-> Hi !! You can call me Babs !! I’m gender-fluid and pan !! And my brains more scattered than my books and scribbles ->
I swear I can’t consume anything normally and my hyper-fixations take over my life whether I want them to or not (T—T). Aside from creepypasta, I like anime and anything slasher related. I also love film and photography. Plus ART !! (As you can see LOL ^3^) I draw my headers and all that jazz for my fics myself, makes it feel more personal to me y’know?
!! Also if you like my art you can follow me here :p !!
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Now for my writing, I most often write fem/afab reader because ‘tis the parts I possess !! HOWEVER !! I write gender neutral or M! Reader here and there, if the moment allows (My fluid becomes solid or requested :p) I also write my readers with a personality !! They won’t grovel or be bulldozed over just because they’re infatuated with a lover !! I am a very structured person and it plays a big part in my fics as it does in my day to day life.
On the topic of my fics, I’m pretty open to most kinks. The things I will not write for include: Scat, anything involving feet (I don’t see the appeal I’m so sorry T3T), hard non-con, and overt abuse towards reader or otherwise.
⦻ Rules For The (Re)Quest’s !! Click Me !! ⦻
That being said, I hope you enjoy your time here and I’m very excited to have you !! You can find all my current and upcoming works below !! ^3^
Usually in bed, the most you get is heavy breathing and grunts if he’s dominant. Degrading with a sprinkle of praise, maybe a dragged out groan if it’s good.
But if you’re riding him with his wrists tied above his head, he gets whiny real fast. Especially if you’re edging him. He gets impatient, the denial getting to him about an hour in. His willpower isn’t weak exactly, it’s just that being inside you and knowing you can give him what he wants at any second makes him snappy.
After a certain point he loses his rasp a bit, too.
The base of it slowly becomes shaky, his once rough baritone cracking. His brows knot up when he glares at you, irritated. “You’re such a cunt.” He’ll snarl, bark orders- but you know he doesn’t mean it.
Because slowly but surely, his resistance will chip. His insults will begin to dampen, going from cussing you out to trying to bargain for you to move. He’ll start squirming, bucking his hips up with an unsteady huff.
“C’mon- just fucking move-“ Face flushed, his cocky persona crumbling by the second. He’s so hard it hurts, and you’ve been edging him for hours. Humping his cock just right, and squeezing him the way you know he likes best.
He’ll go from laughing at you to pouting and denying it. You can see it so clearly on his face. The internal fight in his head.
He hates begging, so he’ll try convincing you every time. He’ll offer you head, tell you that if you let him cum, he’ll make it worth your while. Jeff will debate his own skills in bed with his eyes half-lidded, chest heaving and his muscles tensing against the restraints.
Then his pitch raises, his words tilt up at the end. He gets breathier, quieter and more needy. More restless and you’ll feel his thighs twitch under you.
His head tips further back, eyes struggling to stay open. Huffing faster and faster until it sounds like he’s on the brink of hysteria. And when you finally lift your hips to sink down on him to the hilt, his pupils roll up into his skull.
Jeff’s jaw falls slack, lips bitten red and parted as he pants. He says the things he usually does, but this time, they don’t seem as nearly as demanding. His voice comes out too soft, too unstable to carry the weight it normally holds.
“Y-Yeah, like that- fuck.” More of a hitched sigh than an instruction. His gaze is unfocused, spine arching off the mattress by an inch before he slumps back down. Like he so desperately wants to appear unbothered.
“Take it so good- keep going. Ah- shit.” It’s barely praise, talking just to talk. He’s rambling because if he doesn’t, the noises forcing up his throat will be too obvious. Because if he does, his desperation won’t make you hungry.
“Gonna’ cum. Mm- g-gonna’- hah- I’m-fuckfuck—“ It’s a plea and a warning in one. There’s a part of him that’s hooked on the withheld release, high off the power you have over him. He wants to fill you so badly it’s painful, yet there’s a whisper at the back of his head that begs you to hold off just a little longer.
When you’ve passed the fifth round of edging him, his speech grows incoherent. He turns almost silent, the only sounds escaping him clipped and slurred. Then, during the peak of it, mercy finally appetizing to you. The slam of your cunt not ceasing even though it’s clear his ability to stave off his climax is near its end— he’ll moan so loud his cadence becomes unrecognizable.
Throaty and wanton, his eyes cross before scrunching shut. “Shit- b-baby.” He’ll bite his lower lip just to gasp as his shoulders bow, head thrown back while he trembles. His pale skin has tinted with blush all over, his shoulders and chest dusted in pink.
Drool collects at the slits of his cheeks, mouth forming an ‘O when you grind down onto him. You fuck him through the orgasm, making it last until he’s writhing. He’ll hum into the kiss, but his tongue is halfway limp.
He’s too overwhelmed to properly reciprocate, and his lips aren’t closed enough to lock in yours. It’s sloppy, spit smearing everywhere. He’ll watch you through bleary eyes and try to chase you back up.
In those moments, he forgets to ignore how much he needs you. Forgets to suppress how terribly he wants you close. Jeff will whine openly if you pull away too soon, pout without trying to hide his face if you get “mean.”
He’ll rub his cheek against your palm when you cup his face, slurring something along the lines of “Why’d y’stop?” With the most doe-eyed expression you’ve ever witnessed. Sub space for him is rare, but when it settles in, it always shocks you.
He acts so uncharacteristically vulnerable, asking for your touch with such raw hope it makes your heart hurt. It’s a slip of his mask, and you get to see less of Jeff, the unfeeling, barbaric weapon- and more of the boy before the fire.
Someone exposed and in need of grounding. Wanting to be handled with warmth and care. His stamina remains high though, so you finish him off slowly.
No harsh riding or bouncing yourself to make him scream- instead, you roll your hips gently. Rocking yourself on his cock with your nose brushing his. Your palms cradle his cheeks, and you tell him all the sappy things he claims to hate.
You tell him he makes you feel good. You whisper that you love him against his lips, letting your breath mingle with his when he nods in response. You soothe your thumbs along the scars on his skin, and he angles his head to attempt to kiss you, even if he barely has the energy for it.
When he cums, it’s muted. A stuttered exhale, his voice cracking a tad. His lids flutter closed, and he’ll lean into you, mumbling inaudibly. He bucks up into you once, twice, before he goes boneless.
