MORE WADE AND LOGAN PLSSSSS CAN WE GET THEM (POLY) DATING A SHORT READER HCS??? TYYYY
Short! S/O - Logan Howlett & Wade Wilson
Pairing: Logan Howlett x short! gn! reader x Wade Wilson
Genre: fluff
CW: poly relationship, teasing, short jokes, Logan picks us up, protective boys, size diff
| Ryan Reynolds & Hugh Jackman are both 6’2 so I am gonna go off of that (i know Logan is short in the comics but just let me dream pls :,) |
YES YES OF COURSE!!! there’s almost nothing I love more than writing a short/small reader cause I myself am not short :,) but it’s nice to pretend. god both of them are so tall I just wanna stand between them & feel safe ^^ thank you so much for the req!!
they’re such bullies i’m so sorry
expect a TON of short jokes (mostly Wade)
and expect them to parry anything you say with “you’re short” (mostly Logan)
you will always be their arm rest, you have no say in it
standing in line? Logan’s leaning his arm on your shoulder.
at a party? Wade’s propping himself up on the top of your head
Logan LOVES how short you are too and manhandles you at any opportunity
if you’re being a brat, he won’t hesitate to remind you that he is bigger than you
whether that’s him throwing you over his shoulder or just standing real close to you so you can see the height difference up close & personal
as soon as Wade sees Logan in, he can’t help himself—he’ll slide up on your other side and smush you between the two of them
they’re such teases they’ll talk about you like you’re not completely stuck between them
“nice weather we’re having, hey?”
“oh yeah, real nice bub”
they’ll keep chatting until you’re whining and pushing against them to just get out
Wade LOVES putting things on shelves too high for you to reach just so he can watch you struggle
and Logan the absolute menace will lean against the wall with his arms crossed and watch you hop to reach your phone charger
they’ll sit there and watch you struggle until you turn on them with sad eyes and suddenly they’re racing to get it down for you
these mfs are so protective they will not leave your side whenever you go to parties/the bar
one of them is glued to you 24/7 (even when they’re not physically with you, they’re watching you too)
and anyone in the general area (07) knows not to fuck with you
on especially hard days, your size is just what they need
coming home from fighting crazy strong villains & mutants to their cute short s/o? nothing better in the whole world
masterlist
if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way!! likes, comments & rbs are always appreciated ^^
omg of course!! the two of them being jealous over you would be such a handful >~< id love to write a full length of this sometime too!! thank you for the request lovely 💓
these two are such a handful when they’re jealous
Logan has no patience for other men getting in your personal space
if some other guy is talking to you too long or starting to get a little too close
he comes and stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck
he’ll make a big show of it too, sucking at your skin and breathing in your scent
“d’ya smell that? hm?”
you scrunch your eyebrows together, wondering what’s about to come
“that’s my scent. mine. all fuckin’ over ya.”
he’s dragging you upstairs to the nearest locked bedroom before you can even react
sex with him while he’s jealous can go either way depending on just how riled up he is
sometimes it’s deep and intimate, going until you’ve forgotten the rest of the world
or it’s rough and hard and biting, until your head is spinning and his name is the only thing you can remember
he’ll have you face down in the pillows, his grip on your hips so tight you swear he’s using his claws
his cock bullies so deep inside of you that tears form in your eyes and you have to wind your hands into the sheets to keep from screaming
and once you throw Wade into the mix…
Wade does NOT get jealous easily & even if he does, he just jokes it off
it would take a lot to get him going & god help you if he does
he’ll swoop in when someone’s hitting on you and press himself in real close
not nearly as showy as Logan but he’ll make real good eye contact with them and call them out for it
“i know i know” he’ll kiss the side of your head. “so fuckable, right?“
he’ll have you propped on the counter of the nearest bathroom, his face stuffed between your legs in an instant
he’s holding your legs open with ease & relentlessly licking your poor, overstimulated clit
every time you try to shuffle away or close your legs he’s pushing them further apart
“ahahah, not yet baby. if you can still move then I haven’t done my job right.”
when they’re together & jealous?? you’re not leaving that room for hours and they’re going to fucking ruin you
they’ll have you whining and overstimulated long before either of them slip inside of you
they take turns over who gets to eat you out, the other holding your legs open and mumbling a tantalizing mix of praise and degradation in your ears
they’re both dirty talk kings
by the time Logan slips his cock through your folds, your legs are already shaking
you’re moaning so damn loud that Wade has to shove his cock in your mouth to keep the people at the party from hearing
the two of them can go for hours thanks to their regeneration and if you think you’re getting out anytime before that…
once you’re nice and fucked out in Logan’s arms, Wade’s sliding his cock inside of you and then they’re both fucking you
they get SO caught up in the moment trying to one up each other too—the only thing they can agree upon is that you’re theirs
when the night is over, you’ll be stuffed to the brim with cum and half-conscious, fucked out on the bed
they’ll clean you up nice and good though
Wade is the best ever at aftercare, he’ll always have water and a warm cloth for you (or in this case, a tshirt he stole from the closet)
meanwhile Logan will massage your aching muscles and shaking limbs, kissing your feverish skin
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if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! i appreciate every like, comment & reblog i receive ^^
tags: Logan POV, MMF threesome, jealous!logan, reader is wade's girl, mutual pining/crushes all around, voyeurism, dirty talk, open relationship, oral sex, fingering, Logan doms both of them, 69ing, fucklicking, ball worship, come eating, PiV
a/n: I want them to kiss and I also want them to kiss reader to here this is! 💕
Right now, all he can hear is Wade running his goddamn mouth. Drowning out the sounds you make - so fuckin’ pretty, and the prick is too busy listening to himself to appreciate it.
There’s one thing that Logan knows for sure - and it’s that Wade’s not doing it right. Not like he would.
(or - Logan tries to shut Wade up, and it doesn’t quite go as expected)
Logan can hear Wade from here.
Running that goddamn mouth already, and the sun’s only barely up.
Can hear you, too. The little whimpers that you try bite back. He can imagine the way your teeth sink into your lip - the thought has him shifting in his chair, breakfast forgotten.
So fuckin’ pretty, and the prick is too busy listening to himself to appreciate it.
Knows he could make you even louder, too. It’s almost like he’s at the mansion again, looking at another toy he can’t touch.
What a waste.
The sounds crescendo, the chanting of a name layered with that endless babble that makes his teeth grind, before the sound breaks.
Trying not to look interested when the door opens a few minutes later. Snatching up the newspaper that’s been sitting on the cluttered tabletop for a month now, flicking it open.
Ignoring how Wade strolls out, adjusting the waistband on a pair of grey sweats that are hanging way too low on his hips for comfort.
Rummaging around for a bottle of water, the glow of the fridge illuminating the curve of his ass. The cut of the pants look familiar, Logan's eyes narrowing as he wonders if those are his missing pair-
The edge of the paper flicking up again into place again, just as Wade stretches - bending further, before the bottle is snatched from the back.
