment his boxers are discarded, his cock is standing at attention, leaking from the tip and deep shade of pink that matches his kiss-bitten lips. You think it might be the prettiest color you’ve ever laid eyes on as you watch a drop of precum slip down his shaft.
He’s pretty, even in the fucking pants.
Girthy, thick enough you almost arch your back before you’ve even sunk down on him. All veins and soft skin, a sensitive tip that you’d trace your tongue over for hours if he let you.
“Gonna just stand there, or are you going to ride your cowboy?”
He surely meant to sound more cocky, but the words come out as more of a whine as you watch him twitch under your stare.
He’s right though, and you’d rather get him inside you than spend another second gawking. There will be time to pay more attention to him and his pretty cock tomorrow. Right now, you need to finish this god-forsaken mission.
Your thighs find his hips just as his hands find yours, choosing to grip the couch rather than his shoulders as you steady yourself.
Nice and slow, his words echo in your mind.
You could have prepared yourself more, but you’d already made it clear to Eddie that you are not a patient person. The fact that you even take your time as you sink down on him, going as far as to grab him by his base and guide his tip to smear precum across your clit, is impressive.
The stretch is a bit painful. A bit much. A bit dizzying. But you refuse to stop as your jaw drops, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.
“Fuck,” you breathe out softly as you feel him fill you, “Fuck, Eddie.”
“Feel good, baby?” he questions, reaching up to grab your chin just as he had before. Forcing you closer to him, forcing you to look him in the eyes just as he bottoms out.
You don’t answer him as you both moan out.
You stay there for a second, unmoving as you swim in the feeling. Feeling him press into the depths of you, the overwhelming warmth and the coil in your abdomen tightening ever so slightly.
It’s better than you had imagined it. No daydreams could compare to the feeling of Eddie’s cock finally, finally filling you. Stretching you out, making you his.
“Go ahead,” he grits out, entire body tense, clearly holding out on you, “Ride your cowboy, kitty. Don’t make me ask twice.”
Nice. And. Slow.
Three little words that ricochet through your mind as you start to slowly bounce on him. Lifting ever so slightly, dropping back down, aching to feel him even deeper inside of you. Feeling the quiver of his thighs to match yours as you repeat the action, gasps and whimpers falling from both your lips. You’re about to try and kiss him, try and swallow all those delicate noises from him, when he stops you.
“No, no, no,” he’s chuckling, giving your hips a few squeezes before his palms rub down your thighs, the friction sending you on edge, “C’mon, now. We both know that’s not how you ride.”
His hands rake over your skin, down to your knees, lighting scratching and squeezing along their entire pathway until they make their way back up to your waist and hips.
“Do it like this, sweetheart.”
He guides you, no longer allowing you to lift up. You sink all the way down on his cock, whining out at the fullness, before he starts the pattern.
Back and forth. Gentle circles amidst the rocking. Your clit grazes his pubes, and the coil in between your hips has never tightened more quickly.
The motion feels familiar - like riding a bull.
This feels right. You still press down, still clench down on him hard enough to make you both slip out obscenities, but it’s getting you there.
At some point, Eddie’s grip on your hips slips, but it’s fine – you’ve got the rhythm down perfectly. Slow, intermittent figure eights between the rolls of your hips, his occasionally slamming upward to reward you with that deepness you need. You can feel him in your stomach, in your chest, in your throat.
You get a bit daring, and take one hand to his shoulders, as the other reaches up for the top of the hat on your head.
Just like a cowboy.
“Like this?” you pant out between harsher rolls, eliciting curses that continue to grow louder from Eddie.
“Fuck, baby, yes,” he groans out, head thrown back, mouth open in gratification, “Just like that. Keep- keep going just,” he thrusts up, “Like,” another thrust, “That.”
You nearly lose balance, falling forward a bit, too stubborn to let go of the hat. There’s a grin glimmering at the corners of your mouth, and it fully blooms when Eddie throws up a hand to catch you .
A hand on your throat.
He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t cut off blood flow or breathing. He keeps that warm palm there at the base of your neck, cradling you, holding you. A reminder that he could squeeze if he wanted, that he held you in the palm of his hands currently, but he won’t.
“You like that?” his eyes shine as he looks up at you, the sight of his rings decorating your neck.
You nod.
“Tell me with your words,” he commands.
“I like it,” you whimper, looking up further, stretching more of your neck to be vulnerable to Eddie. “I like it so much, baby.”
When the pet name falls from your lips, you can feel him twitch inside of you. The sudden jut of his hips, the sharp intake of breath.
“You like that,” you laugh breathlessly, your hand atop the hat the only thing keeping it from falling as you lean your head fully back, eyes beginning to roll back into your head. “Wanna be my baby, Munson?”
“Always have,” he grunts, the hand on your throat slipping up to cup your face to drag you towards him, “Since the fucking moment I met you, sweetheart.”
When he kisses you, it tastes like the closest to Heaven you might ever get. Soft, plump lips, and an eager tongue. All the wasted time hiding behind jokes and teasing, playing pretend like the flirting was never serious.
It was serious. And if you’d just come clean sooner, you would have had this long ago.
Your hips are still rolling as your hands begin to roam. You’ve found your balance again, lips pressed to Eddie, and it’s your turn to explore all he has to give you. Your nails graze his stomach when your clit catches once more on that rough thatch of hair against the base of his cock. Your fingers dig into flesh wherever they can find it – his chest, his arms, his hips. At some point, you throw a hand out behind you, grasping for his knee. Learning every curve and every point of his body as he had done for you.
You wanna memorize the roadmap of him. Take a snapshot in your mind so that next time, none of it is unfamiliar territory.
Your touch is driving him insane; it doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the way his hips falter to meet your movements, or how he keeps breaking the kiss to gasp, letting his jaw fall slack when he hits a particular deep spot within you.
It’s when your lips finally trail down the stubble sprouting across his jawline, mouth sucking on the soft skin below his ear, that he’s finally a goner.
“‘M close,” he gasps out, almost sounding drunk as he slurs through his pants, “Ah, fuck, I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me, Eddie.”
Maybe it’s the way you had been touching him, or the way your cunt had been fluttering around him, or the persistent rolling of your hips that had become so focused on his pleasure. Maybe it was the sight of you in his hat, looking at him like that. Maybe it was the way his name sounded on your tongue.
Either way, when Eddie Munson comes undone, he’s beautiful.
Your own movements slow involuntarily as you gaze starry eyed, watching the way his face scrunches and feeling his grip on you tighten impossibly. Leaving their mark, making you his in yet another way. Warmth fills your cunt and every curse word under the summer sun is falling from his lips.
Your name, curses, prayers, gratitude – a jumbled mess, and it sounds fucking fantastic when it’s said in Eddie’s desperate tone.
“Shit,” he gasps out, finally coming back down to Earth, “Shit.”
You sit still on his lap, skin sticky with sweat, lips spread thin in a cheeky grin, “Sounds like I get to keep your hat, cowboy.”
His eyes shoot open, and for a second, you’re terrified.
Those aren’t the eyes of someone satisfied.
“You didn’t cum.”
“What?”
“You,” he says, stressing the word as he shifts you off his lap. You don’t miss the way he winces, clearly a bit sensitive, “Did not cum.”
You hadn’t really noticed, too wrapped up in him to notice your high slipping away from you. You’d been too focused on Eddie: on feeling him cum inside you, on watching him break apart, on tracing the outline of the blood rushing to his cheeks with your eyes and that fresh burst of violet on his neck in the shape of your lips.
“It’s fine,” you start to argue, feeling the warmth of him leaking down your thighs. You should be a lot more worried about making a mess all over your sofa. You should be, but you aren’t. “I can-”
“You’re not keeping that fucking hat until you cum for me, sweetheart.”
And, oh, maybe your own orgasm wasn’t racing as far away from you as you’d believed, because those words nearly push you over the edge for him.
“Get on all fours for me, baby.”
Yeah. You definitely could still be close. For him.
When you don’t move to follow his command immediately, he’s using those gentle hands to guide you. Encouraging a twist of your hips from how you’re reclining back across the couch, letting you press your cheek down against the cushion.
You open your mouth to argue, to insist it was fine, to say anything, but you’re cut silent when a sudden slap lands on your ass.
A silent command this time, and you’re finally listening.
You lift your ass up for him on shaky knees, elbows digging into the cushion now instead of your face. The hat on your head is lopsided, and you almost reach up to fix it when-
“I’ll be taking that,” For the first time since you’d stolen his hat, Eddie takes it back. Right off your head, too fast for you to protest. When you dig your chin into your shoulder to look back at him, he’s smiling, hat back in its rightful place atop his curls, “You can have it back after you cum for me, at least once.”
“At least once?” you mean to laugh, to sound cocky, but it comes out as more of a squeak.
He shrugs, leaning forward, his bare chest pressing against the skin of your bare ass – right where an imprint of his hand still sings, “At least. By all means, if you feel the need, don’t hesitate to give me a few. God knows you’ve earned it.”
You don’t have time to banter back; he retracts before bring his mouth down to your cunt, and your elbows quickly give out at the first long stride of his tongue.
“Gotta get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, a bit muffled, against your cunt.
Another stride, and this time, his tongue spends an extra second at your clit, circling it salaciously.
“Oh, God,” you moan out into a mouthful of couch cushion, tempted to bite down to hide all the noises creeping up your throat when his tongue draws yet another circle, tip of his nose pressed to your sensitive hole.
He brings his tongue back to that space, that hole that feels gaping without him filling you now, and you try to bury your cheek only to earn another slap on the ass.
“Don’t be shy now, kitty. Let me hear you.”
And let him hear you, you do.
Each lick, short and timid or long and confident, is dredging up obscene mewls from you. When he enters you with it, curling it and pressing as deep as he can, truly cleaning you up as he had said, you’re chanting his name.
“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry softly, rocking your body back against his mouth, “Your fingers. P-Please, use your fingers.”
Your wish is his command as he brings his hand up between your legs, breaking from having his tongue buried inside of you and using a calloused pad of his finger to trace over your clit before he begs, “Say my name again.”
You do. Over, and over, and over as his mouth and his fingers begin to work against you. Careful focus is placed on your clit, and his mouth runs amok between your cunt and thighs. You feel what will no doubt be hickies along the curve of your ass, nips of teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he presses two fingers into you. With every thrust of his hand, your hips are rocking back to match his rhythm, wanting more.
More, more, more.
There’s nothing nice and slow about this. You’re chasing after a high, and Eddie is listening to you every step of the way.
Your thighs begin to shake terribly right around the time your vision blurs, unable to contain the whines that have grown to echoing volumes. Surely, your neighbors can hear. Probably confused as to who Eddie is, probably considering how embarrassing it would be to knock down your door and complain about the noises.
You really, really don’t give a fuck when white speckles flood your vision, even with your eyes screwed shut, and that tension between your hips threatens to snap.
Right before your knees give out, your entire body trembling, Eddie pulls back and grabs your hips. You cry out, so close yet so far, until he’s flipping you back over.
You get one glimpse of him before he goes to work to bring you over that edge – lips and chin slick with you, hair frizzing beneath his hat, a determined glint in his eyes that have your thighs clenching around his ears.
You were right. Eddie Munson looks damn good between your thighs.
He quickly returns to his mitigations, and this time, it’s all a bit more strategic. Lips suctioned around your clit and three fingers curling deep within you, a beckoning motion as he urges you to let go for him.
The white returns behind your eyelids. Your back arches up off the sofa. Your ankles lock as they cross behind Eddie’s back, almost effectively trapping him in place.
You cum hard for him.
You’re entirely unaware if you scream his name in the process, but you hope you do. As that relief, that ecstasy, floods your system, you hope you make sure everyone within a five mile radius knows who’s responsible. Your entire body continues to shake for far longer than you believe it ever has before. Your hips had lifted, begging for Eddie to keep going even as it all grew painful.
He does. He keeps going, sucking you dry for every drop you have to give him, until you’re physically having to shove him away.
Your hands are weak as you sink down into the cushion, eyes still closed as you hear him chuckle before you feel him crawl his way back up your body.
“There,” you don’t even need to see his face to see that smug satisfaction – his voice is dripping in it. “Now you can keep the hat.”
One of your hands blindly throws itself through the air to smack him, missing entirely as you drift through the afterglow of it all.
“I’m not sure I’ve earned it,” you mumble as he catches your wrist, limp in the air, “Pretty sure I didn’t break you when I made you cum.”
“Oh, you did,” he notes, hand curling around your wrist. You watch as he slowly brings it to his lips, peppering a few chaste kisses on the soft skin, “Just in a different way.”
You raise your eyebrows, smiling at the tingling feeling left behind on your skin in the wake of his mouth, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He tugs you to sit up despite your groan of protest, somehow smoothly maneuvering the two of you so that he’s now the one beneath you, letting the full weight of you bear down on his chest as you lay on top of him. The hand wrapped around your wrist brings it back up for more kisses, more repetitive gentle pecks of affection, as his other arm is quick to wrap around you. Holding you in place, as though he’s scared you might disappear.
“Well,” you whisper against the bare skin of his chest, nearly shivering when his free hand starts to trail slowly up and down your spine, “Good.”
Your cheek feels the vibrations of his chuckle, “That’s all you have to say?”
“Give me a few minutes to recover,” you insist, all but nuzzling into him, “I’m sure I’ll have a smartass comeback for you once I’m…” you trail off, heavy eyes looking up at him, the words lost on your tongue and in the air.
The gentle curve of his cupid’s bow. The roundness at the end of his nose, still a fading hue of pink. The freckle beneath his right eye. The way the phantom of the dimple of his left cheek never quite leaves his face.
All the things you’ve dreamt of seeing so up close, never knowing it could have been a reality.
He lets go of your wrist, smiling softly with a shake of his head, “Can’t believe you’re gonna fall asleep on me.”
“Am not,” you nearly say under your breath, sighing in content.
“Am too,” he mocks, a certain docility to all his teasing before he sighs as well, “It’s okay. You can. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
You hum, eyes fluttering shut as you hear some rustling, “Promise, cowboy?”
“Absolutely, kitty. You said something about tomorrow, remember?”
You both laugh in sync as your couch suddenly becomes the most comfortable place in the world.
Just before losing consciousness, right as you feel Eddie’s breathing even out along with your own, you decide to open your eyes one last time to catch sight of the cowboy hat perched carefully on your coffee table.
Tomorrow. You hope for a thousand tomorrows as you decide that that hat is definitely yours now.
Your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface; He knew you'd cross paths again as he watched your amiable self skip down the road and fade into the distance.
6k words
Girly reader who is obsessed with Art 🎀
Do I even need to say that it's smut it's all I ever write
You played the part well, he'd give you that. Art had first caught sight of you in the old costume shop in Miles County, lurking towards the back where all the nauseating pinks and creams amalgamated to create it's own fantasy-like microcosm, full of various princess and fairy costumes and similar varieties.
He didn't particularly pay you much mind initially, his focus solely on the girl he often terrorised, grinning eerily at her with a sense of foreboding. He remained cruelly amused even as the adolescent with the ironic angel wings dashed out of the shop, eager to flee his suffocating presence.
His mind had slipped the possibility that you had remained within the shop, excitedly trying on pretty tiaras and adorning yourself with sparkly jewellery, all the while remaining oblivious to the grotesque murder of the store assistant, his head cut clean from his neck. Blood pooled upon the floor, draining from the ugly orifice. His head had been tossed haphazardly to the side.
He had heard your bubbly self round the corner, humming happily with an armful of items and clothes, before bumping into his side hastily. Art peered down at your mildly shocked expression, gauging the way your round cheeks appled out into a smile.
Blood lightly covered his form, and specs of it had been transferred onto you. You didn't react, as happy as ever, giggling at your mistake. "Pardon me! I'm sorry, I'm in a world of my own.", your curls bounced as you gazed around the shop, bypassing the crude, decapitated head, and instead focusing on the locked door at the entrance of the shop.
"Oh! I didn't realise they shut so early. That's okay, I've got everything I need.", you whirled past him, almost skipping over to the door and unlocking it. The dresses and other items in your hands still had the tags on them, unscanned and unpaid for. As soon as you stepped a foot out the door, the alarm rang.
Even still, you remained as unperturbed as ever, glancing back at the clown. "You won't tell, will you?", you had indicated to your stolen goods, flashing him a dazzling smile. "You look like someone who knows how to keep a secret.", your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye.
In fact, your smile rivalled Arts as he nodded slowly that, yes, he could definitely keep a secret. His head tilted inquisitively, searching your expression for a semblance of fear or shock, but he genuinely found none. As you offered him a cheerful goodbye and skipped off down the road, Art bet most people thought you were ditzy and dumb.
Staring at your receding form in the distance, Arts keen eyes knew the aura of darkness when he saw it. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface. He didn't bother seeking you out, you were bound to cross paths.
That had been a year ago. A few weeks after your initial meeting, Art had paused his laborious work of crafting within the dilapidated house due to the sound of male shouting tinged with irritation.
"You've brought me out here for what? You said I could fuck you, so why the fuck are you leading me into the middle of nowhere? Got your boyfriend out here or something?"
The tone was downright condescending and full of unrighteous anger; he believed you owed him something. Art stood amongst the shadows of the lowering sun, arms crossed languidly as he watched, recognising your melodious voice instantly.
"You don't have to be so crude about it, I just want to have a romantic walk in the forest." You pouted, eyelashes fluttering at him as a small smile tugged at your lips, a pretty sheen of lipgloss staining them rosy.
The man gave you a disgusted grimace, checking his phone repetitively. He seemed aggravated, pawing at your skirt covered hips and backing you into a nearby tree. He outright ignored everything sweet you had to say, barely sparing you a glance as he scrutinised your form hugging jumper appreciatively.
Still, you prattled on and on, rambling kindly about how beautiful the forest became in the autumn, how refreshingly cold it was and that it was the perfect weather for a nice walk-
"You've got such a slutty body. Shut your mouth for me, yeah?" Hands began smoothing the already short skirt up your thighs, bunching the fabric, before they were slapped away. You ducked past him, skipping over to your bag that you had dropped earlier on and started searching for something.
"I just need to grab a condom. I'm a good girl, you know." You twirled a lock of hair with a sly smirk, digging through the multitude of items within your handbag. You pouted your lips in mild irritation, hand swiftly seeking what you needed, before you nodded to yourself happily, hand clutching what you desired.
Standing straight, you twirled around and offered the man a wink, to which he scoffed. Barely a second later, his kneecap was blown off as a resounding bang echoed throughout the thicket.
He screamed and fell to the floor in a heap, blood pouring grotesquely over the leaves that blanketed the damp ground. You held the gun out in front of you, aiming steadily. You shot the other knee, face stoic, and rolled your eyes at the blood curdling scream he released.
Art remained in the shadows, arms folded with intrigue as he chuckled to himself, eyebrows low. He watched the man roll back and forth upon the ground, crying out for help and for mercy. Peering back at you, he cocked his head at the way you giggled with a delicate hand covering your mouth, gun held high.
"You're so silly for thinking I'd ever let you touch me. At least take a girl out for dinner first, you know?"
With a playful wave goodbye, you shot him in the head, watching the way his body collapsed backwards, twitching. All fell silent. You sighed contentedly at the peace, smoothing your skirt back into place pristinely.
A rustle of leaves drew your attention, a tall, monochromatic man standing eerily still, lurking behind a tree at you. He was grinning. You waved at him amicably; he returned the gesture.
"Oh, I'd recognise you anywhere! From the costume shop, right?"
Art nodded slowly, stepping out from behind the tree and taking measured steps towards you. You still held the gun in your hand, but it was pointed at the floor.
As the clown approached, you found your neck craning upwards, his body swallowing you in it's shadow. He was lithe and lumbersome, grinning down at you.
"Think you could keep another secret, Mr tall and handsome?" You giggled, face a light pink from his close proximity and intense stare; he was alluring. In fact, you found yourself downright infatuated with him. You could sense the danger oozing off of him in waves, and although a bolt of caution shot through you, you couldn't deny the peculiar attraction you felt to his unique and theatrical self.
Art declined his head down at you, pointing softly to himself, humbly, as though to say 'who, me?', before comically twisting to look behind him, seeking out the other person you were surely complimenting.
It made you giggle again, smiling sweetly up at him as you shook your head at his playfulness. "Sorry, I shouldn't be so bold. You're the miles county killer, aren't you? It makes me nervous being in the presence of someone way above my calibre."
Your eyes fluttered around cutely, before returning up at him with a beautiful sparkle. Art waved off your compliment dramatically, grin sharpening at your girlish giggle. To anyone else, his rigid closeness and predatory stare down would immediately raise flags. But you seemed happy enough, cheeks a cute pink.
"It's so difficult though, being efficient, secretive and untraceable just like you. If I had half of your strength, it would make my life so much easier. It really takes it out of me having to lug these bodies around. And also-"
Art didn't take notice of when you both had begun to walk slowly through the shadowed forest, only that he didn't mind hearing your rambling. He watched you gesture dramatically as you told your stories of having to lure horrible men into the woods before shooting them, and cocked an eyebrow as you suddenly changed subject and fawned over the falling leaves, excitedly proclaiming your love for the various reds, oranges and yellows.