His eyes follow you while you slip off of him, pupils blown wide as you peck his forehead, settling onto your side to undo the rope. His arms slink down, Jeff immediately reaching for you.
You can’t even get up to grab a rag because he’s burying himself into your chest. He’ll lie there silent for at least twenty minutes before he regains self awareness, simply listening to your heart beat and humming once in a while if you talk.
He’ll scoot back a smidge after, still slightly dazed, and raise a brow at you like you were the one who did something unexpected.
“What?” As if you didn’t just feel him curl into you and sniffle. Yet you know him, and you’re aware that if you call him out, he’ll scoff.
You swipe the hair sticking to his forehead out of the way, toying with the ends, while he stares. It’s a special intimacy that arrives once in a blue moon, and on those nights, Jeff tells you things he promised to never say out loud.
Sometimes it’s memories of his mom, sometimes it’s a stupid fight he had with brother. Sometimes it’s random things he noticed about you.
Facts that you don’t remember talking about, habits you didn’t know you had. It makes you realize how perceptive he is, how much he actually pays attention to details that most people deemed unimportant.
He’ll draw shapes on your bare hip, and mutter dumb jokes into your hair. A lightness that doesn’t exist elsewhere, the walls he built absent.
Jeff doesn’t verbally say it back, but he’ll trace a heart onto your back when you tell him you love him without heat between you. His mouth won’t form the syllables, but he’ll kiss your crown longer than necessary, and exhale like he’s trying to breathe his intentions into you.
With fondness, allowing his sentiment to seep into your mind as you fall asleep. He loves you, too.
Usually in bed, the most you get is heavy breathing and grunts if he’s dominant. Degrading with a sprinkle of praise, maybe a dragged out groan if it’s good.
But if you’re riding him with his wrists tied above his head, he gets whiny real fast. Especially if you’re edging him. He gets impatient, the denial getting to him about an hour in. His willpower isn’t weak exactly, it’s just that being inside you and knowing you can give him what he wants at any second makes him snappy.
After a certain point he loses his rasp a bit, too.
The base of it slowly becomes shaky, his once rough baritone cracking. His brows knot up when he glares at you, irritated. “You’re such a cunt.” He’ll snarl, bark orders- but you know he doesn’t mean it.
Because slowly but surely, his resistance will chip. His insults will begin to dampen, going from cussing you out to trying to bargain for you to move. He’ll start squirming, bucking his hips up with an unsteady huff.
“C’mon- just fucking move-“ Face flushed, his cocky persona crumbling by the second. He’s so hard it hurts, and you’ve been edging him for hours. Humping his cock just right, and squeezing him the way you know he likes best.
He’ll go from laughing at you to pouting and denying it. You can see it so clearly on his face. The internal fight in his head.
He hates begging, so he’ll try convincing you every time. He’ll offer you head, tell you that if you let him cum, he’ll make it worth your while. Jeff will debate his own skills in bed with his eyes half-lidded, chest heaving and his muscles tensing against the restraints.
Then his pitch raises, his words tilt up at the end. He gets breathier, quieter and more needy. More restless and you’ll feel his thighs twitch under you.
His head tips further back, eyes struggling to stay open. Huffing faster and faster until it sounds like he’s on the brink of hysteria. And when you finally lift your hips to sink down on him to the hilt, his pupils roll up into his skull.
Jeff’s jaw falls slack, lips bitten red and parted as he pants. He says the things he usually does, but this time, they don’t seem as nearly as demanding. His voice comes out too soft, too unstable to carry the weight it normally holds.
“Y-Yeah, like that- fuck.” More of a hitched sigh than an instruction. His gaze is unfocused, spine arching off the mattress by an inch before he slumps back down. Like he so desperately wants to appear unbothered.
“Take it so good- keep going. Ah- shit.” It’s barely praise, talking just to talk. He’s rambling because if he doesn’t, the noises forcing up his throat will be too obvious. Because if he does, his desperation won’t make you hungry.
“Gonna’ cum. Mm- g-gonna’- hah- I’m-fuckfuck—“ It’s a plea and a warning in one. There’s a part of him that’s hooked on the withheld release, high off the power you have over him. He wants to fill you so badly it’s painful, yet there’s a whisper at the back of his head that begs you to hold off just a little longer.
When you’ve passed the fifth round of edging him, his speech grows incoherent. He turns almost silent, the only sounds escaping him clipped and slurred. Then, during the peak of it, mercy finally appetizing to you. The slam of your cunt not ceasing even though it’s clear his ability to stave off his climax is near its end— he’ll moan so loud his cadence becomes unrecognizable.
Throaty and wanton, his eyes cross before scrunching shut. “Shit- b-baby.” He’ll bite his lower lip just to gasp as his shoulders bow, head thrown back while he trembles. His pale skin has tinted with blush all over, his shoulders and chest dusted in pink.
Drool collects at the slits of his cheeks, mouth forming an ‘O when you grind down onto him. You fuck him through the orgasm, making it last until he’s writhing. He’ll hum into the kiss, but his tongue is halfway limp.
He’s too overwhelmed to properly reciprocate, and his lips aren’t closed enough to lock in yours. It’s sloppy, spit smearing everywhere. He’ll watch you through bleary eyes and try to chase you back up.
In those moments, he forgets to ignore how much he needs you. Forgets to suppress how terribly he wants you close. Jeff will whine openly if you pull away too soon, pout without trying to hide his face if you get “mean.”
He’ll rub his cheek against your palm when you cup his face, slurring something along the lines of “Why’d y’stop?” With the most doe-eyed expression you’ve ever witnessed. Sub space for him is rare, but when it settles in, it always shocks you.
He acts so uncharacteristically vulnerable, asking for your touch with such raw hope it makes your heart hurt. It’s a slip of his mask, and you get to see less of Jeff, the unfeeling, barbaric weapon- and more of the boy before the fire.
Someone exposed and in need of grounding. Wanting to be handled with warmth and care. His stamina remains high though, so you finish him off slowly.
No harsh riding or bouncing yourself to make him scream- instead, you roll your hips gently. Rocking yourself on his cock with your nose brushing his. Your palms cradle his cheeks, and you tell him all the sappy things he claims to hate.
You tell him he makes you feel good. You whisper that you love him against his lips, letting your breath mingle with his when he nods in response. You soothe your thumbs along the scars on his skin, and he angles his head to attempt to kiss you, even if he barely has the energy for it.