Logan huffs.
“Hey roomie,” Wade hums, flicking the cap at him. It sails through the air, disappearing into his forgotten cup of coffee with a little 'plunk', “Don’t let me interrupt that killer Ed Tom Bell impression you’ve got going on, just hydrating for round two.”
“Ooh,” A cock of his hip, as he turns - head tilting as he thinks, “Does that make me Josh Brolin? God, I love him.”
“That’s all?” Logan’s eyebrows lift as he sneers - ignoring another reference he doesn’t understand, “Been going at it for a while.”
As soon as he says it, he regrets it. Opening himself up for an attack. He can already hear the sing-song response at the admittance that he’s been listening.
Screwing the Pavlovian pooch, with the way that he's more than aware that his dick’s half-hard. The result of taking care of himself one too many times - an attempt at getting himself back to sleep, pretending that he isn’t jerking himself off to the beat of the frame that bangs against the walls.
Luckily, Wade zeros in on the exact wrong part. Sputtering, as water drips down his chin, “That’s all? What do you mean, that’s all?”
“You heard me,” The paper crinkles in his fist, “In fact, I’m surprised you even got round one off. Much less that she’s sticking around for another.”
“You wound me, and yet, flatter.” Wade’s hand flattens over his heart, “I never knew you thought about me like that.”
“I haven’t been thinking about you, you ass,” Logan snarls, teeth bared, “I just know that if you’re talking, then you’re not doing it right.”
Wade grins at that, teeth scraping over his lower lip as they stretch wide.
Eyes flicking over his form, assessing in a way that has Logan bristling - voice going syrupy-smooth, “Is that right? You think you can do better, mutton chops?”
The breath he inhales is ragged. That feeling back again - an urge to curl his hand around Wade’s throat, and squeeze.
“Yeah,” Logan growls out, “Yeah, I fucking do.”
The table shakes as Wade plops himself down on the edge, a leg crossing over the other. Interest gleaming in his eyes as his head tilts towards the bedroom door.
“Alright. Bring on the magic tricks, Angier.” His hands splay wide, wiggling, “Gonna show me how to make your fingers disappear?”
Logan glares, his eyes flicking down to where the fleece pulls across his hips.
“Right.” He spits, “Like you’ve got another in you?”
“Hey now, pookums. Marvel Jesus, remember?” Wade’s hand makes a sweeping gesture in front of his crotch, “Just give me three minutes and I’ll have risen.”
“That’s disgusting.” Logan barks, “And get off the table.”
If anything, it makes Wade sit harder. His legs pivoting until he can spread his thighs on either side of the paper, ankles dangling off the edge.
“Disgusting?” His tone pitches up, “Says the man that’s rocking a stiffy. Gonna jerk it at the breakfast table when I leave? You know Blind Al eats there.”
The paper twitches reflexivity in his hands, and Wade’s smile pulls wider as Logan shoots him a death glare, lips curling over teeth.
“Why the fuck would I do something like that?”
Wade hums, “Call it an educated wish.”
“Call it an educated get-the-fuck-out-of-here.” Logan scoffs. His eyes flicking towards the bedroom, the door still shut, “You’re talking like she wants this.”
Wade’s finger presses at the edge of the newspaper he’s hiding behind, and Logan bats his hand away.
He’s still not gotten used to all the skin, he doesn’t know where to look. The slightest shift back in his chair, but he’s already pressed up against the wall.
“Oh please, as if we don’t take turns roleplaying as you,” Wade sighs longingly, “This would be a wet dream come true.”
His eyes narrow then, as his tongue runs across his lip. Voice dropping again, coaxing.
“Look,” Wade says it like he’s leveling with him - talking man-to-man,“If you wanted to fuck her, peanut, all you had to do was ask.”
And for a moment, Logan truly considers it. Not just the fantasy that’s been playing through his head for weeks.
Weirder shit has happened, he supposed.
He’s already been claw-deep into Wade’s guts. A brawl in that shitty van that lasted until morning. Bound tip-to-tip in the void for god knows how long.
Getting walked in on in the bathroom at least twice in the last month. A gleeful “mind if I cut in?”, before Logan’s fist is sending him into the vanity.
The last time it took a full week to get the sink fixed.
Not to mention that Wade apparently seems so certain that his clothes were now their clothes.
So fucking keen on sharing.
So it wasn’t a stretch to think he might want to share you, too.
There’s something caught between his teeth, heavy on his tongue. About to loosen, when the door is opening.
Swallowing them down as you step through, thighs bare under a too-big t-shirt. Arms wrapping around Wade’s shoulders as your lips press against his cheek.
“Thought you were coming back, Red.” You coo. Drawn out by the sound of bickering as you had basked in your afterglow.
“Morning, Logan.” A smile sent his way after, turning sheepish, “You’re up early. Hope we didn’t wake you.”
He grunts in reply. Pretending there wasn’t a little jolt in his stomach at the sound of his name. That he hadn’t been thinking about spreading you across this table, lifting the hem of your shirt up-
If he’d been in your bed, no one would have had to wonder.
The whole damn floor would’ve been woken up.
“He thinks I fuck bad, so I’m gonna prove he’s wrong,” Wade adds in, cheerfully, “That okay with you, gorgeous?”
Logan glares over the top of his paper. A rough clearing in his throat as your eyebrows lift, glancing his way.
He hadn’t really meant to bring you into this, or at least, that’s what he’s telling himself.
That eye contact dropping, as you lean into Wade, your chin propped on his shoulder, “Is that right? How are you going to do that?”
Logan’s answer comes out flat, as he examines an ad in the bottom corner of the page,“I’m not doing anything.”
Wade sighs, his head knocking back against your shoulder.
“Come on, Wolvie. I would love for you to prove me wrong,” He needles, digging deep, “Put your money where my cock should be.”
Logan still doesn’t look up, “Not interested, I’m busy.”
The sigh that pulls from his lungs is long, a near-whine.
“What, with reading?” He exclaims, “Jesus you really are old. The retirement home called, they’re missing a resident.”
Logan’s eyes snap up now, narrowing, “Fuck. Off.”
With a sigh, Wade fucks off. Legs curling, until he’s rolling off the table. Your hand fitting in his, a water bottle tucked under your arm as you head back towards the room.
“The offer still stands!” He calls.
A beat, before you turn.
“Logan?” You call, as he’s helpless - his eyes pulling away. Drawn to you.
A little wink sent his way. Your finger gesturing towards his chest, as you smile.
“Your paper’s upside down.”
Logan’s still not quite sure how he got here. His feet moving on his own, fingers catching the bedroom door just as it starts to close.
Almost backing out when he sees the look of Wade’s face, pleased as fucking punch.