Art nodded thoughtfully at most things you said, even if the gesture was slightly mocking in its sincerity. Even still, he quite liked your voice, and he found himself laughing at some of the tales you told. You were delicate, short of stature compared to him; It would be incredibly easy to reach over and snap your neck. Art found that he didn't want to.
He wasn't restraining himself out of kindness, and he wasn't even actively attempting to be polite. He simply wanted to act this way, here and now, as spontaneous as always. It was humorous, for once he was the one listening calmly, and you were the one grinning far too widely at him.
That was some time ago. Since your first real introduction, you had seen Art here and there, pleasantly surprised when he'd turn up just as you were about to clean up the mess you made of a body, only to drag it with ease to whichever location you desired and burn it.
From there on, sightings of him became even more frequent, moreso to the point that one day you heard a crash in your kitchen, running down with gun in hand, only to bare witness to Art standing menacingly with a horrific smile, blood coating his form and a scissors and pliers held intimidatingly.
Upon seeing you, confusion entered his eyes, his hands lowering. You had never seen the clown appear bashful at his own mistake, raising his hands and shrugging as though to say 'oops'.
It made you giggle, hand to mouth. You pointed towards the window, indicating to the house nearby. "Art, weren't you supposed to be killing my neighbour tonight? You've trespassed the wrong house!" You snickered, bounding over to him excitedly and staring up at him with the most innocent, adoring expression; it made him want to lift the pliers and rip your stunning eyes out and keep them forever.
Art had the decency to realise his mistake, scratching the back of his head awkwardly before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He remembered you saying you lived close to his next victim, but he didn't realise you were adjacent. Mistakes for him were so rare.
Art scoffed at himself, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air as though saying 'ive made a real mess of this'. His theatrics made you laugh, increasing drastically as you watched the way he perched his hands on his hips in exasperation.
"I'm really glad you're here. I've never shown you around my home before, so..if you've got time..." You trailed off softly, lifting your hands and crossing your fingers with hope as you danced side to side, awaiting his response.
Art deliberated upon that, taking his time as he watched you dance, before shrugging once with a grin. Sure, why not. He could spare a minute or two before he absolutely maimed your neighbour.
He felt your smaller form bolt over to his side and lock arms with him, and he let you. You pulled him along, showing him each room swiftly before dragging him up to your bedroom and pushing him in.
"You look soo dangerous in my room! I love it!"
You had a point. Perusing the room, he found it to be incredibly girly. You had a lot of pinks, fairy lights everywhere and a few teddies here and there. His monochromatic self standing eerily still within your room feels like he's siphoning the pretty colours out of it.
Regardless, you utterly beamed at him, more than happy. You bordered on manic, he thought, body shaking in excitement and fists clenched so hard. Your bright grin stretched wide, eyes round and watchful, focusing solely on him and his reaction.
After what felt like ages, Art lifted a finger up to his neck and mimicked a cutting motion, head tilted to the side and tongue poking out like a comical cartoon character that had been killed. This room was far too bright for him, sickeningly sweet and adorable, but your high pitched giggles of glee at his honest opinion had him chuckling silently too, eyebrows low as he watched you dazzle.
That had been one of your biggest turning points with the clown, and from that day you saw him almost daily. In fact, he walked into your home whenever he felt like it. You'd find him lounging on your chair by the TV at random times in the night, or eating at your kitchen table serenely.
What you cherished the most was when he took you to his dilapidated hideout, dark and dingy and cold, fully juxtaposing your little home; you were now the only beacon of light and colour in this place.
He did enjoy terrifying you now and again, especially in his hideout, his tall form no longer behind you, silently waiting for the moment to make you scream. Each time it made you incredibly excited, anxiety building up inside of you giddily.
When you'd least expect it, Art would be there, coming at you with a hatchet and swinging it downwards playfully. He'd listen to your high pitched squeals and relish in the way you'd flinch and cover yourself protectively. He'd laugh and point at you, shaking his head; it got you every time.
"You're so scary! But honestly, you're so attractive when you do that. Surely some of your victims admit that? The women? Maybe some men?" You swayed your shoulders bashfully, cheeks turning pink like they so often did in his presence.
Art paused at that, a mild look of bewilderment shaping his face at your proclamation, before a sinister smirk darkened the expression considerably. You blinked owlishly as the clown began to take measured, predatory steps towards you, backing you into a damp wall.
He was so tall, caging you against his body, and all you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, gnawing your pretty lips in anticipation of his next move. He chuckled silently at your reddening cheeks and the way you reached your hands up to cup them delicately. Finally, as an answer, he shook his head slowly.
You seemed mortified. "Did you cut their eyes out first or something? You're handsome to me! Tall, intimidating, dark, incredibly strong--", you began counting on your hand all of Arts best qualities, all the while the clown crossed his arms and nodded patiently, egging you on to continue with a wave of his hand.
"--Honestly, I've always thought this, but I didn't want to be too bold, and I'm feeling really shy with you backing me up against the wall but I also love it, and--and I'm rambling because I'm nervous."
Your admittance seemed to be the biggest factor that contributed to how the two of you were now: You completely smitten with him, and him accepting the fact that he would never kill you. You were sweet and you made the best hot chocolate, and you did make the killings more fun so he'd keep you around.
You were incredibly bubbly, always smiling at him beautifully and helping him cut up body parts with your constant giggles that rivalled his own. He had unintentionally made you cry once, and a foreign emotion had struck him.
Art thought it would be incredibly amusing to offer you a badly wrapped gift with a human body part inside it. He did it mostly to shock you and hear your shrieks of surprise that would eventually melt into laughter, and he didn't particularly put much thought into what body part he would gift you with.
Upon opening the box, you were stunned into silence at seeing the rotten, maggot infested heart staring back at you. You didn't cry out or scream, and you didn't giggle or smile. Instead, your large eyes filled to the brim with tears, lips quivering before the fat droplets spilled over and a sob was wrenched from you.
"Oh my God.", you held a hand to your mouth, mascara streaking your cheeks messily. "Is that a heart? For..for me?", you spoke in utter disbelief, words whispered and shaking. Art cocked his head at your peculiar display of sadness, but nodded nonetheless. He had never seen you cry before.
"That's the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me.", you rushed out in a broken sob, sniffling and wiping your tears profusely. Art blinked, face depicting confusion, lips tilted downward. His mind blanked as he awaited your explanation, amusement doused temporarily.
"Id always appreciate anything you gift me, but a heart? Of course I'll be your girlfriend!" You shrieked out with a sob, box dropping to the floor as you jumped and lunged at the clown, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
He felt your tears soak his neck, his hands lifted up in mild shock, face deadpan, frozen as you wrapped your body around his own, perched upon his lap. Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in amusement and exasperation, mimicking your emotional sobs over your shoulder with a dramatic pout, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.
He eventually threw his hands up in defeat, chuckling to himself. He did not foresee a reaction like this coming when you opened that box. He was more than content to play along, and eventually wrapped his strong hands around your body, charcoal eyes swirling with evil. He rather enjoyed your spontaneity.
Following the initiation into an apparent 'relationship', Art received a few gifts from you too. He himself received a human heart in a black, satin box. It was relatively fresh, and he couldn't help but sigh dreamily and flutter his eyelashes at the romantic gesture. His theatrics were over the top and evidently condescending, but it flew over your pretty head.
He was mildly impressed. You often used guns to kill your victims, lacking the strength and speed to ever out maneuver anyone bigger than yourself. Your hands were never that dirty either, you were not acquainted with using sharp weapons on the human body, so to be gifted a heart of all things, carved with effort from somebody's chest - it made Art nod in genuine approval.
The rest was history.
Art felt unnaturally domesticated within your presence, but he really didn't mind. You had a lot of uses, and he couldn't deny the possession he held for you. If claiming you as his own meant that you were in a 'relationship', then so be it.
He remained nonchalant to your girlish romanticism. He found it to be amusing and peculiarly cute, and even when he'd coo at you mockingly like a little dog, you loved it. In fact, a lot of his condescension did not perturb you. You were overjoyed at him mocking your kissy faces, pouting petulantly, mirroring your own actions.
Art couldn't deny enjoying the tender moments too. He had come to the conclusion long ago that he would never kill you - you were the only exception - and would display surprising levels of intimacy if only to hear your high pitched giggles and tease you for your pinkening cheeks.
Like right now, how he had his large palm delicately stroking your soft hair, brushing strands out of your face. His hand reached down to cup the side of your face, thumb tenderly rubbing circles upon your cheekbone.
You sighed dreamily, the exhale leaving your nose as you bobbed your head up and down his thick length. You sat perched on your knees between his wide thighs on the living room floor, sticky lipgloss leaving a messy residue on his shaft, your lips glistening with saliva.
You had been doing this for a while, languidly pleasuring him, and he let you. He allowed you to sink to your knees and fondle him until he was half hard before your loving mouth engulfed him. All the while, he watched whatever movie you had on TV.
Even when his dick was fully hard, splitting your jaw apart, he barely looked at you. He was focused on the movie, a masked killer hunting a woman down, and hardly spared you a glance even as you worked him faster, slurping and sucking him messily.
It made you unbearably wet, craving his attention, craving even a semblance of pleasure in his expression, or a buck of his hips to indicate that he was enjoying it. Instead, he stroked your cheek delicately, lazily, as though you were a pet that was doing a satisfactory job and nothing more.
Your brows knit together frustratedly, and you took him deep into your throat, saliva pooling down your chin as you choked and moaned quietly at the pulsating between your thighs. You were so wet it was beginning to coat them.
Granted, you had foregone the underwear, instead wearing an incredibly short skirt that had your plump ass cheeks hanging out. You were needy today, you depended on his attention, but he refused to spare you even a thought and it made childish tears well up in your eyes.
Your knees spread below you, skirt rising up higher upon your hips. If he had spared even a moments gaze upon you, he'd see the way your tight, puckered hole swallowed a pretty buttplug, embellished with a sparkling pink diamond on the end.
The pressure was pleasant, and you used your inner muscles to squeeze the toy, wiggling desperately as you did. You closed your eyes as you began sucking him lewdly now, the sounds becoming sloppy and loud as you reached a hand between your legs to play with your aching clitoris.
You were dripping whorishly upon the floor, moaning around his huge cock as you rubbed circles around the pulsating nub before slipping your fingers over it directly, hips bucking in relieved pleasure.
Arousal surged through you as you felt his hips lift the slightest, seeking the back of your throat, and your eyes flew open to witness the serenely blissful expression on his face, only to widen your eyes.
His gaze had been unknowingly on you for a while now, lacking it's usual grin and instead staring sternly, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark eyes. There was a lecherous blackness in his gaze, drinking in the way your cheeks reddened considerably, eyelashes fluttering bashfully against your cheeks.
You had his full, undivided attention now, and it only served to make you increase your efforts tenfold, bobbing your head up to the very tip to suckle the sensitive nerves, lapping up his salty precum with your hot tongue, before sinking back down as far as you could go, lifting a hand to fondle his swollen balls, encouraging them to unload inside your wanting mouth.
Arts intimidating stoicism faltered momentarily at your ministrations, head leaning back into the cushioned chair as his mouth opened in a silent, pleasured exhale, his sharp and angular jawline emphasised greatly from this angle.
That subtle, minor expression of bliss shot bolts of unfiltered arousal through you. You moaned around his cock, redoubling your efforts even as your jaw ached. You suckled your way to the tip, releasing his solid length with a pop; your hand took over, jerking him steadily.
"Mm, I get so wet whenever I give you a blowjob. If you had spared half a second to look at me, you'd notice.", your voice came out in a quiet, childish whine, lips pouted dramatically.
Art lolled his head to the side and stared down at you, eyebrow cocked in a silent question. He scrutinised your little pout and the way your eyes sparkled with unshed tears and a slow, sharp smirk etched it's way onto his face.
Aw, did you crave attention? Are you his little attention whore? Art snickered at the thought, but found that this must surely be the answer; you craved his affections, and he chuckled as your lips quivered.
Art stroked your face tenderly and pouted right back at you, nodding and mockingly agreeing with your little outburst. It really was awful of him, wasn't it? He'd have to rectify that.
Before you knew it, you found yourself bent over the arm of the chair, legs kicked apart as he toyed with the little plug in your ass, wiggling it back and forth. You had a glorious ass, round and fat and smooth, and even he wasn't immune to its juiciness.
He jiggled your cheeks playfully, watching the skin mold to his hand and ripple outwards under the pressure. One day, he'd fuck your tight little rim raw, and the thought had him rock hard as he pushed his cock against your sodden pussy and glided in halfway with a teasing smirk.
"Nng, don't tease me. P-put it all in, stretch me out-", you begged pathetically, pushing your luscious ass back against him.
Art pulled out slowly to the tip, rubbing along your folds for a moment, before catching the tip against your hole. With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, he sunk in as deep as he could, parting your velvety walls. The stretch was always considerable, always tinged with pain. It made you shudder beautifully, back arching.
"Yes, yes--Love this feeling, love you--", you rambled in a high pitched, girlish tenor, moaning as he filled you to the brim and more.
Arts face split into a nasty, smug grin behind you, shoulders shaking with laughter. It was pretty clear that you loved him, he thought. Each time his cock found your sodden hole you'd proclaim this proudly, delirious and euphoric.
Gripping your waist, Art smoothed his calloused hands down to your hips and back up rhythmically, hearing you sigh in delight. He fucked you the way he knew you loved, hard and deep, and had no issue acting so intimately, so romantically, as you'd say.
You were his, and he enjoyed your feminine noises of pleasure. He felt that you were the only instance where he would ever act this way. With you, he didn't merely act on a whim anymore, dangerously spontaneous. Of course, that did happen on occasion, but in moments like these, when he was paired up with someone so bizarrely loving, so warm and bubbly and intimate, he found that reciprocating wasn't all that hard anymore.
He revelled in your little adoring sighs as he smoothed his way up your womanly figure, and the way you'd nuzzle into his palm every time he'd trail a strong hand down your jaw and onto your neck to hold possessively.
You were as unhinged as him, but you were also..gentle. He didn't particularly want to hurt you too much anymore. He did want to fuck you into a crying mess, however.
Art pressed a thumb to the dazzling diamond sticking out between your cheeks, applying pressure so it sunk in deeper, all the while fucking you hard and filling you so full.
He had a feeling that you were hinting at something with the way this delectable little toy jutted out of you. You were so pure on times, he imagined you found it hard to admit. That was fine, he'd get it out of you one way or another. If you wanted your ass played with so much, all you had to do was ask.
He wiggled the toy back and forth, pulling on it slightly and feeling the way your tight hole suctioned it back in. You whined at the feeling, your ass and pussy deliciously full, and stared back at him with dazzling, loving eyes.
"Ahh-Art--Feels so good-!", you gasped, moaning sweetly to him, so high pitched and whiny that he couldn't help but coo down at you in faux affection. His cock pummelled into you rhythmically, the wet slap of skin permeating the air. His heavy balls slapped sinfully against your pulsing little clitoris causing your legs to quiver and shake.
Art gripped the base of the toy more firmly, wiggling it side to side once again, before pulling it out from your tight rim. You whined noisily at the feeling, shuddering as you felt his fingers dip down between your legs to gather lubrication, before prodding at your hole once more and sinking in to the knuckles.
You cried out, back arching and legs widening further at the feeling of his thick fingers rhythmically filling your ass. It felt dirty and forbidden, something you had never done before, but each and every time he gave your virgin hole attention, whether it be a delicate stroke of his thumb or his tongue lavishing the area, it had you so wet and sticky that you could barely handle it.
Art grinned salaciously as his digits pumped into you deeply, all the while his rigid cock slipped into your pussy relentlessly, stretching you in ways that you should be used to by now, but you never were. He was so long and thick and it made your mind whirl with pleasure.
"S-so dirty putting your fingers in there I--ahh-- I shouldn't like it but I do!", you rambled adorably, your tongue loosening as he fucked you harder, snapping his hips against your bouncing cheeks.
Art snickered and shook his head at your innocence; A finger in your ass was probably one of the least dirtiest things he had touched. Another digit entered your passage, his hot length ravaging your pliant form. You cried out in broken whimpers, rambling little, soft compliments about his sheer size and how you needed him to fuck you, how you loved him.
You became dumb once his cock was near you, he found. He quite liked it, revelled in your incoherent stammering, or the way your eyes would be glued to his massive length.
Art grinned cruelly down at you, a sudden darkness enveloping his irises as he gripped painful handfuls of your hips, his fingers no doubt bruising the tender area, before he pushed your body forward so your upper half fell down with a yelp, your ass fully on display for him and fucked you so mind numbingly rough that tears streaked down your cheeks, your high pitched sobs and cries to slow down were music to his ears. In the next breath, you'd beg him to never stop.
Your thighs quivered and shook as his balls slapped hard against your clitoris, his cock fucking into you so sinfully you were outright weeping. You shrieked when your orgasm peaked, splattering down your quaking thighs as you gasped and fisted the blankets desperately.
Art grit his teeth in concentration, feeling that overwhelming urge to unload himself within you. He placed a rough hand against your head and forced you downwards, his head tilting back and lips parting in bliss as his cock filled your crammed little hole with ropes of hot cum. His hips stuttered as each powerful rope shot out, your pulsating walls milking him and lapping up as much as it could before the excess spilled messily out of your pussy, around his girth and down his balls.
You were panting shallowly as he finished, unceremoniously dropped as his hands and body removed themselves from you. Cum dribbled out of your used hole, and you flushed darkly as Art righted your bunched up skirt, smoothing it back down over your ass and putting his cock back inside his costume as though he hadn't just decimated your body and mind brutally.
You pushed yourself up on weak arms, turning to face the cheeky grin of the clown who looked as pristine as ever, not at all out of breath and sweaty like you were. Art indicated to the forgotten movie on the screen, nodding over to the settee so that you could both take a seat and finish it, but upon taking a step forward your legs felt so shaky you thought you were about to collapse.
You stumbled forward and gripped his costume tightly, gravity making the thick, warm cum inside of you dribble down your thighs messily. Art outright laughed at your unstable legs, cooing down at you and winking at you slyly. He shrugged nonchalantly, raising his hands as though to say 'oops'.
You giggled up at him bashfully, feeling him lead you to the settee before you promptly flopped backwards onto it and spread your legs out over his lap. Art didn't mind, from how short your skirt was he got a good eyeful of your glistening, puffy pussy. It made him scoff darkly to himself, shaking his head.
"Oh, Halloweens on. This used to be my favourite film, I had a massive crush on Michael Myers for the longest time-".
Ah, there it was - your silly ramblings had started again, and Art cocked an eyebrow at your admittance, peering at the character on the screen who seemed to be choking a stupid teenage girl.
"--And I guess I do like Jason too but, I don't know, he never appealed to me as much as Michael--"
Art nodded along to your cute outburst, watching the way your eyes sparkled passionately. He smoothed a hand up your calf, smirking.
"--But Jason is so much faster than Michael, which is kind of attractive, you know, the whole predator/prey thing, and--"
Art raised both brows now, grin positively evil. You wanted to be chased, did you? Hunted down and captured like a victim? Interesting. He began to chuckle to himself, arms folded and turning in his seat so he could give you his undivided attention.
You felt your cheeks pinken at his look and realized you had probably admitted too much. From the way he wiggled his eyebrows, stare turning predatory, you knew he was plotting something.
"What? It can't be that surprising that I'd..kind of like to be on the receiving end one day. We hunt so many people, it must be hot being hunted," you sighed dreamily, hand reaching over to his and stroking it tenderly. It was rough and calloused.
"Especially by you. That would be..", you paused, biting your lip in a sultry display. You imagined the scene: Him undoubtedly capturing you and having his way with you. You could feel heat blooming in your abdomen. "-Exhilarating. I-Ive thought about it a few times.", you shrugged softly, embarrassed. You struggled to meet his gaze, but when you finally did, it made your breath hitch.
Long gone was that teasing grin, instead replaced by a stern austerity, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark, smouldering eyes. He chuckled once, demonstrated by the way his shoulders lifted in amusement, but his face remained downright terrifying and blank.
You fluttered your eyes to your lap, crimson faced and fidgeting, rubbing soothing circles into his veiny, strong hand.
"Do you...like that idea? I-if not that's okay. It's weird. I shouldn't have said anything.", you trailed off vulnerably, uncertain. You struggled to decipher his moods when he wasn't smiling, and it scared you.
A firm hand gripped your chin, tugging it upwards to meet his fiery gaze forcefully. He was so close, suddenly leaning halfway over your body and with a deliberate, slow nod, he wanted to make it clear that he would very much enjoy that.
You bit your lip in nervousness despite his clear agreement, studying his expression cautiously, but a smile soon graced your lips as Art wiggled your chin fondly back and forth, offering a small smirk; He liked that idea.