When he cums, it’s muted. A stuttered exhale, his voice cracking a tad. His lids flutter closed, and he’ll lean into you, mumbling inaudibly. He bucks up into you once, twice, before he goes boneless.
His eyes follow you while you slip off of him, pupils blown wide as you peck his forehead, settling onto your side to undo the rope. His arms slink down, Jeff immediately reaching for you.
You can’t even get up to grab a rag because he’s burying himself into your chest. He’ll lie there silent for at least twenty minutes before he regains self awareness, simply listening to your heart beat and humming once in a while if you talk.
He’ll scoot back a smidge after, still slightly dazed, and raise a brow at you like you were the one who did something unexpected.
“What?” As if you didn’t just feel him curl into you and sniffle. Yet you know him, and you’re aware that if you call him out, he’ll scoff.
You swipe the hair sticking to his forehead out of the way, toying with the ends, while he stares. It’s a special intimacy that arrives once in a blue moon, and on those nights, Jeff tells you things he promised to never say out loud.
Sometimes it’s memories of his mom, sometimes it’s a stupid fight he had with brother. Sometimes it’s random things he noticed about you.
Facts that you don’t remember talking about, habits you didn’t know you had. It makes you realize how perceptive he is, how much he actually pays attention to details that most people deemed unimportant.
He’ll draw shapes on your bare hip, and mutter dumb jokes into your hair. A lightness that doesn’t exist elsewhere, the walls he built absent.
Jeff doesn’t verbally say it back, but he’ll trace a heart onto your back when you tell him you love him without heat between you. His mouth won’t form the syllables, but he’ll kiss your crown longer than necessary, and exhale like he’s trying to breathe his intentions into you.
With fondness, allowing his sentiment to seep into your mind as you fall asleep. He loves you, too.
In hindsight, your type in men was always extraordinary. So when something starts slamming doors in your home, you get curious. A stray hand print and one closet void later—
It was love at first haunt.
!! Laughing Jack x F! Reader !! W/C: 4.5k
-> Including: Riding, overstim, slight sub/dom dynamics, choking, sadist adjacent reader, perv! LJ, pathetic LJ and brain washing that clown into a boyfriend :p this is also the lore for how LJ met his reader in my smaus HAHA ->
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You think the monster in your closet has a crush on you.
The sentence would’ve sent you into hysterics a month ago, but now? You were completely, utterly and unshakably sure that it was the truth.
You’d moved in about a year earlier, choosing the old house for its affordability. The wallpaper had been peeling, the wood panelling on the brink of decay, and the roof rickety. It sat on the very end of your street, separated from the neighbouring houses by a rusted metal fence. Definitely a fixer-upper, but it’d fit in your budget. Simply a home in need of some loving.
What they hadn’t told you was that it came with a resident poltergeist—
Clown?
Or something.
Well, you actually didn’t know what he was or what category he belonged to, but he made his presence known the first night.
You had been brushing your teeth when the lights overhead flickered.
The bulbs' hum grew louder, then they burst, leaving you in darkness. You were frozen in the spot, with all sorts of scary images flashing in your mind.
However, you were always quite the logical one, and you brushed it off. The wiring was ancient- was it really that surprising if it didn’t run like brand new? So you moved on, only to be bothered the next weekend by creaky footsteps in the hall.
Then it was your papers scattering randomly. A door slammed, an attic hatch swung open, followed by a loud crash.
Yet you stayed.
The deal you’d gotten was far too good for you to give up, and where else would you find a place with amenities included at this price? Though whatever was haunting you seemed determined to scare you off.
From nightmares to shadows in your periphery, he used every trick in the book. Except that over time, there had been a shift in his tactics.
You couldn’t say exactly when it happened, but one day- he just… stopped. No more sleep paralysis, no weird dread that sparked randomly either. For a moment, you thought you’d somehow scared him off.
During the transition period of your move, you’d met his intimidation with obliviousness. Ignoring his silhouette, sleeping in the daytime, and taking night shifts. When that didn’t work, you tried befriending him.
Attempting to make peace with the house by talking to him as if he were an odd roommate, on top of leaving out little snacks for him. And that’s how you got here.
He’d ceased his reign of terror on you for about two weeks before raising the stakes. This time, with a strangely romantic edge.
It began with a single daisy being placed on your bedside table. Naturally, you assumed it wasn’t the resident demon and that you’d gotten too drunk the previous night. Except that way of thinking flew out the window when he became much more straightforward.
The fogged mirror would serve as a canvas, with the words “Pretty” or “Hello, doll !! :)” He’d also roll unlabeled candies through your ajar closet door and scutter back into the darkness when you checked. Speaking of your closet, you didn’t understand how the thing functioned.
When the lights were off, it appeared like there was a void behind your clothing rack. A never-ending pitch black that you could fall into. If the lights were on, you’d be able to touch the back wall in one stretch. It hurt your head, and you decided not to investigate. That didn’t mean it didn’t exist, though.
He used that portal for all kinds of antics.
If you were digging for a sock, it’d only appear slightly out of reach when your room was dim. You’d have to crouch down, crawl from the barely lit space on the carpet to snag it. Sometimes he’d let you grab it; other times he’d continuously tug it farther and farther until you yelled from frustration.
It’d always be returned to you eventually, with you finding the stray sock at the foot of your bed a day later. Or it’d be thrown at the back of your head when you’d given up and stepped away.
At this point, he was more of an annoyance than a life-altering evil. Yet one thing was clear, and it was that he liked you.
Last month, you discovered his name was Jack. Specifically, “Laughing Jack In The Box.”
You’d finally gathered enough motivation to clean out your neglected attic and stumbled upon a music box.
It sat tucked into the corner, layered with dust and looking as cursed as ever. The object was evidently the source of whatever he was, so you were as respectful as you could be. Placing it neatly aside while you tidied the room. This is also when you learned about his clown situation.
While you were elbow-deep in mop water and disinfectant wipes, the music player rattled to life. The handle whirred, the chipped wood jolting as an off-tune melody filled your ears.
You were idle until the song came to a slow, and jumped a tad when the lid popped open. Inside, a porcelain monochrome jester was attached to a spring, about the size of a fist.
Upon further inspection, there was a photo lying at the bottom. An old portrait of what you assumed was him. The edges were faded, his form blurry, and he stood next to a popcorn stand. At first glance, it appeared normal enough- but if you stared, everything in the image was off.