Standing by the edge of the bed now, as you kneel on it in front of him. Fingers slipping across his chest - curious, with the way your eyes flicker over his face. Eager, though you hide it well.
“So what exactly did you tell Wade to get him so worked up?” Your fingers twine around his neck, as his find your hips.
He hums at that - flicking towards his roommate before they find yours again.
“All I said was that if I can hear his mouth running from out there,” Logan’s fingers dent into soft skin, tugging you closer, “He can’t be doing a good job.”
There’s a shift off to the side. Wade sinking down into the beanbag chair he pulled up,“Can you believe that? As if I don’t have a good grade in my oral and my dickabilties.”
“A gold star, babe.” You shoot him a tender smile, before they focus on Logan again. Shoulder lifting, as your grin grows, “I mean, Merc with a Mouth, right? Seems like part of the package.”
He huffs, eyes dropping to your lips.
“You think it’s good,” Logan’s tone is almost pitying, “But it’s only because you haven’t had better.”
That pulls a gasp from your throat, eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah, I think you’re trying to emasculate me, but honestly…” Wade’s hand splays wide over his crotch, “Sploosh.”
“Sploosh.” You echo softly, and he can feel you shift closer. Can smell the fresh curl of arousal that heats your skin, as his hands ghost higher. A small smile, as your head tilts, “So you just all talk then, or…”
“No.” Logan scoffs, “No, I’m not.”
He closes the gap, more certain now. Mouth pressing against yours, as you squeak - tense in his arms, until you go liquid.
Soft tits pressed to his chest as his tongue sweeps against your lips. Swallowing a pretty moan as they part for him, his own groan rumbling in his chest as his hands wander.
Slipping down, ghosting against skin. Feeling the goosebumps that rise, as he draws circles against your hip. His name whimpered, and it shoots straight to his cock.
Not even a heartbeat, before the chatter begins.
“Bet your pussy’s wet already, isn’t it baby?” He coos, “A kiss like that, it’s even got me a little worked up. And I’m just producing this show.”
Logan’s eyes crack open as he glares, “You’re not producing shit, asshole.”
“Ooh, I bet you SO wish you worded that in a different way-”
You huff against his mouth, your touch guiding him back. The thought lingers, curiosity burning. Letting his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, knuckles brushing your thigh.
Tracing around to the curve of your ass, his wide palm splaying out, then squeezing against bare flesh.
“Is he right?” He rasps, his lips brushing against yours. Half-hating that he’s letting Wade get in his head, but the thought-
You gasp again, and his teeth flash with his smirk, “Are you wet for me already, sweetheart?”
“She’s been since she first saw you. Goddamn Niagara Falls,” Wade’s voice has softened - teasing now, “Isn’t that right, gorgeous?”
An amused shake of your head, as something silent passes between them. Logan doesn’t pretend to know how your relationship works - other than the fact that Wade was willing to do anything to save this world for you.
And that there’s something inside him that tightens - a flicker in his belly - whenever he looks at you. Whenever Wade flirts with him. That sharp annoyance from their meeting slowly bleeding out with each day goes by.
Something else taking root, the more time he spends with both of you. He’s not good with his emotions. Doesn’t want to name that ache when he saw you together.
A silent wish, with his shifting daydreams. With the jerk of his fist in the morning. Imaging you in his bed, at first. And then, more - two sets of hands. Two mouths at his cock, and then he’s suddenly coming harder than he has before.
He’s become greedy, the more you both give him.
“Show me.” It’s a command, soft and low.
Logan can feel your thighs press together, that little squirm. Tucking this new discovery away as you lean back, eyes dark with desire.
The briefest hesitance, before your fingers loosen from him. Slipping down, under the hem of your shirt. The nails on your other hand bite into his shoulder as you sigh - two fingers gliding through the wet folds of your pussy.
Pulling them back for him to see. Glistening, your arousal stringing between them. His hand is already curling around your wrist. No resistance as he tugs - guiding your fingers past his lips as they part.
Sucking the sweet taste of you as he groans, deep in his chest. Eyes fixed on yours so he can see the way yours widen, feeling how your fingers flex against the swipe of his tongue.
“Logan.” You sigh his name, and it only makes his moan - eyes shutting as you press down against his tongue. The need slipping into your voice, pleading.
“I wanna feel your mouth. Show me, too,” You sigh, as you slip from him, “Show me what you meant.”
Christ, he’s been aching for this. Eager to drown himself in your pussy, if you’d let him.
There’s a sharp clap that forces his eyes open. Wade’s enthusiasm as he drags the bag closer, chin cradled in his hands.
“Yeah, Logan. You gonna show us your dickabilites, or what?”
He shoots him a withering look. Softening before he turns to you, his chin tipping up.
“Lay back on the bed for me, sweetheart.”
You listen so sweetly, and it makes his cock throb. A quick dart of your eyes over to your boyfriend, who only nods.
“Take that off, baby,” Wade coos, “Show him how pretty you are.”
He’s not sure when he started letting Wade make orders, but for once he’s not wanting to argue about his suggestions.
Because fuck, you are pretty. No arguing with that.
Letting his eyes sweep over every inch that is revealed, as you lift the hem of your shirt. The curve of your hips, your soft tits that he can’t wait to get his mouth on.
Baring yourself, as you lean back against the pillows. His eyes are fixed on your cunt, already fitting himself between your thighs. Fingers reaching - ready to part you open. Taste you himself, bury his tongue inside you.
Your hand reaches out, pushing against his shoulder.
“Wait, you too.” You pout, “Let’s play fair, okay?”
He huffs, lips quirking. Hands catching the hem as he tugs his own shirt off, Wade diving for it as he tossed it towards the floor.
Twin gasps rise, and if he was a much younger man, he may have blushed.
“Fuck.” Wade groans, a hand dropping down his crotch and squeezing.
You’re already leaning forward, a hand flattening against his skin. A soft "wow" slipping from your lips - feeling the way his muscles jump as you slide over his pecs, the thick hair covering them.
A hand hooking around his shoulder - a smirk hidden as you tug him down on top of you.
Soft, beneath him. Those needy whines he loves so much caught between your teeth as he noses at your neck. Teeth nipping at skin, an urge to leave a mark for later.
That cry finally loosened as he moves down. Teeth and tongue biting and soothing at the tight peaks of your nipples. Broad hands cupping and squeezing, liking the way they fit in his palms. The way you moan, arching into his touch.
“Give me more of that,” He murmurs against your skin, "I want to hear you."
Your body tensing beneath his when he settles between your thighs. They have to spread, to fit his shoulders. Opening you up, putting you on display.
Watching how you clench - a throaty chuckle as his thumb presses just shy of your folds. Tugging you open, seeing how your skin glistens with slick already.
“Pretty fucking sight, you know that?” His eyes flip up to yours.