Soon, your face brightened up, and you practically jumped at him and snuggled against his chest, his thigh between your own. "You make me so happy.", you whispered, sighing in delight as you watched Michael kill another teenage girl.
Art shrugged playfully, patting your head. You probably should have never admitted that fantasy to him. He'll chase you like you wanted, give you a little head start, but after that he'd treat you like a real victim. You'll be so terrified that you're shaking, having second thoughts about the ordeal.
Then he'd fuck you into the dirt like a whore, knife held too close to your neck, borderline cutting into your flesh. He wouldn't go too far - Some light cutting, some choking, a gun to your head. It was all relatively toned down.
Even still, no matter how much you begged and screamed and pleaded, you'd still hold that adoring infatuation for him. It made him tilt his head back fully, unhinge his jaw and laugh so violently it actually scared you.
You knew what he was. You knew the dark, unfathomable pit of evil inside of him would swallow you whole too, making you his victim one way or another.
You knew he wouldn't kill you, but that doesn't mean that he'd never torment you. These were facts that you simply accepted; you loved him, you didn't know if he was capable of such an emotion, but him keeping you alive and treating you tenderly now and again was enough for you.
It made your heart sing and your insides pulse with need. Leaning your head fully against his chest, you curled up against him as he almost naturally enveloped you in his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into him and savoured the moment.
You couldn't wait for the future ahead. You couldn't wait to maim more people with him and make love to him in their blood. You couldn't wait to become his next victim.
not an ask but omggg I love ur writing smmm u don’t mischaracterize art and you portray him perfectly. also, adding embarrassing scenes in your fan fictions gives it a feeling of realistic-ness and it makes me feel as if I’m actually in the story and it’s really happening to me. I love u so much girl ur so talented pls remember me when ur famous pretty babe <3
Thank you so much my dear 🥹 I'm so glad you enjoy the stories, the amount of paragraphs I deleted and changed especially in Concurrent Resurgence is crazy so it's amazing when people actually enjoy the stories! (even when I'm iffy about certain parts). I'm really looking forward to writing more!! I'll always remember u 🖤 x
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
I absolutely will, I'm in the process of writing a different art fic (just because I didn't expect sporadic contingency to be so popular and it was originally going to be a stand alone fic) and tbh I've got soo many ideas for art that I'm dying to write in general!! I will do a part 2 or more though 🤡
Summary: This is a short one-shot (7021 words) where the Reader (female) has an established relationship with Art the Clown, and has been kiiiind of collaborating with him passively. Reader is wearing a dress for the sole purpose of easy access. Reader has a vulva and breasts.
Contents: Biting, light spanking, ...phone... sex? Having an unknowing participant on the other line is the only way I can word it, light spanking, lots of making out, clothed sex, BDSM, Art being cruel, p in v penetration, finger sucking and light body worship
Author’s notes: Sorry what took me so long to do this, I’ve been sitting on this for years! Male version will be out in a few days. This is LIGHTLY proofread, so keep your expectations at a level where you won’t be surprised if there’s any mistakes. Also once again I am an Art the Clown front zipper truther for my clothed sex kink.
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You loved him.
Did he kill people? Yes. Did he sometimes allude to killing you as well? Absolutely. Has he acted on it yet? Not fully, but you could tell that sometimes he had that compulsion to go through with it, when he’d get that twinkle in his eye.
Especially when you were up close and personal with him, your bodies merely inches apart, sometimes with him even holding a weapon in hand. He’s a wild animal. A force of evil locked away in the confines of a corporeal body made of flesh and bone.
And yet, all the same, you loved him. The way that his hands would travel across your flesh and explore the parts of you that you never let anyone else. Sometimes he’d leave bruises, other times scratches. Then there were the bite marks. Each intimate encounter would leave you in a different state of mess. He was the lover who was like a cat. One day he’d be here, gone the next. You couldn’t put a thumb on the patterns.
The waits were long, but you’re loyal, and you’re patient. You didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. You’d wait until the ends of the earth for him. Sometimes during the months that he wasn’t here, you’d dream of him. All of these little fantasies you’d have in your head would sometimes come to visit you behind your closed lids, where reality had no limitations. It would make the ache feel less. Every time that he’d come back, you made sure to find him as quickly as possible the second you heard whisperings pertaining to sightings of him, or any kind of crime scene that felt like it had his signature on it. Sometimes he’d find you first.
Art wasn’t someone who was very materialistic. And money meant next to nothing to Art—the personification of evil had very little need for the vast kinds of desires that plagued man.
But he wasn’t necessarily immune to the pleasures of the flesh, you learned. Despite how for the most part, he remained heavily uninterested in intimacy, he had a few moments here and there, and you capitalized on them when you could. You had a feeling tonight would be one of those nights.
Or, well, you hoped.
Worst case scenario he’d turn you away or ignore any advances, and he has a few times. And that was okay.
You came into his hideout tonight with confidence instilled in you, but yet the excitement still makes your stomach do flips. It’s been too long, and the fire within your chest is reignited. You feel passion, you feel love so strong that it’s enough to keep you up at night, and it has happened plenty of times before. You wonder if he’s got some sort of spell over you, and you’d believe it if that were the case. You’ve never fallen so madly, deeply, for anyone before like you have him. It could be enough to make you physically ill if you thought about how much you loved him. Such a passion came with such a detriment to you.
Past the damaged doors of a since abandoned fairly abandoned warehouse, you have a smooth descent down the stairs, leading you to a type of basement setting. There’s plenty of water dripping. Rats squeaking as they chitter and skitter along. You catch glimpses of them in the dim lighting, but they don’t bother you. As long as you didn’t see a bunch of them with their tails tied together, you wager you’ll be pretty okay.
You dressed up nicely for him tonight.
You weren’t really a dress kind of person, but tonight you made it an exception. It wasn’t fancy or over the top, and by the love of god, it had pockets. You refused to wear heels however, whatever shoes you had that worked and didn’t give you the possibility of breaking your ankle down these flights of stairs was the option you went with. Art might have found it funny if you hurt yourself, but you aren’t too keen on getting yourself dinged up before he gets the chance to do it himself.
The dress was about one thing–accessibility. Easy to lift up, easy for him to slide in right where he belonged.
You loved when he was inside of you, when you’d feel the heat of his heavy breath against the back of your neck. You run your hands over the spot where you last remember feeling the warmth of his breath. You remember being beneath him and feeling as if the very heat that he quietly exhaled felt as if it were smoldering your skin, burning you like the way the flames of hell were supposed to. If being with this clown meant that you’d be burning in the afterlife, you’d gladly bathe yourself in the inferno.
Your stomach flutters.
You shouldn’t be this excited. He’s a murderer. A killer. A man with no morals, and you’re not even sure if he was a man sometimes at all. Yet, his darkness is what drew you in. He was your safe space, and no one would dare come into that space to try and harm you so long as you were in his arms.
When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see it–a single dangling light, and illuminating this dark space is a double door that is plainly rusted. You see a bloody handprint on it. It’s since dried.
You recognize the size of that hand, and feel slightly lighter, just in the moment.
Placing your own hand in the exact space over Art’s bloodied print, you push the door open. The door is a little on the heavy side, but with enough force, the door opens.
“Art?” You call out, making sure that your presence is acknowledged as friendly and not hostile. The room is a little darkly lit, very heavy on the minimum lighting that’s needed to navigate in the space. It most certainly added to the creepy ambiance. Straight ahead, there sat none other than Art. His back was given to you. He was sitting on a stool, hammering away at something on his workbench. He turns his head upon hearing his name, and you see that he gives you a smile, baring his rotted discolored teeth as his eyes are closed. You can see the wrinkles form a little in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.
You liked that. You liked the details etched into his face. It added character among those otherwise gaunt features of his.
“Hey, buddy.” You call out to him, and he gives you a little wave, before gesturing for you to come closer.
You approach him, and once you’re near the bench with him, you can see when you’re close enough that he gives you a once over, assessing you… Judging you, for what it is you’re wearing tonight.
“Like it?” You ask him, twirling from side to side so that your dress splays out a little. It’s simple. Gets the job done. And if it got ruined? No love loss.
Art’s gaze seems fixed on you, first on your dress, then up at you. For a man who doesn’t speak, his eyes seem to say all that needs to be said, as he reaches for the end of your dress and starts to lift it, until you gently smack the top of his hand. Art draws his hand back to his side immediately, glancing up at you, looking a little like a kid that was chided.
Naughty of him, trying to get a sneak peek beforehand.
“Not yet,” You tell him.
Art looks a little irritated, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. At least he seems interested tonight.
You clear your throat, and Art’s attention is still locked on you. He’s watching you expectantly.
“You’ve settled in quite nicely.” It was just yesterday you surveyed the area on his behalf, and helped him move in properly. Already on his workbench, he has got quite a few improvised weapons he’d been working on. Your eyes go to one weapon in particular, and you point at it.
“What’s that?”
Art turns to look at the weapon you’ve pointed out, and when he lifts it to proudly show it, it’s exactly what it looked like–an improvised flail. Attached to a long metal rod, is a long wire, and when your eyes follow to the end of the wire, you see wrapped around in such an intricate and meticulous way are a variety of knives, serving as what would be the ‘spikes’. You’re impressed. He even hands it to you, to which you take it. It’s got a decent weight to it, too. Not too heavy, but not too light.
“Woah.” You say, as Art watches you, quite proud of how dazzled you are. He’s an artist at heart, you knew this. He’s a creative, it only makes sense. The knives have some rust on them. One of them looks stained from a previous bloody encounter. He’s clearly working with whatever he’s got on him.
“If anyone survives this, they better pray they don’t get tetanus.” You muse, and Art’s face twists in amusement in a silent laugh. You hand the weapon back to him, and he takes it once he’s done getting in a few silent chuckles at your joke, gently placing it back down on the table.
No one escapes Art with their soul still in their body. Literal or figurative. You were either dead, or you were burdened with his encounter your entire life, both physically and mentally.
You weren’t any different. Your bruises and bites and scars have been out of love. One could argue that you got off easy, but you’d argue otherwise.
Being in love with the Miles County Clown is torture in and of itself. There were nonstop dreams that came with it. It seemed as if every other week he’d plague you in your sleep. Not to mention that you had to be extremely clever to not be caught under affiliation with him–which was even more stress. So far, though, so good.
He’s worth it, you tell yourself. Even if he wasn’t anymore, there’s no way you could leave. He’d kill you. And you have zero doubts that your death wouldn't be painless.
After a few seconds of silence, you sigh.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave all the time.” You begin to tell him. Art’s expression is neutral, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. His teeth are bared, as they often are. Your tone isn’t one of whining, but of yearning. You know that this came with the territory, and you readily accepted his lack of presence at any given time.
But it didn’t hurt to dream. Art tilts his head, watching you from where he sits curiously.
“Maybe one day we can find some place that… Is ours. Separate from… This.” You gesture towards the weapons he’s making. Every so often he hides somewhere different to prepare for the trouble he intends to cause. “A place that maybe once you’re done for the day, we both can be in to unwind. And a permanent place for you that isn’t just my apartment. But like. A place for you. For us.”
Taking him to your apartment kept getting riskier and riskier each time. Also, he made it quite clear he didn’t really care for your decor. Giving him his own place to make his own that he could express himself would be ideal, and it wouldn’t be like a place he’d have to abandon every year. He could actually have and keep stuff… If he wanted to even do that.
The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to think it sounds silly. You see the way that he’s looking at you, and he appears very stern. Sharp.
Your confidence begins to drop, and as you’re about to speak again, you stammer, before laughing nervously.
“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, that was a silly idea–any long term space we made for you would probably get found out eventually, too. I–”
The stool screams as it’s slid across the ground, back towards the bench when he stands up. It sounded like one of his many victims. You go quiet as he’s hovering over you, and you swallow any words that you might have wanted to tell him.
The silence is heavy. His shoulders are rising and falling, and you feel your heartbeat in your ears.
Seconds tick by and they feel more like minutes, and you can’t stand it any longer. You open your mouth to speak, but you’re swiftly cut off.
Art yanks you by the collar of your dress, and forces his lips against yours.
Your eyes are wide briefly in surprise, but they close as soon as you register what’s happening, and you moan in the kiss. Art’s a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you’ve come to love it. His taste was acrid as well, but you craved the bitterness at this point, no longer gagging like you used to. As he leans forward to kiss you harder, you put more of yourself in it as well, mixing his intensity with your passion and desire that’s been left simmering for months.
Now it’s boiling over.
Art places both of his hands on either side of your face, and it’s like he’s trying to suffocate you with his kisses, barely giving you much time to breathe in between them. You’re getting a little lightheaded.
He pulls away from your lips to kiss you a few times on the cheek, then nuzzling his face against yours. Almost like a cat.
It gives you the chance to catch your breath. His hands reach for yours, and you let him, feeling the way that his fingers interlace with your own. You look down at the way that your fingers intertwined with his dirtied and calloused ones. He was a man who worked with his hands–in more ways than one. Those same fingers belonged to the same hands that would worship you, tear and pull at you without ever breaking you completely in half. Sometimes it’d be close, but never fully. They would sometimes draw blood when the nails would sink into your flesh and leave behind crescent marks. Other times, those hands would strangle you, smack you–slap you, and bring a sting across your body that reminded you just how alive you were. Then those same hands would caress you. Cradle you.
He’d cut you on a few occasions, but they were never lethal. And with every cut, his tongue followed.
You feel reverence. Especially as you press a kiss to the tip of his fingers–you kiss each one, tenderly, making eye contact with him as you do so.
Art watches knowingly. He raises his head a little so that when he watches you, he’s looking down at you, all too aware of how you worship him.
And he accepts it. But only from you. Just you. No one else.
After kissing each finger, from pinkie to thumb, you stop back at his index, soft lips pressed against the pad of it. His fingers were stained. Caked in whatever gore and dirt and grime he’d touched earlier.
Not that you cared, nor would you let it stop you. You’re a freak. Not well in the head. You’d lick any and all of his love off of the world's sharpest blade if that’s the only way he gave it. If he wanted you to cut your tongue on it, you would.
Bringing his index finger to your mouth, you wrap your lips around it, and watch him. He tastes exactly how you’d expect—foul and wretched. You catch the faintest hint of iron. A taste that you’ve come to associate pleasantly with him. That part feels right.
Art’s gaze is fixed on you. You can’t read his thoughts, and though he doesn’t speak, you recognize what that look means. Even as he observes you, teeth bared subtly, head still held high, which he inclines just slightly as you take another finger in your mouth–his middle one.
You suck his fingers lewdly, and close your eyes. You imagine it’s his cock, even though you know that his fingers can’t compare to the real deal. You push your tongue through his index and middle as you take more of him in your mouth. Art watches your tongue work around him, until he decides to press down on the muscle, effectively stopping you.
You stare at him.
Seconds linger in silence, and he relinquishes pressure off of your tongue, letting you move it freely again.
And you do. You hold his hand and go back to kissing his fingers before fellating them. Index first. Then the middle. And finally the ring finger–all three at once. The taste of iron is stronger. You sigh a gentle moan as you pull your head back and give him back his hand. You kiss at the tips of his fingers again. As you’re about to take his fingers a third time, he leans forward instead, his lips taking yours. You feel the way that he seizes both of your wrists as he floods your senses all over again, and you let him.
You try to say his name in between the kisses, but each time you get a breath between the barrage of affection that seems to practically swallow you whole, Art steals your voice with another passionate kiss. Again, his taste is bitter, his teeth are damn near rotten, but you’ve gotten so accustomed to the flavor that it doesn’t make you gag. It makes you feel only slightly sickly. But the arousal overrides any lingering discomfort.
It’s disorienting. It’s all so much at once. You feel your body temperature rise. Art gives you back one of your wrists, but in doing so, he places his hand at the small of your back and pulls you in against him, until there’s no space left between you.
That’s when you feel it.
You feel the heat of his erection pressed against your thighs.
You’ve excited him enough, it being quite clear the effect your mouth had on him.
You smile, but his lips are back at yours again, and the taste of bitterness hits at the back of your tongue—the most sensitive taste receptors lighting up and ripping any smugness you had straight out of you as you close your eyes and sigh softly. His tongue mingles with yours.
He begins to move, forcibly taking you with him as you change where you’re standing, so that he’s no longer the one whose back is facing the workbench–it’s you. You feel the edge of the table bump against your ass. With your positions effectively switched, you don’t mind at all, far too enraptured by the kisses of your clown lover.
This was pure bliss.
He pulls away from your lips, now kissing the corners of your mouth, then going to your jawline, until he’s at your neck, sucking and licking and nibbling, giving you goosebumps. You feel your nipples go hard. You close your eyes and moan softly.
This is the few times of the year that you get this. It was the time that you’d be peppered in kisses, ravaged, and torn asunder in such a way that it would take you almost the remaining however many days, months, or years until you’d see him again to put yourself back together.
“Art…” You laugh a little when his lips tickle a part of your neck. He silences you again with his lips to yours. You feel the way that he nips at your tongue this time and draws a little blood. The endorphins from the pain gives you a pleasant buzz. He bites your bottom lower lip next, taking note of how he’s beginning to use his teeth more and more during this exchange, and you think about how he’s eaten the faces of his victims before.
You could be next.
He pulls away and kisses at the corners of your lips a second time. He’s obsessed with using his mouth. Your eyes finally open, and you gently move your head back a bit, until Art finally stops, the both of you staring into each other's eyes. His teeth are bared all the same as they were before, but there’s a sultry gaze you’re familiar with. Up this close, you can see the more subtle details of him.
Like his lashes, which otherwise, from a distance is obscured by the paint over his face.
How could someone–or… Something, be so monstrous… Yet so… pretty? You could get lost in his gaze. You could drown in it. And he knows that. And he likes that power over you.
Your lips turn upwards into a soft smile, and you feel a desire pool at your groin. It’s an undeniable throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. Nevermind that you can feel his own arousal against you. He’s warmer than you–he feels like he’s practically burning up, compared to you, and the body heat radiating from him only serves to make you hotter in turn. Right to the point where you’re developing a thin sheen of sweat across your brow.
“I love you.”
He watches you, and through his body language and eyes, you understand him through his reaction. You see a slow, smug smile appear on his face.
Very much an, I know. No sign of reciprocation. That would be too heavy of an ask from someone like him. But him being receptive to your love was a testament to how much he liked you.
Not that you expected anything less from a cold killer such as the Miles County Clown. The fact that he hasn’t yet killed you throughout all these years speaks in a kind of love on its own, you’d think.
Maybe not the one that people would refer to as being actually in love, but for him, for Art, it was. Love was tolerance. Love was allowing you to live.
You feel a hand slip up your dress again, and this time, you don’t stop him. You part your legs for him this time, willingly letting him indulge in what you denied him earlier. Through your panties you feel his thick fingers, his index and middle pressing against your clit, sliding down between your cunt and back up again. He threatens to penetrate you with the tips of his fingers through your panties with a gentle prod, but doesn’t follow through on it.
You ache, feeling more empty than ever.
He’s doing this on purpose. All because you told him to wait earlier.
“Art,” You say his name with a weak laugh, and he stops to look at you, knowingly, at that, well aware of what it is he’s doing. His little way of being petty with you, and he continues once more, trailing his fingers up and down between your thighs, waiting for you to continue.
“It’s been months,” You plead for him. His face is still inches from yours, and you lean more of yourself against him, as your voice gets low. He observes you through half lidded eyes, analyzing you, assessing you and sizing you up. He’s no longer smiling, and his lips are downturned ever so slightly. The expression looks more neutral now.
“I wanna have some fun.” You purse your lips. “Put your weapon crafting down for a bit?”
Your tone is pleading. It’s a mix of a command and a request–you’re voicing your thoughts. You try to get a reading on his response through his eyes, but he’s put up a wall that you can’t breach. He’s unreadable. It’s been months upon months since you’ve both done anything together.
“…Please?”
Art’s gaze is still indecipherable. It makes you a little nervous. The hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Did he change his mind suddenly?
Had it been anyone else, you know they’d be dead instantly. There was no wondering about that. Not a speculation or doubt in your mind. You hated when he did this, when he was fucking with you like this, leaving you in silence. It’s in times like these that you’re reminded that you’re with a wild animal, and he could snap at any second if he decided he was hungry. It was part of the risk you took and the bargain you struck.
Maybe he’d just stab you here and now. Slit your throat and call it a fucking day because he decided that, nope, don’t wanna keep doing this anymore! He could. Again, he’s pushed you away before. Other days he’s yanked you in against him. His mood was unpredictable, hard to guess, and as volatile as a storm across an ocean.
Without another word, you’re turned around, and the flat of Art’s palm travels down your spine as he presses the front of your body forward and down onto the workbench. He gives you time to adjust, so that you’re at least able to rest your forearms on the table top. As of right now, your tits are squished against the surface of the table. It’s a little uncomfortable.