He was too tall, with arms stretching past his knees. The popcorn stand, even in black and white, seemed like a prop. Not one on a movie set or anything of the sort, but as if it were desperately trying to blend in yet failing.
The background seemed almost flat, and his features sat unnaturally on his face. Too sharp, ill-fitting around his jagged teeth. He looked like he was only smiling because that's what people were supposed to do in photographs.
You had called out to him, saying you liked his get-up. Then you got back to work. Wiping down the floors with a Swiffer, organizing the aged boxes from previous owners, and by sunset, you were finished.
He hadn’t done anything else after the music box, so you were left to your own devices. Not a single noise or knocked-over cup in sight.
All that being said, he did a very bad job of staying quiet when it actually mattered.
And he was a pervert.
With the moon lit brightly over the clouds, you were getting ready for some much-deserved relaxation. Your love life was lacklustre, to put it mildly, and your vibrator was luring you in like a siren. You were sure most people would be uncomfortable being explicit in a haunted house, but you just couldn't find it in yourself to care.
The guy had to be at least a hundred. If he was going to loom threateningly in your halls and hide your socks, then he’d have to deal with your bookmarked tabs.
Opening your laptop, you clicked play on a recent favourite. It was basic, yet it fuelled your imagination just enough. The display lit up with a video of a man slouching against his couch, head out of frame.
He undid the drawstrings of his sweats, and you settled against the pillows. Your shirt was already off, panties pulled to the side as you spread your legs.
An important note: your bed was facing the closet.
Another important note: the closet doors were panelled and definitely did not cover the view in the slightest.
You would remember that fact when the glossy toy breached your cunt, and a very scandalized gasp echoed from beyond your wardrobe.
At first, you ignored it. Maybe he was a prude- he was ancient after all. Choosing to pretend you hadn’t noticed anything, you thrust the silicone deeper, sighing. It wasn’t as big as you’d prefer, but you hadn’t had the time to shop for another since your move. It would do for now, and you fixated on the screen. Trying to time your hand with his.
Though only a minute later, shuffling came from the other side of your closet.
Accompanied by panting, you could practically hear him swallow. Now that you were thinking about it, he was tall with big hands. His nose was pointy too, and he was clearly a sexually repressed loser of a demon. He probably hasn’t ever even kissed anybody- which could only mean one thing.
‘Laughing Jack’ had to be packing.
Puffing out your nose, you tossed your toy aside after pausing the video, and the room went dead silent. It was evident that he was attempting to conceal his presence.
Unfortunately for him, you were horny. Swinging your feet off the mattress, you padded over to the closet. Acting clueless so he wouldn’t flee. You moved as if you were reaching for your drawers, just to swing the wardrobe doors open. And there he was.
Scrunched up on the floor, his arms hovered awkwardly, legs folded under him, while he gawked up at you. His hair was longer than in the photo, his neck almost swallowed by a feather ruffle. However, it was the large tent in his patchwork trousers that caught your attention.
He stuttered, shocked. “W-Well, this is quite the first impression-” You dropped to your knees, crawling onto his lap. “Totally.” The purr of your voice wiped the smile clean off his face, and he stumbled back. Propped on his elbows when he tittered nervously.
“You’re very- uh- forward! Has anyone told you that?” His swirled pupils were glued to your face. He was a bashful pervert- who would’ve guessed?
Not answering his question, you hummed. “You ever fucked anyone, Jackie?” Trailing a finger down his broad chest, the nickname had him gulping. “Not particularly, no. Being a full-time entertainer takes work, I’ll have you know.” Attempting to joke, he was in disarray.
Jack had never been so out of his element in his life.
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. You were straddling his thighs, bare-chested with only a thin layer of cotton separating your cores.
In all honesty, he hadn’t even touched himself before this, and the weight of you pressing down on his bulge was making his brain reboot. You were so warm- you couldn’t seriously blame him for being dazed, could you?
“Do you want to?” You hummed, running your tongue along your teeth. The faint glow of your lamp gave you a halo, far too angelic for the lust that swam in your gaze.
He stammered. “I’d definitely be open to it. Seems like quite the activi- mmph.” Your lips crashed into his. Jack’s nervous tittering had you soaked, and your patience had run out. You were going to milk this motherfucker dry.
Mouths slotting together, he tasted like watered-down hard candy. The sugar that was left over after you’d finished a lollipop. Your tongues swirled around each other, and he jolted under you.
The sensations made the wire ends spark in his head. Your hands were roaming his chest, his shoulders, up to cup his jaw.
You were squeezing everything there was to squeeze, releasing him with drool stringing between your lips. “Since it’s your first time, you can pick where we start. ‘Kay?” He nodded in response, hyperfocused on your touch. This was fine; he could handle this.
He’d been trapped in a box for years, dealt with horrific violence and mental strain- how intense could physical contact really be? However, as his self-assured pep talk settled, you ground your hips down—
Very intense. Physical contact was really, really intense.
He could feel your cunt mold around his cock, and he borderline choked. “Oh my! Hah, how enthusiastic of you, little human.” Claws shaking by his sides, you grinned.
Ignoring his rambles. “I could suck you off. Use my mouth to ease you into it.” You ran your thumb against his tip, continuing whilst he tried his best to keep eye contact.
“Or I could use my hands, touch you like this-” Your palm pressed against his length, making him gasp. You’d barely done anything, and the imagery was sending him reeling. “Or...”
Lowering your mouth near his ear, “I could just let you fuck me raw, fill me up till you can’t even think straight.” Your breath grazed him only slightly, but that was enough.
You didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. His eyebrows knotted together, lashes fluttering as he whined through gritted teeth. Jack’s spine curved off the wood, and he shuddered beneath you. “Haah- shit.” It was without a doubt that he’d cum untouched; the wetness leaking from his slacks was undeniable.
Slumping after a beat, he panted. “I didn’t- I don’t know what, ngh, happened.” Squinting at you, he looked like he’d genuinely fought for his life.
His hair stuck up in every direction, spit dribbling from his lips when you snickered. “You’re too cute- but I’m not riding you on the floor.” The confusion on his face was obvious, yet you didn’t explain further. Riding? What did that have to do with sex?
Though before he could question you, you rose to your feet, gesturing for him to follow. “C’mon-” You stood at the foot of the bed.