You’re propped up on your elbows. Teeth sinking into your lip, breath held as your eyebrows slant in anticipation. Lips parting with his words, a minute shift of your hips.
“You should see it when it’s stuffed full. Boston cream's got nothing on her."
There’s an embarrassed groan of his name. Logan ignores him - letting his thumb rub against the tight nub of your clit, instead. Your word turning into a sharp, inhaled breath.
Teasing, each circle achingly slow. Aware of the two sets of eyes on him, burning his skin. A low ache in his belly, his glaze fixing on yours, watching as you inhale as his mouth lowers.
A soft lick, tongue lapping against your slit. Tasting you more thoroughly, dragging against soaked skin, as his fingers tease at your entrance.
Focusing on your clit, tight flicks with his tongue. Letting his lips suck on the tight bud, as he sinks down to one knuckle, then another. A second finger slipping in once you get used to him, making room for himself as he scissors you open.
He can hear the soft, wet sound of your cunt, with each plunge of his fingers. Flexing and curling them until he can feel you clamp down.
The quiet sounds you make - soft breaths and gasps - turning louder. Panting now, as you whine. Hips lifting to meet the curl of his tongue, until he pulls back.
“Should be hearing this,” Logan grits out. A quick glance towards Wade as his fingers pound into you, “Not you talking out of your ass.”
There’s silence for a long moment, the words coming out distracted.
“You talk about my ass an awful lot for a man who pretends he's not interested,” Wade manages, slowly, “You change your mind about that, too?”
His breath shallow, as Logan growls in annoyance. Attention returning back to you. Fingers working faster, head dropping again to tongue at your clit.
A leg hooks over his shoulder - a heel digging into his back, tugging him closer. Logan loses himself - growling into your pussy. His own hips pressing down into the bed, as he tugs at his belt and button, relieving the too-tight ache of denim.
Feeling how you leak against his palm, tighten around his fingers. Chase that winding pleasure as you arch into his mouth. A hand drifting off the bed, reaching. Grasping.
“Logan.” You’re begging again, pleading. For more, for anything. For him not to stop, and he leans into the way you tug at his hair, guiding him to the right spot.
You come with your fingers entwined with Wade’s. With your thighs clamped against Logan's ears as he rips a cry from you - long and loud - threatening to suffocate him.
Would be the way he’d choose to die, if he could.
The sounds come flooding back, as your thighs loosen. Boneless and languid, your smile wide as your fingers trace his scruff, the sharp curve of his jaw.
Perhaps he was wrong, to think he could silence Wade entirely. Your orgasm has only made him more vocal - complaints about how “fucking hard he is” mixing with rambling praise.
“Wilson.” He finds himself growling. Beckoning with two fingers, as Wade practically springs from the bag.
“Oh my GOD,” Wade is gushing, clambering onto the bed with him, “This is way better than joining the Avengers. Even if they do have Thor.”
“Huge praise.” You smile drunkenly, pushing yourself up to press your mouth against his.
And under his direct instructions, Logan finds that Wade almost listens.
“Get on your back,” He points, as you scooch to make room.
"Ooh, dirty." Wade grins, splaying out on his back, hands tucked under his head.
“No,” Logan makes a frustrated sound - ignoring another comment. A twirl of his finger, “The other way.”
His head is cradled near your hips now, legs stretched out toward the pillows.
Logan’s next words are a growl, “Now, clean her up.”
Wade groans, as he catches up.
“Fuck.” He whines, “Yeah. Come here, baby.”
Hands guiding you into place, your knees framing his head, as you face towards the headboard. Wade’s mouth already tipping up to meet you, a soft moan as his tongue swipes against your slit.
“I don’t want to hear you until she comes.” Logan rasps, and he can see the way Wade’s hips lift.
Just now catching the darkened fabric, where it tents.
Another thing to catalog.
Content for now to let his hands drift as he stands behind you at the edge of the bed, his chest pressing to your back. Sucking a mark in the hollow under your ear, feeling the buzz of your whine against his lips.
Hands cupping your breasts again, feeling their weight. Pinching at the tight peaks, before his thumb is smoothing over them.
Your eyes are blown wide, fingers curling against your thighs. Panting as the overstimulation tips towards pleasure, the feel of the sweet mouth below you soft and familiar.
Shifting as you sit, rocking back to where Logan’s cock presses against your lower back. His hands tugging at the zipper, shoving his jeans down as he works himself free. Kicking them off, after.
You gasp when you see him from over your shoulder, and he can’t help the way he twitches in his hand at the sound. Can’t pretend he isn’t leaking from tasting you, his cock heavy as he lets go to let it hang between his thighs.
“Fuck, that’s not fair.” It’s muffled, and you hum in agreement as Wade lifts you to get a better look, “God didn’t make you perfect enough as-is? Just had to make you proportional, you goddamn stallion.”
A derisive sound as his arm wiggles out from under you, fingers reaching.
“And Jesus H. Christ, look at the girth-”
Logan bats his hand away.
It should annoy him. That Wade isn’t listening. That he’s commenting on his cock - but it doesn’t.
Can’t help but think that in here, in this room, the chatter isn’t so bad. Would never admit that he’s wrong, just that when he’s admiring and not on a dumb-as-fuck tangent, it’s almost - flattering.
Maybe that’s too far. Tolerable, perhaps.
“You want my mouth?” You offer sweetly, breaking into his thoughts. Hungrily.
There’s a flash of white teeth as Logan smiles. A hand pressing gently against your back, until you’re stretched out over Wade.
“No. I’m still gonna fuck you, baby.” He rasps, “Just wanted a little peace and quiet while doing it.”
You moan, thighs inching wider. Head turned so you can watch the way he moves behind you. Adjusting your hips until your ass is in the air, his fingers gripping the base of his cock as he lines himself up.
“Keep going, Wilson.” He grits out, when the man goes still beneath them.
A rough chuckle rattles.
“Not a fucking chance, human tripod. I am SO watching this.”
Fuck it. He lets him.
Letting the tip of his cock press against your entrance. Wade’s arms curling around your thighs, holding you in place as you string tight above him.
“God, it’s even bigger from this angle. Feels like I’m in a goddamn eclipse right now.”
“Why do you sound surprised, babe?” Your voice is strained. Face buried against Wade’s stomach, fingers curled in the sheets, “I thought you guys fucked in the void.”
That fleeting curl of warmth leaves him.
“We what?” Logan growls, leaning back to glare at the peek of dark brown eyes, the top of a bald head he wants to slap.
Teeth bared, as he snarls, “We didn’t fuck. I beat the shit out of him in a goddamn van.”
“All night long.” Wade laughs - and then sighs fondly, “And isn’t that just the same thing?”
Fingers encircle his cock from below before he can retort, squeezing. A tug as he guides him into the tight clench of your pussy, and Logan thinks he really should just shove his claws into Wade’s dick.