This is surprisingly tender, all things considered. You remember one time when he’d been fucking you on his workbench, how he tied your hands together with some zipties and then choked you out by wrapping some rusty metal chains around your neck. And that was only after he’d finished whipping your breasts, thighs and ass until you were a bloody bruised mess barely hanging on. You still have some scars from those times. He loved to twirl you over the line of death like it was all one dance, pulling you back at the last second.
You go from feeling his palm to the fingertips travel down your back. If it weren’t for the fabric of your dress in the way, you know those blood and dirt stained fingertips would have tickled you by now. And he’s done that in the past while fucking you–tickling you mercilessly. He even makes a point to wiggles his fingers a little against your back on the way down playfully. You can’t help but laugh a little as you exhale, letting some of the excitement stirring within you leave your body through your lungs. Your breaths are getting deeper, and in times like this, when he thrills you in such a way, you’re reminded just how much he makes you feel…
Alive.
Because when you’re with him, death is always hot on your heels. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Don’t be gentle,” You tell him. He knows. You know he knows.
You hear the metallic zipper from the front of his suit go down as the teeth on the track separate and reveal the body of a man beneath that clown visage. You steal a glance over your shoulder to admire his pale skin that covered over such a thin frame. Amazing how a build such as his carries such supernatural strength.
Unceremoniously, he gets right to work, giving your ass a firm slap after lifting the back of your dress, letting it crumple up over your hips. You yelp gently as you know that there’s likely already a red spot on your rump. Art rubs the spot on your ass he’d slapped, then gives it a gentle squeeze.
You make the decision to look over your shoulder, right on time to experience watching when the killer clown makes the decision that you no longer are in need of your panties. His dirtied fingers slip within the space between the elastic waistband of your undergarment and your skin. He lets it snap against your flesh once–that’s about the extent of use it gets before he grabs whatever meager fistful he can of that excuse of ‘modesty’ you brought to him and rips it clean off your form.
“Ow!”
You told him to be rough. And he’s planning on taking that quite literally, as he’s taking it for not just the sex, but all of what precedes it apparently. He’s quietly laughing to himself, teeth showing, eyes crinkled.
“Glad you got some entertainment out of it.”
A few more noiseless giggles then he sobers up. Back to the task at hand—fucking your brains out.
He aligns himself right up against your warm dripping cunt, hands gripping your hips so tightly that his filthy fingertips leave stains on your dress. His nails are so sharp you swear that if he tried to sink them in any further, he’d pierce the cloth and right into your flesh. You inhale sharply again, bracing for the moment he sinks in. You feel the tip of his cock press against you and begin to push in, the head barely getting the chance even to get inside you before it slips and glides between the crack of your ass as he misses. Your excitement stutters for a second, but then ramps back up higher than before, impatience and desire washing over you wholly like a wave.
You’ve been grabbing at the edge of the workbench, hands holding tight and then releasing them of their grip every so often to relax your muscles. You don’t say anything.
He’s annoyed at missing you the first push in.
With a look of disgruntlement he instead opts for one hand reaching to push your head down against the table with such a cruel force that makes you worry for a split second that he was trying to crush your skull. It was his way of trying to steady you as he then uses his other hand to line the head of his cock right against your cunt for the second time.
You shiver as you feel him, hands turning to fists that you clench tightly as inch by agonizing inch, he spreads you and fills you out easily. Your body did the heavy work, and has been prepping for him for the last ten minutes. It’s slick, and he can feel the wetness of your cunt hit against his balls when he bottoms out within you. That’s when you sigh in relief.
He almost pulls all the way out, then rams into you roughly, making you exhale sharply as the table shakes upon impact. The few tools laid out shuddered until they stilled. Give or take a few more times of this, and he finally releases his hand on your head, but you still opt to keep your head down.
The rhythm he has is a little awkward at first, but he is quick to course correct, both hands firmly planted on your hips, keeping you steady. You can’t see his face right now, but you’ve seen it plenty of times when you’ve fucked before. How his mouth would go into that ‘o’ shape, and the way his eyes would go half mast, holding nothing but a glimpse of paradise behind him as you could see that he was as close to heaven as his wicked self could get. You were beautiful to him, as far as sacks of flesh and blood went. And you could tell the times that he looked at you in such a predatory manner that there was restraint behind it.
You feel the pressure build up within you at a steady rate as he leans over you, chest pressed against your back, sucking on your neck, marking you. Then he nips. Then kisses, then sucks so goddamn hard on the same spot that you swear that he’s trying to suction your flesh right off your body.
It doesn’t take long for you to be so close. He’s so warm. The sound of his body slapping against yours, mixed with the creak of the workbench that’s forced to undergo the assault of you being rammed into it, a few quiet moans slip past your lips to join along.
You’re unbearably close, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, just a little more and—
Your phone goes off.
You forgot to silence it.
You feel it vibrating in the pocket of your dress. The ringtone scares the shit out of you and Art, who abruptly jumps a little while still on top of you.
“Of course.” You say sarcastically. “Of course! Who the fuck is calling me?!” You’re irritated now, mood under threat of being ruined. The excitement you felt shrivels up.
Reaching inside your hiked up dress pocket, you pull out your phone and check to see who had the audacity to try and get a hold of you in your time of undoing.
Your friend. Sort of. He was like a close acquaintance? If you could call him that. You met him when you were out and about one night. He’s an okay dude, hasn’t done anything wrong.
If only he didn’t harbor a romantic interest in you when you were already spoken for. But how could you begin to tell someone that you’re involved with a psychopathic killer clown? Specifically the Miles County Clown?
You’re ready to send him right to voicemail, until the phone is seized right out of your hand from over your shoulder.
“Hey!”
Your protest is in vain, as Art too, looks at who is calling you right now. You had HOPED he’d take a look at it, have his curiosity sated, maybe turn the phone off or better yet, you’d even forgive him if he tossed it over his shoulder, just this once!
But the look he’s giving you, then the phone, makes your heart sink as you realize.
“Art, don’t do it—“
His expression turns wicked, mouth upturned into the most shiteating grin you’ve ever seen.
“Art, I swear to god—“
But god’s not here, nowhere to be found in this workshop. God’s forsaken you. Doing the devils tango with a demon can do that.
Giggling silently to himself, in an act of deliberate defiance against you as well as likely for his very own amusement, he accepts the phone call for you and places it right to your ear.
What a gentleman. Truly.
You’re going to fucking kill him. You try to take the phone away from him, but he merely pulls it back out of your reach.
“Hello?”
You can hear the voice on the other end of the line. Art brings it down to your ear again and you try to make a reach for it a second time, only for him to do the exact same thing as before, silently cackling all the while. It’s become apparent that he’s not going to let you have it.
“Hellooooo?”
With a resigned sigh, you don’t fight him any further. Art puts the phone to your ear for the third time.
“Hey.” You answer wearily.
“Hey!” His voice on the other end of the line is suddenly lighter, filled with levity. You can hear the way that his breath is hitched in the back of his throat. Static tinges at the edges of his words. Must be a shoddy connection down here.
“How are you?”
“I’m–” You start to answer, but are interrupted by Art going back to rocking his hips into you while still over you. Once again, you look over your shoulder to give him the stink eye.
“I’m good, just uh, you know. Hanging out.” You respond, exhaling deeply as Art stirs the fire within you again after it had just begun to cool down.
“Nice, me too.” He says, and lets the silence between you both sink in for a few seconds. “You doing anything tomorrow?”
This would all be so much easier if you weren’t getting dicked down.
“I… I’m uh–”
He’s pounding into you from behind now, still leaning over you, holding the phone for you in one hand and keeping the other on the workbench for stability. Each fluid roll of his hips is equally tantalizing as the previous, his body connecting with yours in such a familiar way you craved. The table shakes, and you’re gripping the edges of it for dear life. You can hear his heavy breath from behind you, excitement building in each time he fills and empties his lungs.
“Art–” You say his name through grit teeth like a warning, with annoyance in your tone, but the excitement you feel, the rush and the thrill of it all has you coming close to release. Why does this feel so good? This man, this sweet man, who has done nothing wrong to you, interested in you, blissfully unaware that your heart belongs to someone else, being fooled like this. It’s wrong. This is wrong. Art knew about this man. He knew about him for some time. Art made it clear that he hated him. The only reason he’s still breathing is because you asked Art not to put this man’s head on a pike, but you fear it’s only a matter of time until your clown lover eviscerates this trespasser for encroaching on what he perceives as his territory–you.
“Art?" He repeats.
This is all an act of revenge done on the Art’s part. His pettiness knew no bounds.
“Yeah, art. You know–Mhn–” Your nails dig into the edge of the workbench as if that’ll somehow make a difference in the fact that he’s pounding into your cunt with such an aggressive force that begins to make you ache.
“You know, p-painting? Drawing. That sort of thing.”
You can only pray the ungodly sinful noises of his skin slapping against yours can’t be heard over the line.
“Ohhh… Well, hey, you wanna hangout sometime soon? It’s been a bit. Wanted to catch up with you if that’s fine.”
You’re not paying attention to a damn thing this dude is saying. It’s just words, in one ear, straight out the other.
“Uhuh.” You say without thinking. You’re close. You’re unbearably close as Art angles himself in such a way that hits just right. He knows how you work all too well. He knows how to unwind you and how to pull you apart piece by piece like it’s second nature to him.
Art’s pushing you towards the cliff, and there’s no stopping it. Your vision starts to blur a little. Your breathing deepens, and Art knows what’s about to come next, which only seems to spur him on as well, exciting him to the point where now he’s going fast not just for you, but for himself, chasing his own orgasm hot on its heels.
“How’s about next Thursday, at 7pm? There’s a new restaurant across the street from where we both met—“
The phone becomes nothing short of white noise. This shouldn’t feel so right, it shouldn’t. But it does. Gods above, it does.
You feel yourself lose sense of the world around you. There’s nothing but ringing in your ears, and you realize how little time you have to prepare before it’s too late.
Your orgasm crashes into you and is ripped out of you all within seconds. You try to keep quiet, your voice strangled and choked out in the process. Your release is violent as it tears you between what feels like the state of life and death. Your cunt tightens around his cock, squeezing him in contractions that trigger him in turn. Art hisses like a serpent, feeling his muscles lock up and knowing that he only has a few seconds to bury himself to the hilt within you, and he does. His face twists into an ugly and horrid expression as he comes inside you, dropping the phone on the workbench in the process while filling you with all the pent up energy he had been keeping away from you for months.
All of what he’d been denying you was now yours.
“Hello?”
You’re finally coming back into your own body a few meager seconds later when you register the voice, and hurriedly grab the phone before Art gets the chance.
“Can I call you back?” You ask, holding the phone to your mouth, but you weren’t really asking. Your friend had no real say in it, and before he even gets the chance to respond, you hang up. And then you lower your head and sigh. All the while, Art has since recovered, but his legs are shaky. You shove him off of you, and he stumbles back with an uneven balance, post orgasm weakened. Goofily he fumbles past a stool, which he tries to grab but fails in doing so. Instead, he lands right on his ass.
You’re sure to follow that up by throwing your phone at his head, which it does, but it lands with a clack right beside him. The only reason you felt remotely confident in doing that is because you’re both that close. Well, that and irritation made you a bold motherfucker sometimes. Yet despite all of that, he sits there, a wickedly amused smile on his face.
You pull your dress back down. Your legs tingle and you swear you feel some of his come dripping down your thigh, but you’re not sure.
“Proud of yourself, huh?” You ask, leaning against the bench for balance until you get your footing.
Yes. Yes he was proud of himself!
The rest of the night was spent at Art’s temporary hideaway space, lamenting the loss of your panties and calling back your guy friend who had unknowingly been part of something much more than he knew. And you’d never tell him. Not that you would ever have the chance to tell him really anything at all anymore in the future.
You had no idea at the time that Art would meet your friend the day you were both set to reconvene. But you should have known better, and a part of you already did. The reason you know he was dead was because he ended up on the local news the next day missing.
That, and Art had saved the man’s heart specifically for you when you came to visit him again.
The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. Death was yet to come for you, perhaps it was because you had a lot to offer the clown; he in turn reciprocated. Perhaps he thought you were amusing, for now.
Your morals must be twisted because one thing was for certain: There was no denying the unshakeable, terrifying tension building between the two of you.
12,400 words
Slow burn
Rough sex (obviously!!)
Art being a fucking dom
The predicament you found yourself in was utterly unfathomable. In fact, thinking back through foggy thoughts, you couldn't really trace back to where this started.
You supposed fate aligned correctly for you. Logically speaking, you had a lot to offer the clown, and he in turn reciprocated favours.
Living within the vast forest adjacent to miles county, not many people ventured into the thick greenery. You had resided here for some time, at first with your father and then on your own once he passed.
You're grateful for the fact that your father had such a lively business. If not for that, you doubt you'd ever be able to live so well and comfortably all alone on the outskirts of the county.
You lived in an old cottage with ample firewood to stay warm and luscious land that stretched afar. A lot of it you used to keep animals.
You were accustomed to fattening the pigs up through spring while they birthed their young and slaughtering them in the winter for food supply. It was just another day at work for you; not that you had to work. You could live amiably without any need of strenuous hard work like farming, but you enjoyed it.
It was more of a passionate hobby than a job.
You travelled into town for any necessities you may need in your fathers old truck, but largely remained to yourself and a chunk of the townspeople knew that.
Some called you crazy for living in nature while that killer was on the loose, but you moving into town didn't necessarily change your chances of survival.
Thus you stayed put.
It wasn't until one clear night just after Halloween did you hear a disgusting squeal coming from one of your pigs. It was the sound of a slow death, and it startled you enough to grab your late fathers shotgun and storm outside courageously to see just what the hell was stealing your livestock.
You expected an animal. What you found instead shocked you.
A man, tall and lumbering and clad in a monochromatic clown costume kneeled hunched over one of your pigs, it's body twitching and steaming as it's hot innards met the chill of the outside air.
You heard the wet sound of his hands delving into the pigs guts and gripping a handful before bringing the meat to his lips.
This stranger was eating your livestock. Devouring them like an animal, raw and uncooked and grotesquely bloody.
You remained frozen, shotgun pointed, glancing at the black bag that lay beside him full of various menacing tools stained crimson.
If your father taught you one thing, it's that you should treat people with kindness, especially the strange ones.
The weirdos are the most dangerous, and living out here all alone meant that if one ever wandered into your land, it was probably best to treat them as a guest and act amicably, if only for your own safety.
Steeling your nerves, you cocked your head at the man, seeing the gap appear in the pigs abdomen as it's organs were devoured.
"Might want to cook that, stranger." You spoke gently, shotgun lowered to the floor.
The freakish clown paused, fingers laced in guts, head turning slowly and deliberately to the side.
"Tastes better that way, personally. Cooked, I mean." You shifted nervously from foot to foot, the chill of the autumn air getting through your pyjamas.
Maybe coming out here in nothing but some bottoms and a vest wasn't such a good idea.
The mans side profile was lanky even while crouched. His face held extremely prominent features, and you began to wonder if they were prosthetic or not.
You dared to step directly behind the stranger, his blood shot eye staring at you from the corner, pig entrails held frozen. They were cold now.
"Come with me. I can cook that right up for you, throw a few herbs and spices in and make that a great dish."
The clown let the guts slip through his fingers, gloves tainted red, and stood to his feet slowly. Your breath froze in your throat at the way his height seemed to grow and grow as he extended fully, back straight and rigid, and turned around almost menacingly to stare down at you with a dirty grimace.
Apart from the bizarre clown face paint, he appeared incredibly beat up. His one eye was completely red, and you wondered if it was simply shut from injury or if it had been gouged out. It was hard to tell with the amount of blood covering it.
He had a few large gashes littering his body in various places too. His clown costume was ripped terribly.
You both stood silently, your body shivering lightly at the blustery wind and your hair tousling gently. The clown remained unperturbed to the elements.
His good eye was narrowed into a glare, face contorting in an ugly fashion, eyeing your bare feet, your lowered shotgun, up to your bare shoulders and then finally back to your face.
An ominous smirk began to stretch across the strangers visage. It was actually rather unsettling, even without the pigs blood covering him. Merely the smirk alone set your nerves on edge.
You cocked your hip, hand resting on it comfortably as you stared up at him. "So, what do you say? It's a cold night, and you're looking a little worse for wear. Come on in, I'll help you out." Your words were true, and you think the stranger sensed that, but he seemed keenly aware of the way your voice shook.
You don't know how you knew that. Maybe it was the way his lifeless eyes shined dimly at the way it shook. Eventually, the clown nodded slowly, wordless.
You offered him a smile and a nod of finality. "Great. Follow me, if you would." You dared to turn away from this maniac, though you supposed if he wanted to kill you he could easily do that while you were looking at him; He was huge.
Not in the muscular sense, but in height he was at least a head and a half taller than you. Incredibly lanky and thin but from the way he was devouring that pig, he definitely had strength.
Walking a few steps, you paused suddenly and spun around, your silent guest directly behind you. It startled you but you tried not to let it show. "Mind grabbing the rest of the pig? Wouldn't want it going to waste. I'd do it myself, but you know how a lady gets.", you chuckled breathily; it was hard to speak when his void eyes were staring at you, smirk still somehow present and frozen on his face.
"--Don't want to dirty these pyjamas, they're my favourite. And, pardon me for saying but you're already dirty, and you'd no doubt be able to pick it up with ease, so..", you finished lamely, smiling as genuinely as you could.
It felt forced that time. He was starting to unnerve you.
Finally, the clowns expression fell into one of light thought, doing a visual sweep of your stature. It embarrassed you slightly, maybe he was judging your pyjamas. They were simple, but your favourite. Or maybe he silently agreed that yes, he could easily pick the animal up compared to you.
Dead weight was heavy, after all. And he was a big guy, in a sense.
The clown grinned this time, large and sharp, showcasing bloodied teeth, before nodding vigorously. Clapping excitedly, he hunched down to gather up the pig remains and nodded at you, as though to say 'lead the way'.
Smiling in return, you turned and led him to your home.
As soon as your back faced him, your expression morphed into one of doubt and anxiety.
That was some time ago. It was mid winter now, and Art - the odd clown that had spelled his name to you in blood on your window - was no where to be seen.
You hadn't seen him for two weeks, he often appeared when he wanted and left for days on end too.
You had both settled into an accord of sorts.
The clown was a maniac, yes, and had often tricked and teased and terrified you with knives and hammers, pretending to finally put an end to you only to stop millimeters from your face, laughing silently and slapping his knee dramatically.
You screamed each time, gripping your chest in terror but forcing a breathy laugh to escape you, shaking your head. "Got me again, Art. When will I ever learn?" You tutted, voice shaking and body trembling.
You knew it was only a matter of time before he killed you, surely. So, you did things to keep him happy.
Like offering your old, worn out barn as his work place to fix up his weapons or create new traps. It was dingy and damp, but Art didn't even mind. His mouth opened into a perfect 'o' shape, eyebrows high in surprise, pointing to himself and then to the barn.
"Yes," you had confirmed to him, "the barn is yours. Do what you like with it, I.." you had paused. Art sensed something was left out and cocked his head at you with a menacing smile, hand under his chin as though he was ready to listen to you spill a secret.
"I'm going to be honest with you, Art. Im happy to give you the barn, you do what you want in there and I won't ask questions, but in return I was wondering if now and again, when you're free to of course, if you could help me around the place?", you asked softly, sweetly, your round eyes staring up at him so innocently he often wondered if he should pinch your cheeks until the flesh tears off or flail you.
Maybe not yet. He liked having you around for now. You were sweet and entertaining, and cooked good meals.
Art tilted his head left and right in deep thought, eyes rolling up to the sky as though truly debating with himself, before his large hands suddenly slammed down onto your shoulders heavily, causing you to gasp aloud, eyes wide.
Art began to silently laugh, lifting a finger and thumb to roughly tug at your cheek, before nodding excitedly.
You sighed in relief. Well, you couldn't very well ask him to spare your life as a favour, so you supposed asking him to help you with chores was your only option.
In a way, you think he was amused by how ballsy you were. He was terrifying, after all.
Thinking back to the present day, you hadnt seen him for two weeks, which meant he was either out on a killing spree or recuperating after a nasty fight.
You've since gathered that this man, this thing, isn't really human. He eats because he enjoys it, but you've seen him go weeks without food. This thing you've allowed into your home was demonic, and its sick how fond of him youre growing.
Sighing, you felt fatigue catching up with you as you had spent the last few hours tending to the fields, animals, and other chores such as gathering wood and cutting them into pieces.
Mindlessly lost in thought, you bent down to pick up a log, putting it into place and heaving the axe up ready to cut it. Your arms were shaking; how long ago did you eat? Well, it was around 4pm now, and you've been busy since around 7am, so it's been far too long, and you were ridiculously sweaty even in the mild winters day.
You lifted the axe, elbows suffering and shaking, before huffing loudly and dropping it back down. You really needed a break but you also really needed to start getting this wood ready for the cold winter nights.