“Let me see you, Jackie.”
Sweat lined his back. Jesus, when was the last time he took off this thing? He didn’t need to shower, use the bathroom or anything of the sort, so undressing wasn’t really necessary.
Gulping, he gave you a strained smile. Undoing the straps over his chest, then his belt, he coughed awkwardly. It was funny to witness someone so uncannily unsettling be so shy, and you chuckled when he hopped to remove his pants.
Jack towered before you, completely bare. His lanky arms faded from an off-white to black at his fingertips, a sparse, happy trail lining his pelvis down to his cock. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes- you knew he was big, but this was something else.
A full nine inches, hanging heavy between his legs, the tip blushed a muted lavender. Your mouth was watering.
Plopping onto the mattress's ledge, you crawled backwards, holding out your arms as you lay against the pillows.
“Come here, gorgeous.” Cheeky, his face flushed, and he climbed over you. Hovering as you cupped his jaw. “You wanna’ help me take these off?” He nodded slightly, holding his breath, gaze flicking down. He hooked a thumb under your panties, tugging them down while you wiggled your hips.
You were being so nice, and your attention overwhelmed him. He’d been ready for you to scream, run, and cry in response. Fear him like everyone else- have him chase you to confess his obsession. He had gone over the scenario time and time again.
You’d see him in his carnage glory, screech at the top of your lungs before begging for your life. He’d be forced to hold you down.
Explain that you just didn’t understand, but you would once he showed you how much you meant to him. He prepped a speech, his persuasion and romance tactics. Yet, you didn’t react in any way close to what he assumed.
You kept giggling, flirty, when you caught him watching you like a degenerate. You called him gorgeous, and now you were offering yourself on a silver platter. He was not prepared for this. At all.
With your underwear removed, you circled his neck, bringing him close. “Do you know what to do?” He sputtered. “Hah- of course I do, my sweet! Just... um.” The pet name felt foreign on his tongue, but you had done the same. He really hopes it didn’t sound weird—
No. Focus.
He was going to ace this if it was the last thing he did.
Wracking his brain for memories, he had seen people participate in the act prior. He was sure of it! This couldn’t be too difficult. He was supposed to go inside you, then move back and forth... he thinks.
The last couple that moved in were decently touchy with each other; it’s just that he was never interested in staying for the whole experience.
He cursed himself. He was blowing the whole charming-you thing, and he couldn’t risk embarrassing himself further. What’s that saying? Fake it till you make it, right? “Okay, I’ll- ah. I’m going to... enter you... now?” Cringing, he lined himself up with your cunt, hissing from his own touch.
Okay, the dirty talk definitely needed work- but he was hot, and you needed the clown in tears.
You spread your thighs wider to make room, and his blunt tip nudged against your folds. Jack was huffing, attempting to find the opening. He missed twice more before you sighed, reaching down to guide him. “Now, push in-” You didn’t expect him to take it as a “slam forward without saying anything”, and you arched sharply.
He was only about a third of the way inside, yet the stretch had you dizzy. “Oh- fuck. Slowly, Jack.” You gasped while he shook above you. Nothing on earth could’ve prepared him for this. You were so tight. It felt like he could barely move, the pulses of your cunt making his eyes roll.
“You’re squeezing me, I- nngh-” He buried his face into your shoulder. “S-sorry, sorry, I can’t.” Then he forced his length deeper, biting down as you screamed. It was as if sopping velvet had enveloped him entirely, the squelch of your cunt ringing in his ears. “I didn’t think it’d feel so- haah-” He keened, his hands scrambling to grasp onto your waist.
His rhythm was sporadic. Moving too quickly, his pelvis thwacking against your mound thrice, before he’d become overwhelmed. His hips stuttered, his body freezing completely. You whined, palms flat against the plains of his back.
“Fuck me, Jackie- c’mon.” You had been pent up for too long, and his pathetic grunts next to your ear had you leaking onto the sheets.
Shivering atop you, he nodded shakily. Desperately trying to please you as he began humping into your cunt. Short, unsteady thrusts, with the pleasure making his eyes water. “Ah- ah- shit. Does it f-feel good? Please, want it to feel good- please.” He dragged his head out from the hollow of your throat, resting his forehead on yours.
You bit down on your lip, moans forced out with every thump against your cervix. “Mhm, so good. Keep- oh- keep going.” The praise made him twitch inside you, his cock weeping an inhuman amount.
Jack’s biology was a mystery to himself- he didn’t know why whoever created him even gave him genitals. The lubricant pouring out of him was constant, thin and milky, making you beyond slick. He couldn’t control it, his voice heightening in pitch when you clenched around him.
It was too good, too overpowering all at once. He wanted to hold it back, stave off the building tightness in his gut, but his willpower was laughably weak. “Sorry- 'm sorry, can’t—” Gasping, his tongue lolled out, pressing against yours as you panted wetly.
Not quite a kiss, your lips simply smushed together. Mouths hanging open, with your saliva mixing and dripping down your chin.
He shuddered violently, muscles tensing from head to toe. His cum painted your tunnel thickly, and you mewled, your nails raking down his back. There was so much.
Blisteringly hot inside you, spilling out to coat his base in an off-white. “Jack-” He slumped into you before you could finish your sentence, hips still faintly jolting. “Too much, sorry- ngh.” He slurred, his limbs boneless. You pouted, huffing. “Mmph, okay.” You should have just done this from the beginning.
You pushed at his chest, and he withdrew by an inch. “I- um, I’ll try again! I promise I’m-”
However, his maw snapped shut the moment you squinted at him. “Get on your back.” An order he rushed to obey, he shuffled to flip over, and you were swift to climb onto him.
Straddling his hips, you slid your sopping slit along his length. “We’ll work on it, but I wanna’ cum, so you’re just gonna’ be good for me and take it, okay?”
You cooed at his quiet sniffling. “I’ll take care of you, gorgeous. Don’t worry.” With that, you nudged his tip to sit against your entrance, sinking down on him only a second later.
The fullness had a blissed-out sigh escaping you, your clit now flush to his happytrail. He whimpered like a dog beneath you, and his claws sank into the fat of your ass.
Head thrown back, he squirmed. The new angle made it feel as if he barely fit, overly snug inside your walls and cramped enough to have his climax already stirring. His eyes rolled up into his skull when you started working yourself open on his girth. “Fuck.”