But that desire bleeds away, as you stretch around him. The twin groans from beneath him, the sounds blending together.
“Oh,” You moan, clenching around him. Back arching, as he slips in another inch, “Makes sense. Was… was just wondering why it took you so long to join us.”
Logan goes still for a moment, with this new information. A realization that he could have had this the whole time, if he had asked.
That Wade hadn’t been joking before.
He groans, hips snapping forward. A grunt below as your knees squeeze against Wade’s throat, but from the way you squirm, Logan can tell that his mouth is at work again.
Teasing at your clit, as his own hips slowly start to move. Feet planting on the bedroom floor as his hands fit against your waist.
Using the leverage to drive himself deep. Hips flush as his balls slap against your skin, growing sticky with your release.
“This is hot, this is so fucking hot,” Wade groans, babbling as he sucks in a breath, “I’m so going to jerk my dick raw thinking about this later.”
And with the reminder, he supposes he can throw his roommate a bone.
“Come on, baby,” Logan rasps - reaching. A little nudge against your chin, angling your head, “Looks like he needs a little help.”
It’s benevolent. It’s selfish - his fingers biting into skin as you realize what he means. Watching as you tug at the waistband of Wade’s sweatpants, pushing them down.
The man moans, from between your thighs. Sweet nothings mumbled as your hand wraps around his cock, angling it into your waiting mouth.
Watching how the leaking tip presses into your cheek. The buck of his hips as you fist moves, while you suck - your spit slicking up his cock.
It looks like the rest of him. Mottled skin, the tip flushed a deeper shade of red. Long and thick in your hand - Logan’s cock throbbing at the way you swallow him down, how your lips part to make him fit.
His pace picking up. Pounding into your tight, wet cunt as Wade groans against your clit. Tongue lapping and licking, winding you higher as Logan drives you towards a second.
Slowly drifting, as the flicks of his tongue grow longer. The tip pressing against your folds, as you groan around his cock.
Further down. Tasting the tang of your release - the salt of skin where you’re split open, stretched wide.
And then further. Logan jerks, as something wet drags along his shaft.
“Wade.” It comes out as a rough growl. Pitching into a huffing whine when it happens again, flattening against the heavy weight of his balls.
Choking him, as his rhythm stutters. Hips flexing into you as he grinds himself flush, teeth gritting.
“Fuck.” It’s hushed, pulled from his lungs.
Having to find himself again - hold back the urge to come right that second - as you squirm beneath him. Wade’s tongue traveling from your clit to the tight seam of his sack, his hips rocking in your mouth.
Finding a rhythm together, Logan’s head tilting back. The room filled with lewd sounds of their joining, of wet mouths and the rhythmic pounding of the headboard against the wall.
Lucky that Al was out for the morning, or else they’d never hear the end of it.
Your cries pitch up, as his cock drags against the spot his fingers found. Something clenching deep in his guts, eyes dragging down to how you look wrapped around him. The pink peek of tongue beneath, how the combination makes his toes curl.
Imagining another morning. Sharing you in another way, his cock buried in your ass while your lover fills your cunt. Whimpering between them, unable to form words.
The sound you make now are not that different - the cadence of your panting is one he’s coming to recognize.
“You close, sweetheart?” He rasps, arcing over you, “Can feel your pussy clenching around me. So fucking tight, can’t wait to feel you come all over my cock.”
It pulls a moan from you, head lifting from Wade’s cock. Resting against his stomach, as your hand wraps around him. The jerk of your fist messy, off rhythm.
“Yeah, you are.” Logan hums, as his hips rut into you, “Come on, Wilson. Make our girl come.”
There’s a rough groan. Wade listens for once, head tilting to suck at your clit. Logan concentrating on the angle that makes you cry out, a hand fisting in the sheets.
Their names a mumbled mess on your lips, as you’re yanked higher and higher. Your moans pitching up, growing louder.
Just like his dreams. Even better, really.
“Please,” You whine, “I’m, I’m-”
A high-pitched gasp, then, as your face buries against Wade’s hips. As your pussy clamps down around his cock, fluttering with the steady saw of his hips.
“Good fucking girl.” The praise is soft, as his thumbs rub circles against your skin, “That’s it, let him taste how sweet you are.”
Working together, the tight licks against your clit going lazy again. Dipping to your entrance to taste your release against his shaft, Wade’s cock leaking and bobbing against his stomach.
Drawing out your pleasure, until the stars fade from your half-lidded eyes. Until the rushing in your veins ebb, and the pulse around his cock fades.
A low sigh, before Logan’s reaching - his chin tucking against your shoulder. His hand curling around yours, guiding it back to Wade's cock.
“Don’t forget about him.” Another command, but gentle this time. His hand moving with yours, palm mapping your knuckles as he sets a rhythm, “There you go.”
He could let go. You’ve found yourself again, eyes hazy. But he keeps his hand there. Keeps a pace that is so much firmer than your own, his own hips matching the rhythm as he chases his own end.
Wade’s groan replaces yours. A hand leaving your thigh to wrap around his, biting down hard into muscle. It only drives him deeper into you. Logan’s own moan bitten back as the tongue against his dick slips against his sack again.
Then against the thin layer of skin just behind, teasing.
“Fuck.” It’s a rough growl.
His hand works faster, teeth gritting. Feral sounds caught in his throat, as the pressure in his belly grows.
The last thing he sees before he comes is the drips of white against his knuckles. The warmth, a ragged groan against the inside of his thigh. Your mouth closing around to catch the rest, taking Wade’s cock into your throat with a soft sigh.
It robs him of his breath. A shuddering moan, as he grinds himself deep. Spilling into you again and again with each pulse of his cock, blood rushing in his ears.
Legs threatening to give as he empties himself, as his chest presses flush against your back. His face buried in your hair, as your tongue traces his knuckles. Cleaning them, as he did for you.
When he can, Logan eases from you with a grunt. Watching how you gape, then clench, now empty.
A bead of his release welling up, dripping against your skin. You go to move, but Wade’s hands curl around your calves - pulling you flush.
It’s hard to look away, as he licks away Logan’s come. A sharp ache of desire with the sound of a needy groan, as his tongue dipping inside.
Maybe Wade doesn’t have such a bad mouth, after all.
Logan’s arm is numb, but he can’t bring himself to move. Can’t remember a time when he’d let his brain turn off like this. A brief moment of silence, and it’s bliss. His world standing still.
“So that’s how you do it.” You muse quietly, dizzily. Head cradled against his chest - fingers dragging through the hair, gently scratching.
A stirring on his other side, where Wade is using his bicep like a pillow.
“Mm, I don’t think I got it,” Wade counters, but it’s soft - hazy at the edges. “Think I missed a couple steps. Was that round two or three?
"Three," You say - as Logan grunts, "Two."
The fingers on his chest drift down, dipping over his stomach.