Determination taking over your features, you lifted it again, fatigue overwhelming you but to hell with it because you had things to do before nightfall. Inhaling deeply, you lifted it high, stumbling forward as you let the axe split the wood sloppily; it was very off mark, and if your father was here right now he'd make you do it again.
The axe embedded itself into the surface below, and with both hands you gripped the handle to try and wrench it out but to no avail.
Huffing agitatedly, you gritted your teeth and tried again.
The sound of a honk startled you, your entire body jumping and a yelp escaping your throat as you spund around with a hand held to your chest.
"Art!", your tone held accusation but you still laughed. "How long have you been standing there? Please dont tell me you witnessed my horrible attempt at cutting wood.."
Art shrugged, picking up the pathetic attempt at cutting the log in half and scrutinizing it. He shook his head and closed his eyes as though disappointed.
You flushed in embarrassment. "Yeah, that really was a sorry attempt..", you turned back to the axe, gripping it and tugging. It didn't budge.
Suddenly, a pale, gloved hand gripped the handle and ripped it out with ease. You blinked at him in shock, watching at how he slyly looked down at the axe in his hands and then at you, rolling his eyes as though to say 'have I got to do everything around here?'
For a speechless clown, he was sassy. And terrifying.
You smiled tiredly. "Thanks. I'm so hungry and sweaty and gross and ugh--", you shook your head, "ignore me. Are you hungry? I'll go and--"
Fingertips touched your lips to silence you, and then a finger shot into the air, telling you to wait. The clown eagerly knelt down to rummage through his bag of..mysteries.
He excitedly rubbed his hands together as he found what he was looking for, and delved in to grab it tightly.
The clown spun around to face you, item hidden in box, and closed his eyes dramatically, then stared at you pointedly.
"Oh, um..Close my eyes?", the clown nodded happily at you being able to understand.
Your pulse increased, fear gripping you. You wouldn't refuse him. Closing your eyes slowly, you held your hands out. "I-I trust you, Art. No funny games, okay? Please.", you pouted.
Art cocked his head at your pouting lips and shaking hands. He had that unexplainable urge to squeeze you tightly and also cut your lips off with a scissors. You were adorable, he'd admit that. He wondered if a day would ever come where you'd flutter your cute eyelashes at him and he'd grab a knife and burst your dazzling blue orbs.
Maybe one day, but not today.
It was only on rare occasion that you'd catch the sadistic killer of miles county choosing to not act with violence.
You were the only rare occasion.
Pushing those tempting thoughts away, Art held the box excitedly and tip toed over to you dramatically. He was eager for you to see his gift.
Firm hands gripped your own as a box was dropped into it, only a small box.
You smiled uncertainly, eyes closed, and felt the box with your hands. Art poked at your eyelids gently for you to open them.
The box was black. Tattered. You lifted the lid slowly.
A multitude of emotions filled you. You didn't know which ones to show. Art watched eagerly, excitedly, though you could still see the sharpness of his eyes.
The box was filled to the brim with Beatles. They were squirming and hurrying over one another in an ugly display, some spilling out onto your arms before falling on the floor. Luckily, you weren't terrified of insects.
Looking at Art, he began mimicking holding an imaginary box and shaking it hard, then pointed at you.
You shook the box hard, the Beatles scattering everywhere, and gazed into the box.
Your blood ran cold.
A decapitated fox head stared at you, eyeless and bloodied with its tongue cut out and shoved into one of its eye sockets. Beatles crawled throughout its skull.
"A..Fox."
Art nodded aggressively, pointing animatedly at your chickens cooing in their pen, then at the fox, then at himself.
"Oh! You killed the fox that has been hunting my hens?"
Art clapped silently and his eyes dazzled as though screaming 'bingo! Finally!', then pointing and laughing at your pale expression and wide eyes. His gruesome smile was held wide, cutting sharp, as he buckled over in silent laughter.
Your mouth quirked upwards in amusement. Well, he was certainly keeping his end of the bargain. The fox was a pest, after all, even if his method of killing was a little..unorthodox. Not that you'd ever complain.
You couldn't help but giggle at this absurd man. "Thank you, Art. I appreciate that. Now with my hens remaining alive and well, I can make you some more of those pancakes you like once they lay their eggs."
Arts mouth opened in surprise, eyebrows raised high. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly fashion, nodding at you as though to say it's a job well done. You agreed that it was.
Putting the box down, you gripped the axe once more, ready to return it to the shed. "Well, I'm going to have a quick shower, then how about I make us some supper?"
Art wiggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, and heat lightly warmed your cheeks. Before you could reply, the axe was ripped from your hands and Art had already gotten to work with cutting some more wood. He did it flawlessly.
He shooed you away dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows one more time before chopping through the wood efficiently.
Conflicted in how easily he embarrassed you, you made your way tiredly to the bathroom. You really needed that shower.
You let the hot water wash away the stress of the day, eyes closed as you nourished an apple smelling conditioner through your hair.
You sighed, feeling ten times better already, muscles sore from the strenuous chores you barely managed to finish today.
Standing in the warm confinement of water and steam, you began to wonder if Art was still cutting wood. This led to thoughts about how bizarre it was having a murderer in your residence while you showered vulnerably. He didn't appear to want to kill you yet, and you wanted to keep it that way.
Wrapping a towel around your hair and body, you stared at your tired complexion in the mirror and frowned.
You really shouldn't be so comfortable with his ominous presence, but..
There was something quirky and charming about him, you guessed.
You soon froze at the sound of an alarm blaring.
You ran to the bathroom door, tearing it open. What was--
Was that your fire alarm blaring? But why? You had meat in your slow cooker, yes, but--
Panic surged through you as you darted out of your bathroom and bolted down the stairs. You didn't know how or why but you prayed that your kitchen was in tact.
Barreling through your living room and into the kitchen, you scrutinized the area, seeing no smoke, no fire, nothing.
Eyes wide, you ran to the slow cooker and switched it off. There wasn't even any smoke coming from it, how had your alarm gone off? Bending to check in your oven, you confirmed what you already knew - there was nothing in there.
Standing straight, hands on your hips in annoyance at that blaring alarm, you sighed aloud. Your towel remained upon your head, however loose hair had managed to escape and fall upon your shoulders from your erratic movements.
Glancing around desperately, Art was no where to be found. With his height, he could probably reach the alarm on your ceiling and deactivate it. You spent no time waiting for his possible arrival and grabbed a chair.
Lugging it over to the centre of the room, you gripped the top of it and shakily stood tall upon the chair. Reaching up high, you fiddled with the alarm, attempting to get a good grip to be able to remove it.
You huffed, making a sound of aggravation as your towel somehow remained firm around your figure, even if it was short. The water from the shower was cold on your body now and it only seemed to worsen your mood.
Finally managing to rip the damn thing from the ceiling, you removed the batteries and tossed it to the floor with a scowl. Stupid faulty alarm.
In a less than desirable mood, your hand gripped the chair to steady yourself. Before you could even put a foot on the floor, a honk sounded so close to you it had you yelping; you hadn't even sensed him let alone heard him.
Wide eyed, you stared down at the clown. His shoulder was practically brushing your outer thigh as you stood high. "Oh, Art, I didn't see you--"
A hand being thrust out to you interrupted you. He was offering his large hand to you, and although uncertain, you couldn't deny that he had a peculiar charm. Smiling, you gripped his hand with your own to steady yourself, lifting one leg to put on the floor.
Except you never did. You barely caught the malicious grin the clown gave you, eyes narrowed into slits and teeth bared as he lifted one foot backwards and kicked the chair out from under you.
The leg of the chair shattered from the force, splintering and bending as you began to topple to the floor. You screamed, eyes squeezed shut.
You thought you had whiplash at the way your hand was wrenched painfully towards his body, your figure pressed up against his as your head butted into his chest.
He had an arm around your waist, suspending your weight in the air against his body with no difficulty.
The clown remained frozen, grin still as wide and terrifying. Your feet barely brushed the floor. "Art!", you screeched, body shaking from adrenaline, hair towel fallen to the floor.
The clowns eyes snapped to yours disturbingly. Before you could berate him further, you were tossed upwards until dexterous hands rested at your shoulders and below your knees. He was holding you bridal style and it terrified you.
You cried out in shock, gripping his clown suit between white knuckles, bath towel beginning to slip ever so slightly. You felt a mixture of terror and embarrassment at being in the brutal arms of the county killer.
And the terror only increased tenfold as the clown removed his grip from supporting your shoulders for mere seconds, your body heading straight for the floor, before securing his arms around you again before you could make impact, shoulders moving in silent laughter.
You truly screamed that time, legs kicking out and arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. Your eyes squeezed shut, towel slipping even more; it mortified you.
"Oh my goodness, Art, you terrified me! And I bet it was you that set off my alarm?", you accused in a high pitched, shaky tone, grasping him incredibly tight as you felt his fingers teasingly loosen just to scare you.
Art nodded vigorously, proud and excited that he had been caught, and snapped his head down at you. His grin of sinister glee slowly morphed into a knowing, filthy smirk.
You blinked up at him vulnerably, wide and glassy eyed, rigid in his arms, before realising that oh my God, you were in a towel this entire time, a short towel that surely moved during the commotion--
He must have noticed the sudden panic in your eyes, for his lecherous smirk stretched terrifyingly, eyes narrowed.
Surprisingly pervertedly, Art glanced down at your body swiftly. Once, twice. An indication that you should probably take a look. His eyebrows wiggled, and without needing to look, your cheeks reddened, lips parted in shock.
Head snapping down at yourself, a flush spread from your neck to your cheeks. The towel had dropped so low your breasts were threatening to spill out obscenely. It didn't help that you were of ample size.
And although everything else vital was covered, the way your upper thigh was exposed had you squirming desperately to try and make some distance.
"Ah!", you cried, "my towel! Put me down!" You demanded helplessly, overcome by embarrassment as Art snickered silently at your need to protect your intimates.
Art dropped the arm holding your legs, letting them crash upon the floor painfully. The sudden downward motion had you squealing, gripping him hard. You were grateful that he supported your upper body, you supposed.
The way your body dropped had your towel falling fully for a split second before you ripped it back up to cover your modesty.
You tore yourself away from him - he let you - and stared at him with wide eyes, chest panting in fear and fluttering peculiarly.
Your hands shook as you gripped your towel, knees knocking together, withering under the intense stare of the clown as he foregone his usual dramatic, knee slapping laugh and instead almost seemed to chuckle in amusement, brows as low as they could go, head tilting in fascination at your half naked state.
He expected anger, frustration, undeniable fear at his actions towards you. What intrigued him was the way your round cheeks flared crimson and how your eyes, usually relatively confident when regarding him, fluttered everywhere but him.
Yes, he decided, head tilting left and right slowly, deciphering. You seemed incredibly flustered.
He felt lust, often. For blood, violence, but rarely sexually. Pain was sweeter than pleasure, he thought, but regarding you now, languidly staring at you from head to toe, an idea struck his mind...
An idea you couldn't decipher, but the way his eyes lit up and his eyebrows rose pleasantly sent heat flaring through you.
You didn't allow it to consume you any further as you darted up the stairs and into your room.
On the way past him, you saw his shoulders moving in a silent, mean laughter.
That had been two days ago. Since then, you continued on as normal..
Or as normal as can be.
Art remained busy in the old barn, the sounds of hammering and God knows what else permeating the quiet air at all hours of the day, and oftentimes there would be silence; He had left.
It had been a full day and a half since you last took sight of him. It was unusual how domesticated you felt, preparing enough food for two with a little extra leftover, keeping only the dark towels in the bathroom from when he no doubt came strolling in covered in blood and took a shower.
You came to notice he was meticulously clean about things he deemed worthy, such as his clown suit and himself. He loved to bathe in his victims blood, yes, but after a fun days work, you often found him spotless. Well, apart from his teeth. Bizarrely, he didn't utterly stink, and you come to the conclusion that he chose his terrifying mouth to look that way on purpose.
That was good. You appreciated that even if he didn't necessarily do it for you.
The only thing you had gently persuaded him on was allowing you to at least dry his clown suit before putting it on. With a roll of his eyes, he allowed it.
There were very few things he allowed genuinely, and you seemed to believe he had grown accustomed to your gentle naggings of 'Art, please don't touch that with blood on your hands', or 'There was no need to trail bloody footprints all over my kitchen'
You never demanded. That probably helped. Of course he had days where he'd grin mischievously and smear blood across your mirrors and door handles, knowing you'd have to touch it and clean it.
You could live with that. Thankfully, after a night of killing, he was reasonably tame, eating whatever food you kept in your cupboards with a calm expression.
That wasn't to say that he wasn't unpredictable. He could snap on times and come at you with a knife, chasing you around the kitchen as you screeched and whined for him to stop, all the while watching him laugh with glee.
And on real scary nights when he seemed bored, well..
Anything could happen then. Even still, Art remained tame as of yet in comparison to the things he is capable of. He clearly saw a need in you, and repaid your generous cooking, cleaning and fixing up his costume for him with keeping you alive and leaving you mostly unharmed.
A cut here or there, yeah, and definitely a bruise but you were alive and well.
The only real affect he had on you was terror, he did enjoy popping up randomly in the dark when you had got up for a glass of water, hand roughly pushed over your mouth as your screams muffled into his hand before realising who had caught you.
Or the times you'd check on him in the old barn, just to see if he was around for dinner, calling his name out. Venturing in, you'd freeze as the door shut behind you, darkness enveloping the entire area, only for the sound of a flame thrower igniting near you making you scream and cover your mouth in terror.
Each time you'd ramble something like 'Art, stop it! I-Im making beef for dinner and I just wanted to check that you wanted some!'
The clown would tug on your cheeks with both hands, patting your head as though to say 'how adorable are you?' before pushing you surprisingly gently towards the door and shooing you away.
You'd run back to the house with your chest beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears.
Presently, you were wearing a cute brown dress, tights covering your legs as you cleaned around the place. Loving the winter, you brought out your cosy candles and fairy lights, loving the gentle glow as the nights grew longer and the sun faded earlier. It wasn't quite time to decorate for Christmas yet, so this will do.
In fact, having a little break from the clown had allowed you to really tidy everything up, get your chores done, see to the animals and bake some brownies in the oven.
All in all you felt refreshed and well, truly in your element. It allowed you to push.. peculiar thoughts of Art from your mind.
Time carried on, and the brownies were cooling on the baking tray as you sat comfortably on your settee, a white blanket decorated in pumpkins covering you. You loved Halloween, too.
Dropping off to sleep, your mind felt at peace until a muffled sound was heard from outside. Lifting your head, you didn't react as you awaited Art to barge in at any moment, only..nothing.
Sitting up, you waited silently, hearing that muffling once again.
You frowned. Art was a master of silence, if he didn't want you to even hear the rustling of his bag, you wouldn't.
So why did you hear leaves crunching loudly, and..
Oh.
That wasn't Art.
You could hear voices mumbling now, close to your window, though unintelligible. You wondered who it could be. You had no known close relatives, and no friends, really.
Not close enough to appear unannounced on a late Friday evening, anyway.
Living in the middle of no where, you learned to be cautious of such sounds. You had no neighbours, and hardly anyone ever passed your cottage. Those that did tended to knock politely, not skirt around your perimeter sneakily.
Aside from Art; he's different.
Standing swiftly, you opened a drawer, gripping a handgun. You could never be too careful out here all alone, and you doubted it would go down easy if you stood with your shotgun aimed at them.
Handgun it is. Hiding it furtively, you stepped outside with confidence.
The sight of two men dressed head to toe in black greeted you, peeking through your curtains.
"Can I help you?", you began politely, causing them to bolt upright and spin around to face you. You couldn't see their faces.
They weren't amicable strangers, that was for certain.
"That truck yours?", the tallest indicated with a nod of his head.
"It is."
"You, uh..you live alone?"
You smiled.
"I do."
The two men sprung into action. "You do, do you? Be a good girl and chuck me the keys."
"Why would I ever do that?" You remained calm, pulse elevating, adrenaline begining to grow.
"Why?", the other repeated with a scoff, and swiftly pulled a knife out from his pocket, "because I want to see your round ass walk away like a good bitch, so go grab those fucking keys before I cut your face off."
Talk about overboard.
Nodding politely, you backstepped. "I understand. I don't want any trouble, give me one moment, please."
You backstepped further into your house, keeping the door open.
As you did, you heard one of the men hiss 'im not a fucking murderer, let's just get the truck and fucking go!'
You had a few options here.
You could run, hide, call the police.
You shook your head and steeled your nerves. Hell no. This was your damn property.
The two men looked around cautiously, impatient. "Where the fuck is she? We should've gone in with her."
"She's terrified, bitch probably can't find the keys."
They heard the sound of a gun cocking. Loudly.
Turning back to the door, you supposed they never thought to see a shotgun aiming directly at them. You could see their eyes widen behind a black robber mask.
"Woah, hey, keep the fucking keys--", one began, hands in the air, knife dropped to the floor.
You remember holding this very shotgun the night you met Art. You smartly lowered it, knowing true evil and terror when you saw it.
But these two? They had nothing on Art. Just average men, trying hard to terrify a woman. A nasty smirk broke out on your face, one of anger and satisfaction.
"I'll tell you what's going to happen. You're going to get the fuck off my property before I blow a hole in your chest. How's that sound?"
The scared one nodded vigorously, hands jittering as he backstepped, ready to bolt. The other, however..
"You wouldn't do that. You don't have it in you.", the other tried calling your bluff, taking a leap forward. It started you, but you remained strong.
"Wouldn't I? Out here in the middle of no where, who'd ever come looking for you?"
The man shrugged. "You might be right, but whose going to look for you?"
Before you could respond a hand grabbed from behind, reaching out and gripping the barrel of your shotgun and forcing it to the sky.
You instinctively pulled the trigger, sound blasting through the forest loudly causing birds to flutter away.
How the hell did he get in the house?
The assailant was stronger than you, tearing the weapon to the floor before gripping you by the hair roughly.
You grunted in pain, hands frantically searching for the handgun on your person as the man at the bottom of your steps began coming at you too.
You managed to shoot him in the thigh, hearing him cry out and collapse.
The scared one took off in a sprint, never turning back.
The aggressive one currently ripping strands of hair from the root wrestled you to the floor after shooting his friend, boot pressing firmly on the hand that held the gun and kicking it away.
He got on top of you and held you down as you struggled and fought against his hold, head reeling to the side as he back handed you, hard.
Furniture and anything close by moved and was tossed over as you fought back, unwilling to let him pin your hands to the floor, punching a fist into his groin to get him to crumple slightly so you could lug him off with all your might.
You scrambled to your feet and made a dash to the door, barely getting halfway before a strong body wrestled you back to the floor, your hands aching from the wall as he ripped your dress from the back to keep a hold on you.
You continued scrambling ahead, reaching out for anything, hands gripping the large sewing needle you had lost some time ago and turning to stab it into his cheek.
The man hissed, face turned into an ugly snarl as he staggered back in pain, holding the wound.
You up and ran, panting and panicking as you frantically made it outside.
The man didn't let up, he ruthlessly grabbed your hair causing you to cry out and slapped you so hard across the face you saw stars.
Blood dripped from your mouth as you stumbled back, held upright by the man's grip on you.
He grabbed your cheeks hard, squeezing the blood from your mouth, snarling. "Pretty thing, I'm going to put you in your fucking place--"
You cried out a sharp 'no!', kicking him between the legs and pushing him away.
You both fought tooth and nail for a while, you managing to run a short distance before being dragged back and hit even harder in the face.
This time you gasped helplessly for breath, blood spurting out of your nose and down your mouth.
What scared you the most was a hand gripping your thighs and trying to spread them.
"I'm going to fuck you before I kill you, bitch. And it's going to hurt." The man seethed the ugly promise, tearing your dress up high and grabbing your tights to rip a hole in then.
You cried out, kicking him in the jaw but to no avail. Without any weapons you had no chance in winning against his strength.
You saw an opening as he stumbled back at your kick and bolted it as fast as you could towards the trees. You knew this land well, so you knew where to hide.
Frightful and shaking, tears littered your cheeks as you heard the sound of the man getting to his feet to chase after you.
You gasped painfully, unable to breathe, and all but screamed bloody murder as you ran directly into a chest.
An arm wrapped around your struggling body, a hand smothering your scream as you fought and cried out desperately against another assailant. This one was like a brick wall, unmovable to your attempted attacks, even if he himself wasn't attacking you.
Two hands gripped your shoulders and shook you hard, causing you to look up at his face in terror only to pause, wide eyed.
That familiar, monochromatic clown tilted his head down at you in a thoughtful frown, mild confusion pooling in his irises as he studied you from head to toe, moving a gloved finger to wipe at the blood trickling down your chin.
"Art!", you cried, chest heaving up and down, "Theres--These men--attacked me and--and tried to-to--"
You could barely get your words out, watching as Art cocked a surprised eyebrow up and attempted to decipher your rambled sentences.
He didn't really need to. Upon further inspection, he could see the bruising of your face, the very blatant tear of your tights which showed a lot of skin, and how your dress had been ripped.