You were bouncing quickly, not wasting any time to let him adjust. Your pussy slammed onto his girth, and the lewd sounds of skin smacking echoed loudly. You giggled, drunk, while you used him. He hit the spot just right, stretching your hole in a way that had you addicted to the friction.
The ridges of his cock, the veins running up the length, would catch on your opening. Dragging in and out as you fucked down onto him. “Yeah- huuh- mm, yeah.” You moaned, drinking in his ruined expression. Jack was a mess.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, makeup smeared on your pillows. Babbling half-syllables and practically incoherent. He writhed nonstop, turning his face to one side just to jerk his head in the other direction.
“Don’t s-stop- please- pleaseplease- ngh.” His shoulders bowed, brows scrunched up, he bared his canines. His jaw clenched like he was in pain.
For an evil clown, he sure was a pretty crier. Trembling to the point his teeth chattered, tits squished together and dewy with perspiration. It made you greedy, had your hips slowing to a lazy grind before you trailed your touch up his chest. You snickered when a sad whine escaped him, his pout adorable.
“You wanna’ be mine, Jackie?” You murmured, and he nodded in return. “Mmh- y-yes- wanna’ be yours.” His bottom lip wobbling, his hiccups were quiet. Little soft sniffles that seeped into you like a drug.
You grinned. “How bad?” The sudden grip on his pec was firm, making him gasp. “So-! So bad, please.” You were groping him everywhere.
Kneading at his tits, his biceps, feeling him up to your heart's content. You were ravenous, your hunger never-ending and insatiable.
“Ugh, so cute. I’m totally keeping you.” Then you wrapped a hand around his throat, an iron hold on his windpipe. “Open your mouth, pretty boy.” His tongue swirled out, glistening while you pitched forward.
You spit a fat glob into his mouth and moaned when he gulped, picking up the pace without a word. He practically arched off the linen. “Fuck- please- huh, f-fuck me please- so good. Feels s’good.” Jack had no idea what the fuck he was saying, the begs clawing their way up, driven by pure need alone.
His whines were lewd, pornographic, like he’d never heard. He had no idea he could even sound like this. Raw and visceral as he watched you ride him to Heaven's gate.
Your pussy was so wet, your arousal coating his hilt- he choked. “Cumming- cumming- nngh—” Running out of air, he garbled, drool bubbling at the corners of his mouth.
But you were a sadist, and his pathetic nature was too beautiful to end now. You had to stretch it out, savour his tears as if you were parched.
You began humping his cock roughly, molding your lips to his. He laced your tongues together, the striped muscle elongating to explore your mouth.
His glowing pupils had formed hearts when you finally released him with a syrupy smack, and you hummed, cooing. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding from me.” You clamped around him, ensnaring him with your cunt.
“You’re so fucking big- I gotta’ milk your pretty cock to make up for how selfish you are, Jackie.” He sobbed at that, the pleasure having his head spinning like a carousel. He’d just poured a load inside you, and you were already forcing another one out of him.
He thinks he’s dying. Jack genuinely believed you were going to send him to the afterlife with your cunt. Immortality be damned, this would be his demise.
Sensations he didn’t know existed had him gagging on his own saliva like a whore, his body going haywire at every corner.
“Oh, haah- look at me.” You gasped, palm pushing down even harder. His gaze snapped to meet yours, his lids fighting to stay open. It felt like he was going to explode, the mattress squeaking, the headboard battering into the wall.
His face paint had stained your skin, white and black slathered across your cheek and lips, proof of how you ravaged him. You were ruthless, abusing his oversensitive length with abandon. “Uh- mmh-” The noises you made weren’t helping his restraint at all.
Sickeningly sugary, filthy as you chased your own high. Your free hand joined the one at his neck, a collar crafted out of lust and possession. His legs shook, his abdomen painfully tight. “Who’s pussy is this?” You drawled, constricting his airways, and he slurred in response. “Ah- nnh- wha-?”
You slammed your cunt down, extra punishing. “Who’s fucking pussy is this, Jackie?” Your eyes were ice-cold, hips mean. He thrashed, his struggle to escape the stimulation useless. “I- nngh- uh- uh- m-mine?” You sneered.
Ramming your heat up and down his cock hard enough to make him convulse. “Say it like you mean it, big boy-” You snarled, making him scratch at your thighs. His lungs were about to collapse- and he could’ve sworn he didn’t need those. “I’m yours- you own this perfect fucking cunt.” Mercy was not a name you knew well, and he keened.
Panting, his vision blurred, the pressure in his skull a centimetre away from bursting. He flailed under you, slurring. “Y-Yes, ma’am! Huuh- fuck- fuckfuck-” His broken cries sent you over the edge, and you gasped.
Tensing, with your spine curving, you squirted around his girth. Soaking his pelvis and thighs, climax hitting you like lightning. He spurted gluey ropes inside your tunnel, stuffing you to the fucking brink- then he went limp. Chest heaving when you released his throat, he blinked slowly, dazed.
You pecked his jaw, dragging kisses up to his cheekbone. “Good boy. You’re like- so cutesy, y’know?” He exhaled shakily, his massive frame a dead weight.
Jack could barely reply, yet his weak attempt made you giggle anyway. “Mm, you’re super boyfriend material. I’ve been needing a strong man to help me relax.” He didn’t really understand what that meant, but he was glad you were happy.
His breathing slowed bit by bit while you spoke, an exhaustion he hadn’t felt in decades cementing him in place. The last time he was even close to this tire was when he went on that killing spree back in two thousand eight. And that was a full day of slaughter.
You must be a succubus. A higher-level demon. Some all-powerful monster with a pussy made out of soul-draining diamond.
“We should get matching PJ’s! It’d be fun, we can have a movie night tomorrow cause I’m off till Monday—”
And apparently, he was now your boyfriend. Jack supposed the weird human sayings were true after all.
In hindsight, your type in men was always extraordinary. So when something starts slamming doors in your home, you get curious. A stray hand print and one closet void later—
It was love at first haunt.
!! Laughing Jack x F! Reader !! W/C: 4.5k
-> Including: Riding, overstim, slight sub/dom dynamics, choking, sadist adjacent reader, perv! LJ, pathetic LJ and brain washing that clown into a boyfriend :p this is also the lore for how LJ met his reader in my smaus HAHA ->
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You think the monster in your closet has a crush on you.