“Well, either way...” You hum, snuggling a little closer, “Maybe you oughta show us, one more time.”
Wade flips over then, chin propped in his hand, “At least. Maybe even twice. We’re bad learners, peanut. Dumb as fucking rocks, really.”
“Mhmm,” You sigh, “Really dumb. Can't even count.”
And he can’t stop the twitch of his lips, even with his eyes closed. Had forgotten what it was like to be warm like this.
To be wanted.
And maybe, he even feels… content.
Something he never thought he’d be, again.
thank you so much for reading! it means so much and I am so happy to be dipping my toes into these pairings💖
Roleplay with Deadpool and Wolverine but it’s fucking stupid
~
You watched as Deadpool walked in, mask and suit in full glory. You were enamored as usual at the broad shoulders and defined muscles under the suit, thinking back to the times where you had taken it off of scared skin.
He wasn’t saying a single word, walking up to you and bringing his hand against your cheek gently, his hand slowly started to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. It wasn’t something he would do, you’ve fucked him plenty of times to know he would never make you look at him. On the other hand
“He looks great in that suit doesn’t he!” You heard Wade yell, only the mask in front of you wasn’t moving.
With wide eyes you looked towards the voice, finding Wade standing there, leaning against the opened door. His face was visible, somewhat, only covered in variations of yellow and blue belonging to someone else.
“He made me do this.” You heard the whisper from in front of you, grip turning you towards him again. A laugh resounding from the other side of the room as Logan ripped the red and black mask off his head.
“You’re gonna enjoy it, she loves that fucking thing more than me.”
Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)
Masterlist
Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.
Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.
P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?
Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.
His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -
He would be her past, present and future.
(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered.
She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it.
Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin.
She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something.
When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there.
Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg.
His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state.
He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain.
“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”
With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day.
“Is it… Is it still the same night?”
He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself.
“How long has it been?”
He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work.
“One day…? But how?”
He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her.
“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?”
Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head.
“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?”
His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again.
“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?”
Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes.
“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer.
The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities.
She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake.
(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully.
He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked.
The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal.
Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them.
“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped.
Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking.
“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.
-
After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.
Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered.
“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads.
Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed.
“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.”
As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every -
She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in.
“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck.
He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again.
As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum.
He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from.
Then he spotted them.
A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms.
Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.
She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut.
“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa.
Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked.
He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength.
He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her.
While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled.
As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless.
(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped.
She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready.
“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.”
Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled.
They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found.
As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded.
“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge.
Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed.
Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed.
“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched.
(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness.
The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored.
His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him.
At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm.
At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.
“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen.
He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out.
Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep.
Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence.
In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront.
As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together.
And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated.
The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced.
Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly.
“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit?
She called his nose cute.
“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.”
He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off.
“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.
Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call.
The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried.
“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.”
Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child.
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”
“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it.
“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated.
(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least.
“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it.
As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.
Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.
(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child.
When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted.
“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown.
At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.
His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.
Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him.
When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.
They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it.
As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong.
She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Blood of A Rose - Guardian (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)
Masterlist
Summary - A trip to the laundromat turns foul.
Notes - Sorry that this is a shorter one 😔 This was a request for Art to display his strength, but it took a darker turn than I intended 😅
Word Count - 1,279
Warning(s) - Sexual harassment/assault, graphic depictions of violence/gore
(Y/n) and Art sat together on a bench in a nearby laundromat, the hum of the washers and dryers providing a steady rhythm in the background. Her legs were tossed over his lap as his fingers mindlessly tapped against them, her head leaning against the wall as she casually scrolled through her phone.
She came upon a ‘top 10’ video of the worst roller coaster accidents recorded and she gasped, showing Art her phone enthusiastically.
“Look at this one.” She leaned in closer to him as he watched patiently.
He started to silently chuckle in the beginning, but it soon turned into full on laughter as they became more horrifying, slapping at her thigh in the process. (Y/n) began to laugh, herself. Though it was more so in adoration of his happiness than the content they were watching.
She pulled back once the video was finished and Art shook a finger at her with a wide smile, laughter beginning to die down. He then decided to look at her phone with her, pointing at something every now and then that particularly intrigued him or if he wanted to ask about something which she would gladly answer.
Once their washer buzzed, signally the cycle had finished, she stood up to switch the clothes over into the dryer. Art stood up after her and patted her lower back, pointing towards the back area of the small building where the bathrooms were.
(Y/n) nodded and he blew her a kiss, turning around to head in that direction. Just as the bathroom door closed, the chime of the laundromat’s entrance rang and a man walked through with his own bag of laundry. They locked eyes and (Y/n) quickly looked away, not wanting to draw his attention any further.
His footsteps drew closer, stopping not too far away from her and he put his clothes in the washer. She took a deep breath, seeing him face her out of the corner of her eyes as he leaned against the machines.
She then huffed and crossed her arms, turning towards him after the dryer started. “Can I help you?”
(Y/n) felt a chill run down her spine, hoping he would move along after her comment. But he didn’t.
Without warning, he stepped closer, the smell of cheap cologne and sweat filling the space between them. His hand brushed her arm. (Y/n) tensed, stepping back, but there was nowhere to go. She was cornered between the row of washers and the wall.
The man slurred, his voice thick and suggestive. “You here all alone, babes?”
(Y/n) swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The man’s hand reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her closer. His grip was firm, too strong for her to break free from, and she could feel his breath on her neck as he pressed her against the cold metal of the washer.
“Don’t be shy. I’m just trying to have a little fun. I’ll be nice, I promise.” he whispered, his free hand trailing down her side.
Panic surged through her as she stood frozen. (Y/n) squirmed, trying to push him away, but his grip only tightened as he pinned her against the machine, his hand beginning to grope her. Tears welled in her eyes, her mind racing. She felt helpless as the man’s fingers dug into her skin.
“Art…” She choked out in a whisper. “Art?” (Y/n) spoke louder, the man growing confused. “Art!” She finally screeched, eyes squeezed shut as his nose brushed against her neck.
Suddenly, she heard the bathroom door swing open, banging against the wall behind it. (Y/n) barely registered it, her mind clouded by fear, but the man didn’t notice either, too focused on the woman in front of him. All of a sudden, in a blur of movement, the pressure on her body vanished.
The man was ripped away from her and (Y/n) gasped for breath. She looked up, her vision blurry with tears, but she could make out the familiar black and white figure of Art, standing over the man like a shadow of death.
The man looked up at the clown before him, eyes wide with terror as he lay frozen on the floor. Art stepped closer, staring at him a moment longer with his teeth bared.
The smile he saved for his victims had long since disappeared. His teeth were now bared in pure, unadulterated fury as his shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breathing.
Art suddenly bent down and snatched up the man’s shirt collar, dragging him effortlessly across the floor before launching him into another wall of machines, denting one in the process.