He knew something was off when he heard the sound of gunshots. He knew you had guns, but for you to use one meant something was amiss. Something compelled him to come and look, dropping the dead body he had been mutilating in the woods, eager and..somewhat impatient, to get to you.
That was a foreign feeling, and now having actually studied your shaking hands that gripped his costume and the amount of blood that covered your face as tears dribbled down fatly, staring up at him in utter relief, he was unused to such an expression, and truly didnt mind it coming from you.
Gazing outwards at the forest, an intense ire began to build in him. You weren't going to die today, he doubted you ever would because you were his, and only his.
Having finally made a decision, Art grinned cruelly, fingers eager and twitching excitedly to meet this so called attacker.
Letting his arms drop from you, he took a step forward to make his way to the house, stopping as you gripped his arm in fear.
"W-wait, please don't leave me--"
Art held up a hand calmly, shushing you, and went through his black bag, retrieving a hammer. He patted your head, as though telling you not to worry, and made his way towards your home. He walked excitedly with a bounce in his step.
You knew what that meant.
You were so happy to see him, as fucked up as that is, but he clearly made the decision to protect you. You felt relief and fondness, sitting against a tree with your knees up to your chest, waiting.
You wanted them dead, truth be told, but may God have mercy on them for what Art is about to do..
You remembered hearing gut wrenching screams and splatters of vomit as various tools were used to maim the trespassers.
You remember your body moving on auto pilot as you entered your home, Art briefly stopping his flaying of the man who threatened assault on you, to lift a hand and wave at you, fingers dancing playfully.
You waved back slowly, trudging up the steps and into your home where your living room was a mess from the commotion. There were patches of your blood on the floor, a lamp upturned and glass shattered messily.
Body and mind exhausted, you laid down on the settee and fell asleep dreamlessly. You didn't even awaken to the sounds of a chainsaw and guttural screaming.
You don't know how long you slept for. You were in and out of consciousness for a while, waking up to your ribs aching from the attack, or your lips burning from being split, the blood drying on them and irritating them.
You were still a mess, hair dishevelled and face bruised, dried blood flaking off your face and your clothes in almost tatters.
Your face was still puffy from crying, eyes opening slowly and slightly bloodshot. Moaning weakly, you stretched your legs out and hissed as your ripped tights dug into a deep cut in your thigh.
The TV was on. You barely registered the comforting hum of some early Christmas film that was on, volume low and tranquil.
Slowly standing, you made your way to the kitchen. Your chest fluttered at the sight of Art, sitting calmly at the table with a plate of sweet treats you had in the cupboards, including biscuits and cake, and what looked to be a cup of hot chocolate.
He was eating them very civilised, too. You were proud of that. It wasn't like he needed to eat, at least you thought, but he really did enjoy sweet food. Same as you.
Clad in a surprisingly clean clown suit, he waved at you, his hands stained red. He must have cleaned himself up for the most part, and..looking around, you sighted a mop bucket, so he must've really made a mess and cleaned up after him.
That was oddly..sweet. It made you smile.
"I must have been asleep a while." You gathered aloud, taking a seat at the table across from him.
The clown shrugged, held up a hand with 4 fingers. So you slept for about 4 hours then.
You rubbed your eyes, exhausted. The clown tilted his head at you slowly, frowning softly in thought with a finger to his chin.
"Yeah, I'm a mess. I can't believe those guys." You huffed, glaring down at yourself. Your anger spiked at the sight of your attire.
"He ruined my favourite fucking dress!" You exclaimed, arms folding frustratedly. You were a mixture of huffs and mutters as the clown cocked a calm eyebrow - how had you both switched places? - and listened to you curse and swear which he had never heard before.
It made him chuckle silently, head in hand as he watched you. Feeling eyes on you, your frown softened. "Im sorry, I'm not myself. I thought I had it all under control when I saw the two of them."
Your gaze dropped lower to the floor, reminiscing. "I didn't really notice the third. I have no idea how he got in." You almost whispered defeatedly, eyes misted and glassy as you remembered the way that man treated you and touched you.
You suddenly felt incredibly dirty. What if you hadn't managed to outrun him? He was about to violate you. And what if Art had never showed up? He'd--
Your thoughts draw to a pause as Art taps your hand gently, points to himself and does a stabbing motion, then points outside.
It made your lips quirk. "Their dead?"
Art nodded excitedly, grinning wide as his fingers tickle your hand. You begin to giggle, and grip onto his hand. "I'm glad you turned up. I mean, I managed to fight him off barely, but imagine if..."
You froze, eyes staring at your intertwined hands, and shook your head. "Assholes."
Art suddenly lit up like a lightbulb, face making one of surprise as he held a hand up to wait. Comically running out of the room, you awaited his return as he came near you with one of the robbers mask. Something was wrapped inside it.
Art got down on one knee and presented it to you with arms outstretched, wiggling his eyebrows, and you giggled again. Gripping the fabric, you found it soaked with blood. Opening it, a human heart stared back at you. It was relatively fresh.
You blinked slowly, not at all feeling usual feelings of repulsion and fear. Instead you felt..warm. The symbolic meaning of presenting you with the heart of your attacker wasn't lost on you, and as fucked up as it was, you blushed faintly.
"I.."
You smiled incredibly gently, Art thought. It made him happy to see your face finally light up after those filthy, rotten humans dared to touch what was his.
"I'm incredibly grateful for that. Thank you, Art. Who'd have thought you'd make such a great protector?" You winked playfully, laughing when he returned it dramatically with a nod.
"Oh! I almost forgot!", you rose and grabbed a nearby dish. "I made brownies!", you pouted at the fact that they weren't warm and delicious anymore, and Art thought that if you kept acting so cute he'd have to hurt you. In a good way, of course. He was still confused about that.
Art revealed one of his rare smiles, lacking it's usual slyness or sinisterness, and grabbed a brownie delightedly. It made you beam.
There you both sat, his hands bloodied and your face bruised with a heart sitting between you both as you shared the brownies.
There was an undeniable connection, and as you cuddled up in your blankets after a fresh shower, staring up at the ceiling, you thought about that.
The dynamic had shifted. Art could still be sly and mean in his ways of scaring you, but he certainly toned it down. He seemed to want to hear your laughter more, launching tickle attacks on you until you were a squealing mess on the settee, wriggling and fighting against his grip as tears of laughter wet your cheeks.
"Please!", you squealed, "no more! You win!", you'd shriek, body contorting until his fingers finally stopped and he stared down at you smugly.
For a moment, you both stared in silence, you catching your breath and him observant as ever.
With a burst of excited energy, you fled his slack grip and bolted to the other side of the living room, jumping in your spot. "Just kidding! I got away so I won!" You giggled ecstatically, watching as the clown slowly stood to his tall height.
Your laughter died down, nervous excitement replacing it. He held a glint in his eye that could only mean trouble. Art tilted his head dramatically, finger to his lips as though saying 'Oh, you've won, have you?'
You shook your head in panic, hands held up in surrender. "i-i didn't mean that! Honestly!"
Art mimiced your panicked face, holding his hands up in surrender as he jumped towards you. You jolted, stumbling back as an uncertain laughter bubbled up.
"Believe me, I know I could never outrun you..", you glanced towards the kitchen door, plotting.
Art lifted a hand to his chin, silently humming in thought, before holding up a hand with fingers spread wide.
He dropped a finger, holding up 4.
Then 3.
2.
"Wait--wait why are you counting?!"
1.
Art froze, grin held wide as he remained unmoving. You shifted nervously, about to say something before Art suddenly came to life again and darted towards you.
You screamed and bolted away, running instead to the stairs that were closer and hoping to make it to your room.
You did, and as you ran through it and turned to slam the door shut, Art was already in the doorway and wrapping his arms around you as you shrieked and cried out apologies for challenging him.
Art showed you no mercy, throwing you to the bed and holding you down with ease as he assaulted your ribs again with his fingers.
He laughed silently at your torture, gleeful and delighted at your non stop screaming and laughing.
"Art! Wait! I can't take it anymore!--" you wheezed, grabbing his wrists and pushing as hard as you could.
He didn't even budge. He was like a stone wall. Art paused, cocking his head down at your futile efforts and back up to your terrified face.
You froze, realising that you just challenged him again.
With a flash of black and white, Art jumped atop you, straddling your hips as he held your wrists down with one of his hands, watching you squirm and whine.
He chuckled evilly, silently, eyebrows low and grin spreading wide.
But there was that same look from the other day again. Peering down at you, he watched you analyse the position you were in, eyes fluttering up to his face in shock as a flush tainted your pretty skin.
Art knew that look. He was very meticulous when it came to the human body and the emotions it can feel.
You were panting, chest fluttering and warmth radiating off of you as Art smirked down at you knowingly. He raised his eyebrows, hand to mouth in shock as though to say 'Are those dirty thoughts in your head?'
Although silent, it was as though you knew that he knew what you were thinking. You felt dazed, so red and undeniably enjoying the vision of him above you, holding you down.
There was no denying the guilty thoughts you had had of him in the privacy of your bedroom at night, faceless men turning into monochromatic, super natural clowns each time you reached your peak.
You felt vile at first. But after his protection against those men the other day, your feelings definitely shifted, and since then you couldn't stop your thoughts from trailing to him..
The sexual ones, too. The private ones where you thought about pale, strong hands holding your head down against the bed as you were taken from behind.
The ones where your head was wrenched back by an iron fist in your hair, too euphoric to the point that you could only babble words.
You knew he could take you there. And his incessant flirting in real life, where he'd wiggle his eyebrows at you if you passed in a towel or if you bent over, or where he'd stand teasingly in your way of a doorway, forcing you to squeeze past him as he smirks and winks. Those things made the thoughts all the stronger, and at times you wondered if he knew what you were going to do once you got back to your room.
Sometimes, the way he smirked and waved at you with a wiggle of his fingertips just after you finished getting yourself off made you wonder. He must've known, this freakish demonic man.
The memories brought heat spreading down to your neck, your tongue tied as you struggled to break the tension. You struggled to get a word out, eyes fluttering in nervous anticipation. It was hard not to romanticise this charming clown.
"I--"
The clown leaned down close, void eyes staring into yours that were so full of emotion, raw and naked. His strong hand that was capable of such violence began tracing your jawline delicately, as though you were porcelain.
You inhaled shakily, feeling the digits drop to your neck, pressing against your fluttering, rapid pulse.
From anyone else, that would feel uncomfortable. But Art doing that felt so suffocatingly intimate you didn't know how to react, eyebrows drawn together in mild confusion at your feelings.
The way Art smirked made you realise he knew exactly what he was doing. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he gripped the glove with his teeth and tugged it off, freeing his pale, veiny hand and bringing it to your cheek, thumb tenderly rubbing the area.
You felt like your head was going to burst from how red you were. You think its because the utter shock at having Art act in a way that wholly juxtaposes him and touch you delicately made you feel so exquisitely special that you didn't know how to register it.
How can a mere innocent touch melt you so much?
His fingers traced the lines and curves of your face in fascination. There was no doubt a morbidity to his thoughts, but there was also mild, genuine adoration in his lifeless eyes.
Your pulse quickened, butterflies dancing in your belly at the thumb that now traced your plush lips. Body reacting faster than your thoughts, your tongue wet the tip of his thumb.
A glint began to shine in his eyes, ferocious and wanting. He tilted his head down at you, unsmiling but not in a scary way; he appeared quite tranquil, and something else.
His thumb dipped into your mouth slightly, experimentally, and he was pleased at the way you wholly accepted him in, swirling your tongue intimately around his digit.
Your eyelids drooped, overcome by this display of raw connection, your lips glistening as he slowly retrieved his thumb, giving your lips one final stroke before gliding his hand down your neck again, tickling the skin with gentle fingertips before moving down to your collarbone.
You held your breath, biting your lip as the usually menacing clown above you glided further down, and down, until his hand brushed the outline of your breast, barely skimming across your nipple.
You inhaled sharply, how were you this sensitive? You could feel heat pooling between your thighs already.
Art tilted his head, examining the large, soft globes that hid beneath your clothes. Eyes flickering up at you, Art smirked before gripping the front of your shirt and tearing it open with ease.
You gasped aloud, eyes wide and mouth agape as your breasts bounced free, nipples hard and begging for attention.
You flushed so deeply red that your face began resonating heat. You were so embarrassed at being half naked in front of him, and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the teasing way he winked appreciatively, removing the other glove from his hand swiftly before grazing your breasts barely, hands gripping handfuls of them boldly soon after.
His thumbs skimmed over your pebbled nipples, watching your head loll back against the pillow as you inhaled and exhaled shakily. Bolts of arousal were shooting to the junction of your thighs every time his calloused thumbs teased your perk nipples.
Art was entranced by your visible display of arousal, so sensitive and so wanting; he had never felt this way about a person. Even he knew he was being unnaturally kind, inducing you with pleasure that was sure to have you tingling.
Art never did things unless he wanted to. He didn't want to hurt you. No, his dominance and roughness that he could just tell you craved would come later. For now, he wanted you wet and yearning.
He was proficient in knowing how to hurt the human body, which means he's acutely aware of how to pleasure it; that simply came hand in hand.
And, glancing down at you, having been brought from his thoughts by your breathy exhale, he could tell that what he was doing was incredibly pleasurable. You squirmed, legs widening and relaxing unconsciously below him, your pretty green skirt riding up your thighs.
"Art-", you whined in a whisper, nerve endings alight and tingling, begging to be touched.
Art flashed a smile, head tilting once more as though wondering what to do with you. He could leave you here, undeniably wet and sticky and yearning, begging sweetly, or he could indulge, nudge your pretty thighs apart and fuck you like you've wanted him to for a while now.
You didn't hide it well, especially after touching yourself mere minutes before seeing him, pupils blown wide, hair tousled and sweaty, legs lightly shaking. You should probably stop leaving your wet, soft underwear on your bedroom floor too. That's a big give away, if you didn't already know.
The sarcastic thought had him grinning, and after moving his head back and forth in thought, weighing out his options, he flicked his thumbs over your nipples a few more times, watching you react immediately and arch your back towards his hands.
"Ah-", you gasped, shuddering, gnawing at your lip with hooded eyes.
Art rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, then shrugged lightly to himself. He wasn't necessarily a sexual creature, but he was still in the body of a man. Tweaking your nipples teasingly, Art nodded.
He wanted to fuck you, hard.
But he wanted to tease you first.
Arts eyes dropped to the way your legs had spread for him, dark underwear on display from the way your skirt had ridden up your thighs.
Trailing a hand down your waist and to your hips, Art studied you as his hand moved lower, teasing your inner thighs, pinching the fatty flesh there before pressing two fingers against your apex.
You reacted immediately, shuddering a breath in and out as your legs spread fully, bent at the knee.
Pale fingers traced your soft, wet lips through your underwear, tickling from where your hole would be and up towards your pulsating clit, circling the bud with light pressure.
You moaned quietly, legs squirming slightly as you yearned for a direct touch, his teasing becoming relentless. Your hands balled into fists as white hot tingling sensations barreled through your stomach and your clit, demanding to be touched but to no avail.
Art knew this, and pressed two fingers firmly against your clit, circling.
"Oh--yes--", you whined, looking fucked out with your head lolled back when Art had barely done anything. He wondered how you'd react to the plans he had for you later if this is how you were after a few strokes.
His teasing continued, trailing down to your hole and dipping in slightly, soaking your underwear, before running his finger to the edge of the useless garment and hooking two fingers in, tearing it apart.
This time, Art used both hands to grip your thighs, spreading them far. He studied your pink, exposed slit with incredible interest. The mess of wetness was excessive, coating the length of your sex, your inner thighs and gliding down to your tight rim.
You squirmed in his hands at his staring, to which he tightened his grip, making you shudder.
"Art..", you whined
His eyes snapped up to yours expectantly.
"Please, I--", you gasped at his fingers tracing maddeningly around your labia, refusing to touch you directly. "Please touch me. Please, I--..I need it so bad.", tears filled your eyes with frustration, "so fucking bad, you have no idea.."
But Art did know. He's always known, and just to prove his point he searched for something in his pockets, retreaving it and dangling it in front of your face.
You froze. It was your used underwear from yesterday, when you masturbated before a shower, throwing the garment to the floor. You thought you had imagined throwing it to the floor, because upon coming back to the bedroom, it was gone.
You looked mortified, hands covering your face. "You've known all along?" You whined, unable to face his grin. You felt humiliation creep up your chest at being caught red handed, biting your lip hard to ground yourself. Pathetic tears threatened to fall in frustration.
You gasped as two hands gripped your own and pinned them above your head, using one to keep them there while the other hand wagged it's finger back and fore, Art shaking his head and tutting silently.
You were forced to face his smug, teasing stare, your own face pouting. Art lifted two fingers, wiggled them, before bringing them to your lips.
You accepted, swirling your tongue around them, before they were retrieved swiftly. Wiggling them again, Art made a show of demonstrating just what he was about to do to you to bring that smile back.
Winking in a way that had you melting in a puddle of embarrassment, Art pressed two fingers to your wet entrance, grinning before gliding them into your wanton hole.
Your reaction was instantaneous, a keening 'oh!' torn from your throat, back arching as you squirmed beneath the hand that pinned you down.
Art began to thrust his fingers deeply, pulling out to the tip before delving back in, watching you writhe and gasp. You were desperate for more, hips lifting higher.
Art pulled his fingers out of you, showing the wet lubrication that coated them, scissoring them apart to watch the way it attached his fingers with stringy gooeyness.
You released a frustrated whine this time, fighting beneath his one hand. "No, no don't pull them out, please--" you pouted pathetically, desperately.
Art wanted to torment you more, but his desire to see you screaming in pleasure outweighed that at the moment. He wanted to break you.
Shrugging innocently as though to say 'well, you asked for it', Arts two fingers sunk into you to the knuckle, pumping in and out firmly and roughly, curling rhythmically against that spongy area he knew would have you seeing stars.
"Oh--Oh!", you cried, hips tilted up into his assault, the lewd sound of your wet hole permeating the air as his fingers went in and out, in and out, restlessly and roughly, giving you exactly what you wanted.
Art smirked darkly, increasing the pace rapidly, so fast he had to hold your kicking legs down as he brought you too much pleasure, too much torment in the sweetest way he could give.
You cried out loudly now, unable to hold your voice back, body convulsing lightly as your peak approached.
"A-Art, Oh, Ohh--" you moaned, panting and thrashing back and fore as his fingers forced an orgasm out of you, intense and sudden, squirting down his wrist and soaking your bed.
You gasped for air, legs falling slack as your mind felt like it was floating.
You didn't have any time to think as Art gripped your hips tightly, flipping you over effortlessly and pulling your ass into the air. He smoothed the skin gently, before giving it a slap, watching you jolt.
You were soaked, legs quivering as you braced yourself. Your knees knocked together, staring back at him desperately.
You had dreamed of this for some time, you thought, gnawing at your lip anxiously. Judging by the sudden, bare feel of his hard cock against your folds, you knew you were in for a ride; he felt huge.
He was definitely thick, but even more than that is that he was incredible in length. He wasn't an ordinary man, so you shouldn't be surprised, but a tingle of fear and excitement gnaws through you all the same.
"W-will that fit?", you whispered in awe, salivating, and Art merely shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows as though to say 'ill make it fit', before putting a hand on your head and pushing your face into the bed.
You felt arousal course through you at his actions, being pinned down and bared for him to use. You pushed your round ass into him as much as you could, desperate and whorish, feeling his body judder with silent laughter.
He teased you at first, pushing the tip in, then retrieving, only to push just a little bit more in, and then retrieving again.
You huffed, unable to hide your frustration, but choked on it as Art slowly pulled out, then slid all the way in to the hilt.
You cried out loudly, hands balled into fists in your blanket, head pushed into the bed hard as Art gave you no time to adjust and began fucking you.
Your insides were on fire, pain and pleasure at his large intrusion mixing together, pulling moan after moan out of you. You could barely breathe, struggling to say his name as Art now gripped both of your hips and bred you.
A hand was lifted from you before coming down hard on your jiggling flesh, one stroke after another, getting harder and harder until you were writhing and whining.
He didn't stop, testing just how far he could go, switching to the other cheek when he felt your screams were getting particularly painful.
The stinging was unbearable, but it made you so wet, so pliant for him to absolutely manhandle you into the bed, gripping a fistful of your hair before he ravaged you just the way you wanted.
You were already a babbling mess, cock drunk when Art had hardly done anything. He rolled his eyes at you, though he was definitely amused at the unintelligible song you sang for him, something about his large cock and something else about breeding you.
You filthy girl.
Arts hand tangled rougher into your locks, before he gripped it hard and wrenched your head back, spine arching.
Your whines increased, becoming incredibly high pitch and feminine for him as he forced your head back.
Your neck was burning, but you loved this feeling, having a firm hand tug your hair back and an incredible, curved dick hit your insides just right.