The sentence would’ve sent you into hysterics a month ago, but now? You were completely, utterly and unshakably sure that it was the truth.
You’d moved in about a year earlier, choosing the old house for its affordability. The wallpaper had been peeling, the wood panelling on the brink of decay, and the roof rickety. It sat on the very end of your street, separated from the neighbouring houses by a rusted metal fence. Definitely a fixer-upper, but it’d fit in your budget. Simply a home in need of some loving.
What they hadn’t told you was that it came with a resident poltergeist—
Clown?
Or something.
Well, you actually didn’t know what he was or what category he belonged to, but he made his presence known the first night.
You had been brushing your teeth when the lights overhead flickered.
The bulbs' hum grew louder, then they burst, leaving you in darkness. You were frozen in the spot, with all sorts of scary images flashing in your mind.
However, you were always quite the logical one, and you brushed it off. The wiring was ancient- was it really that surprising if it didn’t run like brand new? So you moved on, only to be bothered the next weekend by creaky footsteps in the hall.
Then it was your papers scattering randomly. A door slammed, an attic hatch swung open, followed by a loud crash.
Yet you stayed.
The deal you’d gotten was far too good for you to give up, and where else would you find a place with amenities included at this price? Though whatever was haunting you seemed determined to scare you off.
From nightmares to shadows in your periphery, he used every trick in the book. Except that over time, there had been a shift in his tactics.
You couldn’t say exactly when it happened, but one day- he just… stopped. No more sleep paralysis, no weird dread that sparked randomly either. For a moment, you thought you’d somehow scared him off.
During the transition period of your move, you’d met his intimidation with obliviousness. Ignoring his silhouette, sleeping in the daytime, and taking night shifts. When that didn’t work, you tried befriending him.
Attempting to make peace with the house by talking to him as if he were an odd roommate, on top of leaving out little snacks for him. And that’s how you got here.
He’d ceased his reign of terror on you for about two weeks before raising the stakes. This time, with a strangely romantic edge.
It began with a single daisy being placed on your bedside table. Naturally, you assumed it wasn’t the resident demon and that you’d gotten too drunk the previous night. Except that way of thinking flew out the window when he became much more straightforward.
The fogged mirror would serve as a canvas, with the words “Pretty” or “Hello, doll !! :)” He’d also roll unlabeled candies through your ajar closet door and scutter back into the darkness when you checked. Speaking of your closet, you didn’t understand how the thing functioned.
When the lights were off, it appeared like there was a void behind your clothing rack. A never-ending pitch black that you could fall into. If the lights were on, you’d be able to touch the back wall in one stretch. It hurt your head, and you decided not to investigate. That didn’t mean it didn’t exist, though.
He used that portal for all kinds of antics.
If you were digging for a sock, it’d only appear slightly out of reach when your room was dim. You’d have to crouch down, crawl from the barely lit space on the carpet to snag it. Sometimes he’d let you grab it; other times he’d continuously tug it farther and farther until you yelled from frustration.
It’d always be returned to you eventually, with you finding the stray sock at the foot of your bed a day later. Or it’d be thrown at the back of your head when you’d given up and stepped away.
At this point, he was more of an annoyance than a life-altering evil. Yet one thing was clear, and it was that he liked you.
Last month, you discovered his name was Jack. Specifically, “Laughing Jack In The Box.”
You’d finally gathered enough motivation to clean out your neglected attic and stumbled upon a music box.
It sat tucked into the corner, layered with dust and looking as cursed as ever. The object was evidently the source of whatever he was, so you were as respectful as you could be. Placing it neatly aside while you tidied the room. This is also when you learned about his clown situation.
While you were elbow-deep in mop water and disinfectant wipes, the music player rattled to life. The handle whirred, the chipped wood jolting as an off-tune melody filled your ears.
You were idle until the song came to a slow, and jumped a tad when the lid popped open. Inside, a porcelain monochrome jester was attached to a spring, about the size of a fist.
Upon further inspection, there was a photo lying at the bottom. An old portrait of what you assumed was him. The edges were faded, his form blurry, and he stood next to a popcorn stand. At first glance, it appeared normal enough- but if you stared, everything in the image was off.
He was too tall, with arms stretching past his knees. The popcorn stand, even in black and white, seemed like a prop. Not one on a movie set or anything of the sort, but as if it were desperately trying to blend in yet failing.
The background seemed almost flat, and his features sat unnaturally on his face. Too sharp, ill-fitting around his jagged teeth. He looked like he was only smiling because that's what people were supposed to do in photographs.
You had called out to him, saying you liked his get-up. Then you got back to work. Wiping down the floors with a Swiffer, organizing the aged boxes from previous owners, and by sunset, you were finished.
He hadn’t done anything else after the music box, so you were left to your own devices. Not a single noise or knocked-over cup in sight.
All that being said, he did a very bad job of staying quiet when it actually mattered.
And he was a pervert.
With the moon lit brightly over the clouds, you were getting ready for some much-deserved relaxation. Your love life was lacklustre, to put it mildly, and your vibrator was luring you in like a siren. You were sure most people would be uncomfortable being explicit in a haunted house, but you just couldn't find it in yourself to care.
The guy had to be at least a hundred. If he was going to loom threateningly in your halls and hide your socks, then he’d have to deal with your bookmarked tabs.
Opening your laptop, you clicked play on a recent favourite. It was basic, yet it fuelled your imagination just enough. The display lit up with a video of a man slouching against his couch, head out of frame.
He undid the drawstrings of his sweats, and you settled against the pillows. Your shirt was already off, panties pulled to the side as you spread your legs.
An important note: your bed was facing the closet.
Another important note: the closet doors were panelled and definitely did not cover the view in the slightest.
You would remember that fact when the glossy toy breached your cunt, and a very scandalized gasp echoed from beyond your wardrobe.
At first, you ignored it. Maybe he was a prude- he was ancient after all. Choosing to pretend you hadn’t noticed anything, you thrust the silicone deeper, sighing. It wasn’t as big as you’d prefer, but you hadn’t had the time to shop for another since your move. It would do for now, and you fixated on the screen. Trying to time your hand with his.
Though only a minute later, shuffling came from the other side of your closet.
Accompanied by panting, you could practically hear him swallow. Now that you were thinking about it, he was tall with big hands. His nose was pointy too, and he was clearly a sexually repressed loser of a demon. He probably hasn’t ever even kissed anybody- which could only mean one thing.