The impact drove the air out of the man’s lungs and he coughed, fighting to catch his breath. When he noticed Art start towards him again, he groaned as he tried to crawl away. Two hands grabbed the fabric of his shirt on his back and he was lifted quicker than he could comprehend, then thrown across the floor a second time. His head took the majority of the impact, crashing against the wall behind him.
As much as the man tried to fight to move, it was useless after the second hit. Every move he made filled him with pain, no doubt bones broken as they stabbed at him through his attempts.
As much as he knew (Y/n) was traumatized, Art walked past her and dug through his bag as his rage continued to burn, deciding that getting rid of the threat was priority.
He pulled out a scalpel and scissors, slowly walking up to the pathetic figure that was curled up on the floor as he looked up at him, horrified. Art took his time, crouching down beside him as he grinned sadistically and snipped the scissors threateningly, making the man flinch.
“Please,” he whimpered, “I didn’t mean -“ He tried. But Art never gave him the chance.
This time, (Y/n) watched.
She watched as the skin was peeled and stretched. As blood gushed, exposed muscle and fat molded and sliced through. As hair was pulled and torn off. Bones popping and snapping.
She couldn’t look away. Not after what that man did to her. What he tried to do. Her stomach turned, a lump forming in her throat at the sound of it alone.
(Y/n) stood frozen, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She didn’t have to say anything. Art already knew.
Once finished, his piercing green eyes flicked up to meet hers, at last checking to make sure she was okay. The moment they locked gazes, (Y/n) gave a small, shaky nod.
For a long moment, the laundromat was silent, save for the low rumble of the machines. (Y/n) stood where she was, her hands shaking as she tried to process what had just happened. Art stood and turned to her, his head tilting slightly as if to ask if she was alright.
Without thinking, she rushed towards him, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace despite his bloodied form. His stiff posture relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
For all the darkness that lived in him, (Y/n) felt safe in his arms. He was her protector, her chaos, her partner in the macabre dance of life.
She didn’t say anything, just simply took him in as comfort to ground herself. His grip tightened, and she knew that in his own way, he was telling her she would always be safe with him.
↳ ❝ Or even a fic of him getting sick after being out in the snow with the Santa costume in Terrifier 3?
I can imagine him curled up on the reader’s couch, blanket over his lap whilst he’s pouting. And him silently sneezing into a handkerchief (despite him having to be told multiple times to cover his nose and finally doing so)
And the reader putting a thermometer in his mouth to take his temperature.. oh my god ❞
: ̗̀➛ Art comes to you when he's at his very lowest, but thankfully, you're tolerant of him enough to put up with it.
trigger warnings : ̗̀➛ mentions of gore, swearing, depictions of illness, mentions of murder
•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•
Art crashed onto your sofa, appearing to sigh heavily although no noise left him in the slightest as he reached to rub his nose; you frowned upon noticing him. Unsure of whether or not demons could even get sick, but judging by his demeanour, he was weak enough to pick something up. His suit was covered in blood, and his big black bin bag was partially torn; you knew what you needed to do.
With careful hands, you tugged at the front of his costume, and he understood; he waited for you to turn around before he stripped himself and allowed you to carry away the bloodstained and soaked costume. Clearly, the snow had gotten to him as well, as the costume was damp enough to quickly drip onto the light coloured laminate.
You didn't mind much, though, shoving it into the washing machine and taking no notice of the bits of blood and sinew attached to the torso half on the front and the ends of his sleeves. He had come home with worse before.
You never did understand why Art was always so... placid with you, though. Sure, he scared you every morning by honking that fucking horn in your face, but he never attempted to hurt you. Unless the time he nearly burned down the kitchen trying to make toast counted, but you doubted it.
You didn't think about it much anymore, though; but you were quick to grab a hoodie and some jogging bottoms that you kept behind for when you had to clean his clothes. You lugged them back to the sofa, and tapped him on the shoulder so he could get changed.
Again, you turned around until he was decent, and when you finally looked at him, you smiled.
"So, where'd you get the Father Christmas costume from?"
Art shrugged, and flapped his hands around to mimic what he had done, standing up but still hunched over slightly; his mouth extended and open wide in an overexaggerated smile before he slapped his hands on his stomach and silently laughed.
His lips curled like he was in pain, and he bent his head forward, sneezing; you grimaced as snot and phlegm landed on your floor, and you tutted.
"Sneeze into your fucking hands!" You told him loudly, huffing and grabbing some tissue to clean it up.
You never raised your voice at Art, let alone swore at him, and he did pout a bit before he did it again; more phlegm and sticky snot splattering onto your floors.
You glared at him, shaking your head; you huffed, pulling out a handkerchief from your pocket and shoving it into his hands.
"Use that, for fuck's sake."
He started to pout and flap his hands again, childishly acting up in protest of being asked to show basic manners.
But then he stopped, doubling over and coughing into his hands; his eyes squeezed silently shut as he appeared to strain in what you only assumed was a sneeze. You frowned, pushing him back down onto the sofa and covering him with your old fluffy Batman blanket. You pressed your hand against his forehead.
He usually felt a bit warmer than the average person, but this time, you could feel the sweat beading and cascading down his forehead. Leaving streaks within his white makeup. You grimaced again and shook your head, disappearing quickly and coming back with a thermometer.
"Open your mouth," you told him, but he shook his head. "Art. I need to know how high your fever is."
He pouted at you, raising his brows to try and give you the puppy dog eyes; hoping that your concern could be easily melted away.
"Art," you grumbled, glaring at him sternly. He relented, and opened his mouth for long enough that you could get the thermometer in there. "Do not bite it. That one was expensive."
He chewed it slightly, letting the glass clink against his teeth until you pulled it from his mouth and looked; he was definitely running hotter than you had ever seen.
"You stay here," you told him. "I'm gonna get you some painkillers."
He nodded, almost excitedly, and watched you disappear. Again, he slapped his hands over his mouth, coughing against his palms. The only noise he made was the shuffling of the blanket once he settled down and turned onto his side, feeling sorry for himself.
But you weren't gone for long, and allowed him to cling to your wrist as you popped the tablets in his mouth and helped him to wash them down with a small glass of water.
"Your bin bag," you started, "do you want me to get a new one?"
He nodded again, this time excited as he pointed over to it; but his usual rapid and frantic pointing wasn't present, and you knew that that meant he was definitely not himself this time.
You were quick to grab the bin liners from the shed, the extra large ones, and you used three to make sure that none of his tools could poke through; you were actually quite surprised, really, as Art usually slapped your hand away whenever you tried to touch it. But he knew he was weak, and he knew that you were his only ally left.
Maybe ally wasn't the right word.
He did, in his own way, care about you; like a wild animal, he would come and go as if he owned the place and didn't care if he trudged in a boat load of blood and bone.