The way he fucked you hard made you want to pretend to be bratty in the future, just so he could put you in your place. In fact, maybe one day when you're feeling particularly moody or low, you could get him to fuck it out of you, sweeten you up. The thought of being forced to take him deep as he fucked the brattiness out of you had you sopping, thighs drenched and shaking and barely standing.
"Ahh--Art, it feels so-", you moaned brokenly, thighs collapsing as the demon above you took to forcing your face back into the bed, other hand forcing your wrists above your head.
Having your thighs together now made his cock feel utterly massive, forcing the air out of you as he glided in between your plush cheeks, invading your sodden hole.
It made you feral.
"Oh my God oh my God--", you cried weakly, sobbing. Tears rolled down your cheeks in over stimulation, and Art leaned his body over yours, pushing you into the bed as he used one hand to smother your mouth, hooking his fingers into it.
You babbled, sucking his fingers desperately as you drooled down his wrist and your chin.
His fingers stuffed your mouth, thick length now ramming into you harder. You could barely hold your head up anymore, resting weakly against his wrist as you cried and whimpered, mascara blackening your eyes and cheeks messily.
Suddenly your hips were gripped and your body was forced onto it's back. You whined at the loss of him inside you, legs wrapping obscenely around his trim waist, needing more.
"Fuck me, please fuck me-", you breathed, head lolling back as fat tears burned your eyes, soaking your cheeks. Your lips were formed into a frustrated pout, fists clenched as though you were about to have a tantrum unless his dick resumed fucking you.
Art grinned truly maniacally down at you, gleeful and amused at your cries. It was a stunning sight, seeing your usual reserved self acting like such a slut.
He pouted right back at you, holding two fists up to his eyes and rotating them back and forth to impersonate dramatic crying. He was mocking you cruelly, laughing at your fucked out expression.
Forcing his fingers into your mouth again, Art pushed them down your throat, watching your eyes widen as you gagged and choked. Saliva pooled in your mouth excessively, and he scooped it out with both fingers to smear it messily over your cheeks and down your chin, laughing silently and pointing.
"No, please stop mocking me..", you whimpered quietly, lips wobbling as you pleaded at him with your big eyes. Your hips bucked desperately, thighs sticky and warm.
Art dropped his grin and rolled his eyes at your antics. You really wanted him to fuck you? Sure.
A malicious glint lit up his eyes, tenderly wiping the black tears staining your cheeks from your makeup.
Before you could blink, a strong hand was wrapped around your throat roughly, and a moment later his hot cock was pummeling into you mercilessly.
You couldn't even scream, sounds trapped in your throat and escaping in high pitched exhales, your head falling back against the bed as he strangled you.
It terrified you, but as your breathing became less and your head became clouded, a sudden, indescribable pleasure ripped through you so powerfully your eyes rolled back into your head, drool openly gliding down your cheek.
Your body felt weak and unresponsive, unable to even grip at his wrists for some reprieve, but the pleasure..
The fucking pleasure was mind numbing.
Your eyes drooped, face turning almost purple as he fucked you so deep you felt sick.
You couldn't gasp anymore, weak breaths barely getting past the brutal grip on your throat.
You were delirious now, feeling in a dream like state, ecstasy exploding behind your eyes and lighting your nerves on such a burning fire. You felt like your soul was ripped out of your mortal shell, experiencing the biggest high of your entire life.
Art cackled madly, silently, a sick adoration twisting in his eyes at the way your consciousness began to slip. He held your neck dangerously tight, tighter than he planned but judging by the way your hot, wet pussy gripped at him, he knew you loved it.
The sounds of your joining bodies was obscene and lewd, squelching and loud as his cock forced your lubrication out of your body.
Art gritted his teeth at the morbidly stunning view of you drooling excessive saliva, tears soaking his hands and mascara clumping your eyelashes, your eyes now bloodshot and heavy.
They rolled back, and soon you become quiet.
Bringing you to the very edge, Art removed your hand and allowed air to enter your lungs.
You gasped painfully, choking and sobbing as you were given no time to inhale greedily, instead getting ravaged inhumanly fast.
You couldn't lift your head, eyes blinking dazedly up at Art, who lifted a hand to wave at you mockingly.
You tried to speak but couldn't, mouth held open in permanent ecstasy. Your hips snapped upright as fingers roughly rubbed at your engorged clitoris, abusing the greedy nub.
A cry tore from your raw throat, head thrashing side to side and legs shaking violently as your orgasm rendered you incoherent.
You screamed out, squirting almost violently down your quivering thighs and over Arts rigid, brutal cock.
You sobbed, face screwing up pathetically as genuine, uncontrollable cries wracked your form. You could barely intake breath, body and nerves unable to handle the level of soul wrenching pleasure and borderline pain that was inflicted upon you.
Art gripped your shaking thighs and lifted them above his shoulders, face devoid of his usual smirk and instead scowling down at you with smouldering eyes. He fucked you harder, faster, animalistic before his hips stuttered once, twice, and a hot, thick load of cum filled your gaping pussy.
The amount was unnatural, not human, but your body lapped it up all the same as your insides convulsed and quivered. You moaned weakly, keening in a higher pitch as your lips wobbled and your eyes remained misted and delirious.
You didn't even feel Art pull out, stuck in a dream like state as aftershocks lit your body up. Your legs were dropped from his shoulders, falling unceremoniously to the bed, wide open.
You babbled incoherently, arm covering your face. Art stared down at you serenely, gazing from your dick dumb espression to the mess of cum coating your thighs, globs of it dripping down to your asshole. Your hole gaped and twitched, greedily gulping up all that it could take, thoroughly fucked and bred.
You felt two fingers scooping up the mess and pushing it filthily back into your pussy.
You whined, dropping the arm from your eyes to finally look at the demonic clown that had surely taken grip of your soul and tore it out.
Art smirked down at you, winking playfully. He revelled in the mess he made of you.
"Art that was--I--Mmm--", you moaned, responding to the gentle caress of your clit with his fingers. You were so wet and full of cum, biting your lip.
You didn't move as you felt his form pull away from you. You were so out of it you felt drunk.
You didn't feel him tucking you into bed, only remembered being beneath the blankets as he tilted his head down at you contemplatively.
He felt something foreign, that was for certain. He felt a possessive adoration over you, wanting to break you into a crying, sobbing mess, strangle you until you stood on the precipice of death like earlier, but also..
Watching you now, eyes drooping as you gripped his hand softly, tiredly, he made the final decision that he wanted more tender moments like this.
An addition to this fic, as @plasticfangtastic kindly mentioned she’d like a second part ♥️
EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI
some big content warnings: implied character death, vomit, blood, menstrual blood, consuming of aforementioned bodily fluids by Art, breath play, choking, dubious consent, oral sex, vaginal sex, use of a sex toy
He was back.
Oh my god, he was back.
Your stomach roiled in a disturbing mix of revulsion and excitement. You wanted this. Despite how loudly your thinned grip on sanity was screaming at you not to want this, you did. You wanted him: this sick fucking clown, leaning menacingly in the frame of your bedroom doorway.
As before, he remained silent. The only sounds you could hear were the quick breaths you drew in and out, and the plastic crinkle of the black garbage bag settling at the clown’s feet. You knew what he kept inside that bag…terrible things, things that he used to hurt people. As he knelt to rifle through its contents, fear momentarily overrode the twisted arousal swelling between your thighs.
Your heart was pounding so hard you swore you could hear it, knocking against your ribcage like a frenetic drumbeat. The metallic sound of various weapons being shifted about scratched at your ears, making you gulp. The clown paused, making an exaggerated expression as if to say “ahh, there it is.” He produced something from inside the garbage bag you’d never have expected…something less likely to cause pain, and much more likely to cause pleasure instead…
His smile deepened as he met your eyes. The long, fat dildo looked strange held in the clown’s hand, lingering mid-air as he observed your response to it. Your lips had parted, words failing you and for a moment, making the two of you somewhat equal. Words were unnecessary to describe the confusion and anticipation you were feeling; the look on your face confirmed for the clown everything he already knew. He may have been a monster, but something inside him remained a man. The way your body had responded on his hand the day prior revealed your needs were just as human as his.
He approached you deliberately, taunting you with his slow pace. You made note of the open doorway behind him, wondering fleetingly if you could escape. The thought faded as quickly as it had formed, however, when the clown stopped at the side of your bed, and tapped the dildo lightly against your lips. All traces of common sense, all semblance of self preservation, evaporated in an instant. His other hand came to rest at your cheek, pulling tenderly along the curve of your jawline. You drew in a sharp breath, shock racking your body at the realization that the fingertips currently tracing your skin in a gesture of tenderness were also capable of unspeakable violence. The clown’s thumb dragged along your bottom lip, pulling it slightly downward. You gazed obediently up at him, tepidly offering your tongue against the tip of his thumb. His expression softened, his sharp features relaxing slightly at your offering up, of surrender when he was so accustomed to being met with fear. You, however, were proving yourself even better than prey. Offerings were always preferable to sacrifices, the clown had observed. Especially when they fit his cock as well as you…
He pressed the head of the dildo between your lips, his chest dipping in an exhale as you took the first four inches with no resistance. Your eyelids fluttered, lashes dusting up and down rapidly as your gag reflex was triggered on the sixth inch of the toy. The clown shook his head disapprovingly, and you felt a sting of disappointment. You wanted to please him, and his expression conveyed that your performance with the toy was coming up short. As if to compensate, you began to bob your head on the toy, silently asking the clown to try again. He cocked an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders amiably, before abruptly forcing another two inches down your throat. Your eyes flew open wide, your body lurching as a surge of vomit washed up your throat. The clown removed the dildo, watching as you sprayed the floor beside your bed in hot, slippery bile. Coughing hoarsely, you used your pajama sleeve to wipe at your glistening chin, tears forming along your lash line. The clown’s hand moved to your hair, gripping a handful of your tresses painfully hard. He threw your back against the bed, climbing astride you and casing you in between his legs.
He examined the toy, peppered with bits of your sick, before dragging his tongue along its surface and licking it clean. The act should have repulsed you, but somehow, in his presence you were beyond the confines of your normal sexual principles. The gesture was somehow tender, considerate; and when he tore the waist of your pajama shorts down, you didn’t even mind that it hurt, elastic snapping your hip with a sharp sting. The clown positioned the head of the dildo against your entrance, his smile fading to a look of concentrated arousal when he noticed the red liquid smeared between your thighs. He pressed the toy inside you, his cock stiffening against your thigh when you whimpered at being filled. Again, he thrust the toy into you, his breath quickening as he watched your menstrual blood gush out around the toy’s head. He continued to fuck you on the toy, his own cock needy and leaking against the inside of his costume as he thrust the dildo, and your blood, in and out of you over and over again.
When he did remove the toy, it was with selfish intent. Because rather than lay it aside, the clown pulled it to his lips desperately, sucking your crimson essence from the silicone toy like it was sustaining him. He then reached under you, gripping your ass and lifting your hips till they were elevated at his face. Before you could even comprehend what was about to happen, the clown had buried his mouth against your cunt, a mix of lips, teeth and tongue devouring you in rough, greedy pursuit. It was too much, the physical sensations and their emotional implications overwhelming you. The way he literally ate you was the most intense sexual experience you’d ever had. The level of intimacy having your blood consumed by sometime else created was unlike anything else; no ordinary orgasm could compare to this, no drug could ever match this high. You came screaming, fingernails tearing into the fabric of your bedsheets, heels kicking into the clown’s shoulders at a brutal force that no man could have withstood. He held you in place as if it were effortless for him, like your ass in his hands and your cunt in his mouth were weightless.
When he sank his teeth into the fat of your inner thigh, you yelped in pain, and he immediately lifted his head, face covered in your blood, locking eyes with you. The blue you’d seen in them earlier had vanished, replaced with something pitch black and haunting, as if consuming your blood had itself tinted the clown’s eyes with ink. He climbed across you, his erection prodding your stomach, your legs left trembling on the bed where he’d dropped them. Ripping the fabric separating his body from yours, the clown reached inside his costume and removed his cock. You trembled under him, his other hand closing over your throat, your pulse drumming against the soiled palm of his glove. Squeezing harder around your throat, the clown watched your eyes as he sank his cock inside you. You tried to exhale, but his hand wouldn’t allow it, your cheeks going puffy and red, eyes widening in alarm as he kept your breath locked away inside his grip. Your hold on consciousness began to waver, eyes drifting backward in surrender. Air was suddenly returned to you, the clown’s hold on your throat relenting long enough for you to suck desperately at all the oxygen your burning lungs could hold. His hips slammed forward, crushing your insides like a weight. His lithe fingers once again tightened around your throat, sealing off your access to the air and the world around you…
You jolted upward, your chest crushed beneath the clown’s weight over you. His smile was sadistic as usual, confirming that he enjoyed this game of control, of bringing you inches from the edge of death before lurching you mercifully back to consciousness. His cock was splitting you apart at the seams, bruising your cervix as he seemed to get bigger the longer he was inside you. It was as if his cock had continued to grow even after becoming fully erect, swelling inside you till not a single crevice of your cunt was untouched by his girth. He released your throat, grinning maniacally as you gasped at the air, watching the red imprint of his fingers rapidly form a bruise in your skin. Free to breathe as you needed, you began to feel all the other sensations the clown was stimulating inside you. His fat, engorged length fit perfectly inside you, lodged against your g-spot in a way that had your back arching, drool spilling from your lips to the bedsheets as you moaned for more, more, more. He knew what you needed, but he wanted to hear you beg. Holding your life in his hands wasn’t enough for the clown; he needed to hold your pleasure ransom as well. He’d already spoiled you with one orgasm, the best you’d ever had in your life or ever would have, and he knew it. Now your pleasure was optional; he wasn’t going to play with you much longer anyway. It was his time to get what he needed, to take what he wanted from you before his time with you was over.
Reaching again for your hips, the clown lifted them so he was fucking down into you, your back plastered to the drenched bed, a sticky mix of cum and blood caking the sheets to your skin. You felt yourself getting close again, the raw throb of an even more powerful climax than the first rolling up from deep in your core. The sounds that left your lips were unholy, hedonistic cries to the god of this earth for more and more pleasure, for unending ecstasy at the expense of all that is good and holy and right. Your teeth sealed over your bottom lip, breaking the skin as you convulsed in orgasm. Ripples of pleasure rocked through you, snapping your hips back and forth, jolting on the cock inside you so wildly that the clown didn’t even have to thrust, but rather watched as you fucked yourself on him. He grit his teeth as the first tug of his orgasm began, biting the insides of his cheeks till the soft tissue bled. Ropes of cum belched inside you, coating the walls of your pussy, his thrusts smearing your bullied cervix in creamy white.
He sank his fingertips into the fat of your hips, watching with interest as crescent-shaped marks bloomed red under his ministrations. You were too fucked-out to feel anything at this point, your body still shaking even after your orgasm had faded. Eyes clouded over, a sheen of sweat and blood covering you, the clown thought you looked even prettier than you had wearing his cum on your back the night before. And now, he decided, it was time to see how pretty you’d look from the inside out. He left the bed, taking a step toward his garbage bag of supplies by the doorway. You were too busy shaking and panting, and mumbling some incoherent string of nonsense to realize that the clown had removed a blood-caked axe from his bag. Returning to the bed, he climbed astride you once again, his knees at your sides. Art tucked his softening, satisfied dick inside his costume, sighed contentedly, then lifted the axe above his head… 🩸
[A/N]: Been dead for a while. Too many unfinished drafts to work on LMAO. I did that to myself, though.
Anyway- I'm not one to fall for robots or intelligent software. Wouldn't consider myself to be remotely near the category, but damn. This movie flipped a switch somewhere within me and now this story exists. Judge me all you want. I don't believe in God. (Please don't take that seriously lmfao I'm just fucking around)
LOL, hope some peeps enjoy this. I'm actually quite proud of it. I have some more works that are close to being finished, like a part two to the Mikael fic I have up (oh shiii-). Just a reminder that this is all purely imaginative and i wouldn't stand a chance against the characters I write about at all HAHA—
Warnings: heavy seggsy time (minors, dni.), oral (giving and receiving), angry sex undertones (if you squint. This is pretty tame tbh.)
Word Count: 5.6k (about average)
—
“Stay here.” The Terminator says firmly, pressing you against the white wall of the building. You’ve always found a way to get in the machine’s crosshairs when a fight breaks out and it’s clear he’s getting fed up with it. You hear Sarah yell out to John in the distance. There’s a frantic tone in her voice and you know immediately that you’re not staying wherever he’s placed you.
“Whatever.” You grumble, leaning against the wall. He releases his grip on you, synthetic blue eyes boring into yours before he looks away and stomps off. You hear him cock his shotgun as he turns the corner. You pull out your handgun and wait for the sound of his weapon firing. As soon as you hear it, you whip around the corner and shoot at the T-1000 steadily making its approach to the T-800. It reacts to your bullets, temporarily getting stunned as the metal explodes its poly-alloy skin. The T-800 immediately snaps his head in your direction, an angry scowl seeming to form on his face.
You ignore him as you spot Sarah running towards you in the distance, shielding her small son beneath her as they both sprint to the commotion. You make a break for them, popping a few more caps in the liquid metal’s ass as you pass by.
“This way! Follow me!” You shout, pointing them in the opposite direction. They begin to follow you through the maze of hallways, practically running up your heels as you burst through a side entrance.
“Let’s get in the car.” You say, fiddling the keys out of your pocket. You unlock it for the frazzled pair, letting them huddle together in the backseat. Just as you’re pulling out, you see the Terminator bust through the brick exterior of the burning edifice. He looks pissed. He quickly saunters over to the stolen vehicle, ripping open the driver’s side door and glaring at you.
“Move.” He orders, grabbing your left bicep and squeezing it painfully. You yelp when he yanks you out of the seat and stumble when you land, huffing at the cyborg as you rub your now possibly bruised muscle. The machine doesn’t spare a second glance, slamming the door shut behind him as he takes your place. You scoff as you walk over to the passenger side, quickly getting in to avoid engaging the T-1000 any further.
The ride back is eerily quiet. There’s an obvious tension in the air that nobody wants to question. You lean against the window, watching the moon in the sky. It disappears as you head into the shithole you’re all camping out in. He slowly pulls the car forward, turning it off when it’s completely in the abandoned garage. You swing the door open, walking away from the car and into the furthest decaying room in the decrepit building. You drop your empty gun onto the table in the middle of the room, sitting heavily onto the dusty couch in the corner. The dust flies up as you flop onto the old cushions. You listen as distant footsteps make their way to their respective rooms, rolling your eyes when you hear a particular heavy pair approaching yours. As the T-800 enters your space, you swing your legs up across the couch and cross your arms. This is going to take a while judging by his agitated stance.
He walks up until he’s right in front of you, blue eyes glowering down at you.
“You disobeyed a direct order, [Y/N].” The machine says sharply. You purse your lips, trying to bite back your frustration. It doesn’t work.
“I’m not useless you fucking idiot. I also have a gun. Just because you’ve had to swing in sometimes doesn’t mean that I can’t handle myself.” You snap, staring icily at the humanoid. You’re sick of him always pushing you away from the action. He narrows his eyes at you, a calculating look present in his gaze.
“Since my previous attempts to hinder you without harming you have failed, I’m going to enact a different punishment on you.” He announces monotonously. A look of confusion overcomes your expression.
“What does that mean?” You ask, curious what the punishment is. You gasp when he firmly grabs your right forearm faster than you can blink, hoisting you up to your feet with ease.
“I’m going to have sexual intercourse with you.” The machine deadpans, watching your [e/c] eyes widen in surprise and your cheeks turn red.
He didn’t just—
“Wh-What?” You sputter, feeling your face steadily growing hotter.
“I’m going to—”
“I heard you the first time!” You shout incredulously, swiftly cutting off the Terminator’s sentence. He simply stares at you, seeming to gaze into your soul. Unable to help yourself, you look down to where his crotch would be before quickly flicking your eyes back to his.
“C-Can you even- do you…?” You find it hard to muster the courage to ask, but the machine catches on to what you’re trying to say.
“Yes. I have very detailed files located in my CPU.” He looks down to his groin area, slowly looking back up at your flustered face.
“And yes. I do have the proper anatomy.” He tilts his head when your cheeks turn a shade darker due to embarrassment. His left hand comes up to touch your face, feeling the warmth.
“Why is your face so red?” The T-800 asks as he cups your right cheek. You swallow nervously.
“Embarrassment. You’ve caught me completely off guard.” You answer. His thumb strokes over your red flesh tenderly. He seems to drink in your features, memorizing the colors, temperatures and curvature of it all.
“H-How exactly is that a punishment?” You stutter anxiously, flexing your arm that is trapped in his firm grip.
“I will render you immobile by the end of it without having to seriously injure you.” The machine responds nonchalantly. Your eyes widen for what seems like the hundredth time.
“Aren’t there any other methods you can try?” You spout, leaning your head back when he brings his face closer to yours. His eyes flick to your lips.