You learned pretty early on not to tell him about people who annoyed or wronged you - not unless you wanted him to send you a video of him bashing their fucking head in against a window or stamping on their head and peeling off their face.
You learned quite quickly not to do that.
He was, in his own way, protective. He didn't allow the little pale girl or Victoria inside your house, didn't even let them know what you looked like. You could still remember the former trying to look at you while Art closed every window and door and curtain to make sure she didn't.
You didn't even ask why, you didn't want to know.
Slowly, Art reached out his arms, and you knew what he was asking for; you lifted the blanket, and squished yourself against his side as he tapped his fingers on your arm like he usually did.
You often fell asleep with him like that, only to be woken up by him shaking you to make sure you were still alive. The worst was when you were snoring and he spilled water on your face.
It made you laugh so much, mostly because you didn't know what the fuck he was thinking.
But you loved that about him; he could always make you laugh, even though if anyone else so much as tried it, you would have kicked them out and told them to never contact you again.
He jerked suddenly, his body spasming as he silently sneezed against your shoulder; you felt the puff of air, and frowned.
He really was in bad shape, and you wished you knew how the fuck he caught it.
You silently promised that you would look after him until he was better; you could take the time off of work just to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble, and you could always ask your friends to pick up some books from the library to see if there were any on sickness in demonic clowns.
So, you relaxed into his arms, and you gently grabbed his hand, hoping that it would at least make him feel better.
hi! thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, then please spare me just a bit more of your time! Sara and her twin sister Huda are both 12 year old Gazans, and need to relocate so that Sara can access medical care and they can both survive the genocide; so far, they've gotten $14,802 of their $25,000 goal, so if you could spread their link or donate then you could really be saving childrens lives!
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 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 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 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.
warnings: these are actually random, which means some contain nsfw!.
all he does is troll. like literally troll around. especially with you. always pulling little pranks on you with the little pale girl. there’s not one day where he doesn’t at least chuckle at you. not one.
if y’all are in a relationship be prepared for his random horny/cuddly activities. one second he’s pissed at you, the next he’s cuddling you and giving you kisses.
speaking of him being pissed, you’ll know when he’s pissed off at you. he’ll give the silent treatment. even tho he can’t talk he won’t even look at you. kinda like a child. but he’s a big baby, what do you expect?
he eats off your plate all the time. so does the little girl. “y’all might as well just take the whole damn plate.” you said one time. they laughed…and then took it.
plays hide and seek with you at least once a week.
if you brush your nose against his, while looking in his eyes… be prepared to not be able to walk for a while.
he’s so nosy. always in your phone and shit, or whatever device you mostly use, he’s all up in it.
okay that’s all i have right now. hope you enjoyed!
Note: sorry for long waiting, I had some stuff to do. But I watched this movie last night, just can't not to write something
• Suppose that by some miracle you interested him, and Art changed his mind about killing you.
• Art is a man of the moment, of impulse, in this regard he is like a child. If he wants something, he will get it, no matter how. If he's interested in you, he'll get you and keep you.
• Again, he is quite childish, and since he cannot speak, all his emotions are visible in his body language and antics. His childish behavior can also manifest itself in frequent insults. He will be sitting on the couch with his arms folded and fundamentally avoiding your gaze. Try to guess what he's offended about. And it's better to do it quickly, before the desire to tear some human flesh wakes up in him. His mood changes very often, so be always prepared for the fact that at the moment of rare hugs he will suddenly become agitated or, conversely, aggressive.
• He's very jealous. It's not that he's insecure, he just doesn't like sharing his stuff, including you. You better not pay too much attention to other people unless you want to see their guts smeared on the wall in your bathroom.
• Despite this, Art is quite protective. He won't let anything happen to you. Be prepared that he will be constantly watching you. But now you can safely walk through the dark alleys, Art is always there, you are under the reliable protection of this guard dog.
• Art likes to scare you more than his victims. He doesn't know why, but he really likes the taste of your fear, it really turns him on. But Art will never really hurt you enough, except for a few cuts or bruises. There's something about you that makes him fear losing you for real. There's something special about the way you're scared of him. Maybe it's your expression or your cute screams, he doesn't know. But your guardian definitely makes him feel a lingering warmth in his lower belly.
• His actions and feelings can hardly be called love, because he really does not know how to get attached, he is just not quite the person for this. But he shows a certain affection in his own way. First of all, he's not killing you. Secondly, sometimes he tries to take into account your wishes in many things, tries to find out what you like. Thirdly, he can be quite clingy. When Art realizes that he wants your attention, he can gently pull the sleeve of your hoodie, as if asking for a hug, or he can just roughly grab you by the waist and put you on his lap.
• He really doesn't care about your appearance, he has a weakness for you because it's you.
• Talking about what you like. Art is very narcissistic and cruel. But over time, he will realize that your smile and your joy create some kind of strange feeling in his chest, he likes it. In fact, Art makes you happy only because it gives him a certain pleasure.
• He loves using you as bait for his victims. This gives him an extra push to kill his victim in an even more brutal way.
• In general, he can be kind to a certain extent, he even brings you small gifts from time to time. Besides, he's crazy about the sight of someone else's blood on your face and skin. But you'll definitely have to teach him to wash more often and eat normal food.
This fucker has IBS I mean he shat his brains out (I feel his pain ngl🤡)
It’s a trade off to being ✨ImmOrTal✨
(Shi at least he has SOMETHING, I got NOTHING)
Art can also play the Kazoo at the professional level
You’ll be running from him and he’s doing the Gangnam style whilst ✨KaZoo✨ is in his mouth 😭
Also Penny, Jack and Art are besties the iconic trio we didn’t know we needed frfr
They try to force him to take a bath😭
He’s like a hissing cat
Art actually is good at keeping generally good hygiene but it has to be on his ✨OwN TeRmS✨
Also is a major pothead I don’t make the rules
Also he smells like nickels (it just seems fitting)
Honestly Satan has a hold on him and it only got worse after Art witnessed what he was contributing to
I feel like after the events of All Hallows Eve he descended more into madness
He has a short attention span you gotta *jingle jingle*
It’s all one big comedy to him, it’s all organized chaos🤪
Hes also obsessed with any and all popcorn he has tried every flavor at least once
Art also has a Dr Pepper ✨PrObLem✨
Like fr he will drop kick a child for one, he’s a fiend
Art also hopes somebody would try to mug him, he wants any chance to uno reverse with his ✨Mouse Ka Tool✨
SO…. Art the clown has taken this page by storm, I have to keep giving the ppl what they want. I never realized how many fans there are of Terrifier. I shall continue to write more slasher content as the spooky season progresses. Also I’m gonna go watch Terrifier 3 to get more ✨ConTent✨ also might show my Art cosplay here someday…anyways… TOODLES
andulkaphoto
gummygunk
stormborns
amandla
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
gracieabrams