“You’ve rendered all of my other alternatives ineffective, [Y/N].” He says firmly, his cool breath brushing over your face. You feel conflicted. Your body is heating up to his advances, but you’re also unsure about this. Sarah and John are just across the old house.
“Bu-But John an-and Sar—”
“They are not your concern right now.” He interrupts before pressing his mouth against yours, fluidly pressing a hot kiss to your lips. You squeak against his fiery smooch, clutching on to his shoulders as he grabs you by the waist to pull you flush against his body. His lips move expertly against yours, a shiver rolling up your spine from how good they feel. The machine’s fleshy exterior oddly tastes just like a normal human’s would, your discovery proven further when he nips your bottom lip to slide his tongue into your mouth. You moan when you feel it brush against your own. His fingers trail up your spine as he continues to kiss you breathless, making your body shake at the sensation. A gasp is ripped from you when the Terminator bunches your hair at the back of your head into a fist and pulls you off his mouth suddenly. His artificial blue eyes search your flushed face as you pant, your fingers clenching the material of his shirt in a death grip.
“What are you doing?” You ask in between your staggered breathing. The machine doesn’t respond, running his eyes down your body. His free hand slides up your side, cupping your left breast through your shirt. He tilts his head curiously, squeezing the soft flesh. As he kneads it, you can feel your nipples begin to press against the fabric of your shirt. Damn you for not wearing a bra. The Terminator notices, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive nub. You inhale sharply as he does and his eyes snap to yours. For a being that is unable to produce emotions he sure is staring at you intensely.
“I’m looking at your body reacting to me.” He says lowly, releasing his grip on your hair to grope your ass. He palms your right asscheek, the globe of flesh easily engulfed by his large hand. This presses your lower body against him harder and you find yourself letting out a small moan. Your cheeks burn as he looks at you again, seeming to process the noise you just made. His hand once again kneads your ass and he watches as you bite your lip. You’re finding it more difficult to separate from the T-800 as he continues to caress you, trying to figure out what makes you squirm. You can’t deny how hot it’s making you feel.
“I want to kiss you again.” He states, looking confused about why he is saying that. You smile, your right hand coming up to touch the back of his thick neck.
“Then kiss me.” You giggle, letting all your anxiety go as you meet him in the middle. You’ll admit that you have thought about the robot in an inappropriate light sometimes, but you always held back because it was certain he couldn’t reciprocate the feelings you had. You kiss him hungrily, guiding his hands to your hips and wrapping your arms around his neck. He grunts against your mouth, caught off guard by your sudden enthusiasm. His fingers dig painfully into the flesh of your hips. You roll yourself against him, feeling his muscled figure press against you. His usually rigid body softens for a second. The action is frighteningly human-like.
“What was that?” The android asks softly, always curious to learn. You run your hand up the side of his face, your thumb caressing his angular cheek.
“I think that was the tension in your muscles leaving, making you relax.” You murmur against his mouth, feeling the cyborg clench and unclench your hips as he deciphers what that means. As he’s distracted, you manage to swing him around and sit him on the couch, quickly straddling him before he can protest.
“[Y/N]—“ You interrupt him by pressing your thumb over his lips.
“No. You know nothing sex and I don’t want you to hurt me because you definitely can. Let me teach you a little at least.” You say heatedly to him, carefully running your thumb over his plump lips. His eyes narrow, an ever calculating look in them. After a few more moments of tense silence, the T-800 lays into the couch, signaling that you have free reign.
“Fine.” He replies, watching as a smug smile crosses your lips.
“You have to learn to slow down and take in the moment.” You say quietly, lust lacing your tone. You lower yourself into his lap completely, gasping when you feel his hard lower anatomy against yours. You fist your hands around the shirt on his wide chest, pulling yourself tightly into him.
“It’s called foreplay. Stuff you do before the actual act.” You whisper against his neck, beginning to grind your clothed pussy against his clothed dick. Your resounding moan has his hands coming up to hold the tops of your thighs. His fingers are twitching erratically though. A deep exhale leaves his body. You cock your head and repeat the motion again. This time his body shivers, like he’s being electrocuted. The robot squeezes your thighs to the point that you’re certain there will be bruises. A grunt of confusion leaves his artificial voice box. You giggle, nipping his jaw line.
“Feel good?” You ask softly, resting completely still against him to entice him to do it himself. The male humanoid seems so confused, synthetic blue eyes searching yours.
“I don’t know.” He says flatly and you smile, carefully dragging his hands up to your hips. He grips them tightly.
“Then you try.” You mumble, resting against his chest while he tries to calculate his movements. He watches your face as he attempts to repeat the roll of your hips into his crotch. He nails it, pressing you deeper into him as his arousal rubs against yours. A growl rumbles through him and he continues to grind you against him as you moan.
“Ah- fuck.” Your grip tightens around the material of his shirt. His precision is unmatched and you couldn’t get the words out to tease him.
“Am I doing this right?” He asks in his usual monotone voice, though there’s the slightest tinge of strain in it. You glare at him, a hitched breath following after he successfully glides against you again. His toneless voice is getting on your nerves.
“You’re so annoying.” You manage to grit out, forcing yourself to take back over. The cyborg surprisingly lets you overpower him, his striking blue gaze studying your every movement. His eyes narrow scornfully as your words set in.
“I could say the same about you.” He snarks back, making you scowl at him. God– Why did he have to be so damn infuriating?! You tsk, moving to hop off of his lap. So what if he’s obviously stronger than you? It doesn’t give him the right to keep you away from danger you willingly throw yourself into. You grunt in pain when his fingers squeeze painfully into the meat of your hips, keeping you hovering over him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The machine asks menacingly, his stare reflecting his voice. You glare back, standing your ground.
“Away from you.” You hiss. “Let go of me.”
The Terminator curls back his lips. It’s an animalistic act and it catches you wildly off guard. He’s never done that. He must be pissed.
“Why are you so defiant?” He practically growls, his face looming closer to yours.
“Why are you such an asshole?” You spit back, freezing when he thrusts his hips back up against yours.
“You drive me insane.” He says hoarsely, like he’s almost sheepish to admit it. You open your mouth to retort back, but all that comes out is an unrestrained moan. The cyborg has latched his teeth on your earlobe, biting down with a bruising pressure that borderlines painful. It feels almost too good. He soon pulls away, softly kissing the same spot almost regretfully.
“It’s like my body knows what it’s doing before my mind does.” The Terminator admits quietly into your ear. You chuckle a bit at his honesty.
“Then stop trying to think about it.” You reply, arching your back when you feel him squeezing your breast again. He hums low in his chest, adjusting so he’s lying beneath you. His eyes seem to admire your body on top of his, his hand still kneading your right tit as he looks up at you.
“Show me how.” The machine asks softly, his contemplative gaze watching your every move. His voice is not as flat as it was before. You smile at him, planting your hands on his firm chest. Slowly, you begin by lazily rolling your hips against his own. His large hands traverse the expanse of your body, carefully squeezing each section to find what you like best. The cyborg finds you respond to your ass being touched the most. Squeezing each globe of flesh possessively, he begins to mimic your grinding with his own against your clothed pussy. You whine when you feel his hardness press against your clit with such confidence. He seems to perk up at that.
“Like this?” The machine asks gently, repeating the perfect roll of his hips yet again. It elicits another noise of pleasure from you and you nod your head.
“Y-Yes. Like that.” You tumble out, your fingers digging into his pectorals. He grunts in response, massaging your ass carefully into place so you’re now softly rocking against him in a more intimate rhythm.
“Oh!” You cry out, not expecting the sudden change in pace and atmosphere. You feel your body heating up quicker than you anticipated, the Terminator’s dry humping proving to be more sensual than you would’ve imagined. It’s difficult to form words while he has you in this new position now, your stomach winding tighter and your voice raising higher.
“H-Hey, y-ahn!” You moan when you begin to feel yourself on the edge.
“Hmm? You’re going to have to speak up.” He rumbles deeply. You frown at him and watch as the corner of his lips turn up teasingly, soon pausing his rhythm to allow you to get a few words out.
“T-Touch me, please.” You say breathily, watching as the robot’s eyes darken with thought. It’s interesting to watch his internal dialogue through his eyes. He’s obviously trying to learn as he goes. It’s kind of cute. You move with him as the Terminator shifts, laying flat on his back across the old couch. It’s weird to be the one sitting on top of the deadliest threat known to any human. He lightly pats your butt forward, like he’s asking you to move up to straddle his face. You look at him with wide eyes. He offers a smirk. Nibbling your bottom lip, you shift up towards his angular features. When you get closer, the machine helps you to strip off your trousers. You shiver when you feel his automated breath on your now exposed folds. You feel so vulnerable sitting above him like this. He has full access to your body in this position. Perhaps that was his intention. You shiver when you feel one of his warm thumbs brush over your slit, collecting some of the wetness there. He swipes the digit over his tongue, processing the new liquid. His eyes are sharp as they connect with yours.
“So aroused over practically nothing.” He states monotonously, but his face holds a smug expression. You sneer down at him.
“Now you— OH!” You damn near screech when the cyborg shoves his face right into your soaked cunt. He doesn’t waste any time, licking a methodical line all the way up. You shudder above him, one of your hands sliding down to grip his hair. He hums against your wetness. You can feel him experimenting, trying to find what makes you squirm the most. He’s succeeding. Your mind is in a haze, feeling foggy from the amount of pleasure this robot is steadily bringing you. Subconsciously, you can feel the momentum of his hips rutting into the air. Poor thing is lacking attention and even he doesn’t seem to know. Through your desire-filled fog, you manage to bend back and place your left hand over his impressive size.
The machine falters for a minute when he feels your smaller hand drag against his hard cock. Then he reacts. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as his loud groan is muffled by your pussy.
“O-Oh wow.” You pant, stroking him again. Another deep noise vibrates through you. It makes you realize just how close you are.
“Aaa- I’m gonna come.” You whine, pressing yourself harder against his face. A few more precise licks from him have you seeing stars. You hold on for dear life as you come into the awaiting machine’s mouth, your fingers tightly wound in his artificial hair. You can’t even hear the curses and moans slipping from your mouth as you ride out your high. Your vision is white for a few seconds before you can hear yourself panting and feel your hips twitching.
The T-800 is pressing gentle kisses to your sensitive pussy as you come down from your orgasm. A strangled whimper leaves your mouth when you finally process him doing so. You weakly raise yourself away from his face, shaking your head.
“T-Too sensitive.” You say airily, groaning when you feel him turn his lips to your inner thighs instead. He waits for you to calm down, languidly massaging your hips as you loosen your grip on his hair. Eventually you look down at him, a small smile on your face as he rests his cheek against your soft skin. He seems to be entranced by the sight of you. You sit back on his firm chest, wondering what’s going to happen next. The robot’s hands shift from your hips down to your ass, his fingers kneading the plush flesh. His tongue peeks past his lips as he licks your cum off of them. You swear you can see his pupils dilate. The action makes you feel unbearably hot all over again. His head tilts slightly, ever observant eyes studying you. He stays silent though, clearly waiting for you to make the next move. Interesting.
You decide you want to see what you were stroking earlier, so you adjust yourself to face his crotch. Your backside is in his face in this position, but he doesn’t seem to mind judging by the way his large hands immediately return to massage it. It’s quiet as your hands fiddle with his belt, the sound of the metal clinking the only sound that fills the air. You don’t waste a second when it’s unfastened, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. You can feel the machine sigh deeply beneath you. The fabric must’ve been tight against him. You smile at the thought, your petite hands carefully pushing the material down to expose more of the T-800’s skin. He lifts his hips slightly to make it easier for you to do so. You gasp quietly when his hard length smacks against his stomach. Oh wow. The size is certainly intimidating. What intrigues you the most is how authentic it looks. The tip is an angry red with some precum already smeared atop it. The shaft is quite girthy with a few veins here and there. There’s a slight curve to it as well. You can feel your inner walls clench in excitement as you continue to stare at his anatomy. The pits of your lower belly are burning yet again. You flinch when you feel something poke at your entrance.
“What are you doing?” You ask, peeking over your shoulder the best you can to see what the Terminator is up to. His face holds an investigative expression. You shiver when you feel what you’ve determined to be his finger touch your wet pussy again. It doesn’t pull back this time, instead circling your hole. His silence is unnerving.
“I saw your muscles contract. Are you alright?” He asks innocently. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escapes your lips.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just excited.” You respond, returning your attention to the hard cock that rests against his defined abdomen. You gently take him into your hand, mulling over the fact that your fingertips just barely touch when wrapped around his girth. You give him an experimental pump, smiling in delight when his hips jerk in response. A quiet grunt leaves him. You repeat the motion, this time continuing to stroke him while adjusting the pressure. A low sound rumbles through the machine and you can feel his fingers squeeze the back of your thighs tightly. The muscles of his stomach grow taut as you continue your ministrations, watching in awe as precum slowly oozes from his tip. You dip down and run your tongue over the head, collecting the milky fluid that leaks from it. A sharp inhale emits from the cyborg as you drag your warm appendage over his sensitive flesh. You take a moment to think over the taste before swallowing. It’s slightly sour, but otherwise flavorless. It holds the same texture as regular ejactulate goes. Without any further hesitation, you wrap your lips around his cock and begin to suck on him while stroking too. The machine’s hips begin to shake beneath you, most likely feeling overwhelmed from the unfamiliar stimulation.
“Mm-mmpf.” A strained, breathy moan resounds from him and you hum against his length at the noise. That was hot. His hips still erratically twitch beneath you. It seems this is becoming too much for him at the moment.
“Wh-What is this? My systems ar-are–nngh.” His voice is tense as he attempts to speak. It’s clear he’s struggling to process what exactly he’s experiencing right now. It’s kind of cute, but he needs to chill out. His grip on your thighs is growing painful. In an attempt to make the cyborg relax, you smooth your left hand over the top of his muscular thigh and begin to lightly trace patterns on it. You also pull your mouth off of him, lazily pumping his cock instead while you wait for him to cool down a bit. His tremors eventually subside and you feel him kneading your poor thighs.
“You okay?” You hum quietly, looking over your shoulder to assess his expression. Judging by the way his eyebrows are furrowed, he appears to be deep in thought.
“Yes. Keep going.” He replies. You nod, resuming your task of overworking him. Until you feel a finger prod at your puffy folds yet again. Before you can say anything, the digit begins to slowly sink into your twitching heat. A shaky exhale leaves you as he reaches down to his third knuckle with ease. You struggle to continue stroking him as the Terminator gently rubs his finger against your walls, clearly trying to find your most pleasurable spots. A heady whine echoes through the dingy room as he manages to caress a part that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.
“You should lower your voice, [Y/N]. Sarah and John are still here.” The machine murmurs. You scoff, now determined to make him regret those words. Readjusting your grip, you begin to pump his dick in your hand with more fervor. His hips jump slightly and you smirk as a choked groan emits from him. You don’t let the robot recover from the sudden change, quickly engulfing the head of his cock into your mouth and sucking. A violent shudder rolls through the machine’s body and it only spurs you on. Taking a deep breath, you try to swallow the Terminator’s cock down your throat. A loud moan fills the air as you do, his hips snapping up on their own accord. You gag as the rest of his length is forced into your esophagus, your lips successfully pressing against his pubic bone. His hands are again wrapped around the backs of your thighs, a plethora of unintelligible words expelling from the T-800. You manage to relax yourself, starting to slowly drag your mouth up and down.
“Oh– I d-don’t– I think I’m–” His loud gasp is your only warning before you feel a gush of liquid spill down your throat. You choke, swallowing the best you can before you have to pull away so you don’t throw up. The machine is shaking beneath you, a final spurt of cum rolling down the length of his cock before he stills completely. You lick him clean, savoring it before you sit up and turn around. You’re seated comfortably on his defined abdomen, looking down at his blissed out expression. His cheeks are red and his eyes are dilated as hell, only a smidge of the blue irises visible. It makes you smile.
“How are you feeling?” You expected him to instantly remind you that machines cannot feel anything, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t respond immediately.
“Warm.” He murmurs quietly after a few seconds and you swear your heart melts at the simple, genuine reply. The T-800’s eyes flicker around your figure for a few moments, seeming to really take in the view in front of him. His lips twitch and you feel his right hand cup the back of your head.
“Come here.” He mumbles as he gently brings you up towards his face, meeting you halfway and passionately pressing his lips against yours. You feel his other arm slink around your waist as he sits up a bit, carefully pressing your body snug against his own. You gladly sink into him, rolling your tongue against his bottom lip in a silent demand for him to deepen the kiss. He seems to understand, a soft groan vibrating against your mouth as he opens his own. He allows you to explore, secretly enjoying the taste of you being processed through his overheated system. It gradually grows more raunchy and you only pull back when you feel his length twitch against your ass. You must’ve shifted down here at some point. His hands slide down to your plush backside, gently massaging the skin while he practically stares into your soul.
“Would you like to continue?” He asks softly, focusing on your face as you smile. You adjust your hips accordingly, sighing out an enthusiastic “Yes.”
The machine helps you adjust so you’re hovering over his cock, teasingly circling your entrance before pressing against it. He pauses, clearly continuing to give you the lead. Lightly biting the inside of your cheek, you begin to sink down on his sizable dick. A low moan expels from you as you slide him into you, relishing in the way he seems to pulsate inside of you. The robot shares your pleasure, sucking in a breath despite not having lungs. Strange…
“Mmm..You’re overwhelming.” He shudders, and you moan as you eventually press against his base. You feel extremely full, but it’s surprisingly super exhilarating. An erotic chuckle puffs from you as you adjust, your hands cupping his somehow rosy cheeks.
“You feel so good.” You admit breathily, pressing a soft kiss to his lips as you begin to set a rhythm. A sonorous hum is his response as you feel his hands run up your back. An intense, but intimate grind is kept in place as you both process what feels good and what feels better. You’re reduced to shaky moans and pants as the heat within grows hotter. The T-800 beneath you is in a blissed out haze, but is still unsurprisingly quiet as he watches your reactions the entire time. Ingraining it in his CPU files. A growl thrums from him as he suddenly hijacks your rhythm, forcing your hips down until you’re flush against him and keeping you there.
“I’d like to take over.” He grunts out and you whimper against his neck, loathing the fact that you can’t move in his vice-like grip. You brush your thumbs over his cheeks before nodding.
“Okay.” You whisper, adjusting your hands so they hold onto his broad shoulders. His fingers adjust their grip on your backside, aiding in lifting you slowly off of his length. He continues until just the tip remains inside, then he just as painstakingly lowers you back down. The motion allows you to feel everything inch by inch and it makes you feel warmer than you thought possible. A high-pitched moan erupts from you as soon as he bottoms out, the length of him perfectly massaging against a sensitive spot deep within.
“Right there?” He asks softly. You nod, your fingers digging into his shoulders. A smirk curls his lips at your response, mischief flashing briefly through his focused expression. You don’t have a second to question it when the machine grinds into you before pulling out to piston his entire length back into that exact, mind-numbing spot. A strangled gasp is all you can muster as you hold on to his broad shoulders, your head tilting back as the warmth from within your body slowly overwhelms you. The pressure builds as he sets a bruising pace, the smack of your hips against his audible now. Your entire body jolts against his powerful thrusts, but it isn’t painful. Not when his cock massages the inside of you perfectly every single time. An obscene squelching sound soon becomes audible. You can feel the pressure mounting, your fingers clawing his biceps frantically. His lips brush over your neck. The Terminator is quiet, but a quiet set of groans rumbles from him every now and again. He remains watchful of your face, looking on as you slowly begin to lose yourself on him. Because of him. He’s quite a sight to bestow, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks with his mouth slightly parted in focus.
“Y-You bastard.” You manage to grit out through your pants, a heated moan pouring out soon after. His teeth find your earlobe and all you can do is arch your back as a powerful wave of heat seizes you suddenly. His hand covers your mouth just in time as an unrestrained cry tears through your throat as the orgasm washes over. The arm around your waist locks up and you can hear him grunt as your pussy clenches around him, the cyborg burying his cock deep within you before he stills up as well.
“You’re so t-tight—nggh.” His artificial voice cracks before his entire body shudders, the feeling of his cum pumping into you following after. It only prolongs your ecstasy. The machine holds you tightly against him until both of you have recovered, removing his hand away from your mouth to join his other arm around your waist.
“Did I hurt you?” He asks after a bout of silence and you smile against his chest, shaking your head.
“No.” You mumble, a deep sigh leaving you as he moves to slide out of you. You groan lightly as he shifts so you now lay comfortably on top of him, the soreness of your body just beginning to set in by the movement. The humanoid’s fingers trail over your sweaty skin, mapping over the expanse over your spent frame.
“Good.” He says softly, and you snort at his response. The tips of his fingers trace down your spine as he hums.
“The goal was to make it hard for you to walk without seriously injuring you. I’m just making sure this solution is effective.” His usual monotone is back, but you pay no mind. You’re too busy falling asleep against his bulky form. Seems the robot wore you out more than you thought he could.
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