‘Laughing Jack’ had to be packing.
Puffing out your nose, you tossed your toy aside after pausing the video, and the room went dead silent. It was evident that he was attempting to conceal his presence.
Unfortunately for him, you were horny. Swinging your feet off the mattress, you padded over to the closet. Acting clueless so he wouldn’t flee. You moved as if you were reaching for your drawers, just to swing the wardrobe doors open. And there he was.
Scrunched up on the floor, his arms hovered awkwardly, legs folded under him, while he gawked up at you. His hair was longer than in the photo, his neck almost swallowed by a feather ruffle. However, it was the large tent in his patchwork trousers that caught your attention.
He stuttered, shocked. “W-Well, this is quite the first impression-” You dropped to your knees, crawling onto his lap. “Totally.” The purr of your voice wiped the smile clean off his face, and he stumbled back. Propped on his elbows when he tittered nervously.
“You’re very- uh- forward! Has anyone told you that?” His swirled pupils were glued to your face. He was a bashful pervert- who would’ve guessed?
Not answering his question, you hummed. “You ever fucked anyone, Jackie?” Trailing a finger down his broad chest, the nickname had him gulping. “Not particularly, no. Being a full-time entertainer takes work, I’ll have you know.” Attempting to joke, he was in disarray.
Jack had never been so out of his element in his life.
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. You were straddling his thighs, bare-chested with only a thin layer of cotton separating your cores.
In all honesty, he hadn’t even touched himself before this, and the weight of you pressing down on his bulge was making his brain reboot. You were so warm- you couldn’t seriously blame him for being dazed, could you?
“Do you want to?” You hummed, running your tongue along your teeth. The faint glow of your lamp gave you a halo, far too angelic for the lust that swam in your gaze.
He stammered. “I’d definitely be open to it. Seems like quite the activi- mmph.” Your lips crashed into his. Jack’s nervous tittering had you soaked, and your patience had run out. You were going to milk this motherfucker dry.
Mouths slotting together, he tasted like watered-down hard candy. The sugar that was left over after you’d finished a lollipop. Your tongues swirled around each other, and he jolted under you.
The sensations made the wire ends spark in his head. Your hands were roaming his chest, his shoulders, up to cup his jaw.
You were squeezing everything there was to squeeze, releasing him with drool stringing between your lips. “Since it’s your first time, you can pick where we start. ‘Kay?” He nodded in response, hyperfocused on your touch. This was fine; he could handle this.
He’d been trapped in a box for years, dealt with horrific violence and mental strain- how intense could physical contact really be? However, as his self-assured pep talk settled, you ground your hips down—
Very intense. Physical contact was really, really intense.
He could feel your cunt mold around his cock, and he borderline choked. “Oh my! Hah, how enthusiastic of you, little human.” Claws shaking by his sides, you grinned.
Ignoring his rambles. “I could suck you off. Use my mouth to ease you into it.” You ran your thumb against his tip, continuing whilst he tried his best to keep eye contact.
“Or I could use my hands, touch you like this-” Your palm pressed against his length, making him gasp. You’d barely done anything, and the imagery was sending him reeling. “Or...”
Lowering your mouth near his ear, “I could just let you fuck me raw, fill me up till you can’t even think straight.” Your breath grazed him only slightly, but that was enough.
You didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. His eyebrows knotted together, lashes fluttering as he whined through gritted teeth. Jack’s spine curved off the wood, and he shuddered beneath you. “Haah- shit.” It was without a doubt that he’d cum untouched; the wetness leaking from his slacks was undeniable.
Slumping after a beat, he panted. “I didn’t- I don’t know what, ngh, happened.” Squinting at you, he looked like he’d genuinely fought for his life.
His hair stuck up in every direction, spit dribbling from his lips when you snickered. “You’re too cute- but I’m not riding you on the floor.” The confusion on his face was obvious, yet you didn’t explain further. Riding? What did that have to do with sex?
Though before he could question you, you rose to your feet, gesturing for him to follow. “C’mon-” You stood at the foot of the bed.
“Let me see you, Jackie.”
Sweat lined his back. Jesus, when was the last time he took off this thing? He didn’t need to shower, use the bathroom or anything of the sort, so undressing wasn’t really necessary.
Gulping, he gave you a strained smile. Undoing the straps over his chest, then his belt, he coughed awkwardly. It was funny to witness someone so uncannily unsettling be so shy, and you chuckled when he hopped to remove his pants.
Jack towered before you, completely bare. His lanky arms faded from an off-white to black at his fingertips, a sparse, happy trail lining his pelvis down to his cock. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes- you knew he was big, but this was something else.
A full nine inches, hanging heavy between his legs, the tip blushed a muted lavender. Your mouth was watering.
Plopping onto the mattress's ledge, you crawled backwards, holding out your arms as you lay against the pillows.
“Come here, gorgeous.” Cheeky, his face flushed, and he climbed over you. Hovering as you cupped his jaw. “You wanna’ help me take these off?” He nodded slightly, holding his breath, gaze flicking down. He hooked a thumb under your panties, tugging them down while you wiggled your hips.
You were being so nice, and your attention overwhelmed him. He’d been ready for you to scream, run, and cry in response. Fear him like everyone else- have him chase you to confess his obsession. He had gone over the scenario time and time again.
You’d see him in his carnage glory, screech at the top of your lungs before begging for your life. He’d be forced to hold you down.
Explain that you just didn’t understand, but you would once he showed you how much you meant to him. He prepped a speech, his persuasion and romance tactics. Yet, you didn’t react in any way close to what he assumed.
You kept giggling, flirty, when you caught him watching you like a degenerate. You called him gorgeous, and now you were offering yourself on a silver platter. He was not prepared for this. At all.
With your underwear removed, you circled his neck, bringing him close. “Do you know what to do?” He sputtered. “Hah- of course I do, my sweet! Just... um.” The pet name felt foreign on his tongue, but you had done the same. He really hopes it didn’t sound weird—
No. Focus.
He was going to ace this if it was the last thing he did.
Wracking his brain for memories, he had seen people participate in the act prior. He was sure of it! This couldn’t be too difficult. He was supposed to go inside you, then move back and forth... he thinks.
The last couple that moved in were decently touchy with each other; it’s just that he was never interested in staying for the whole experience.
He cursed himself. He was blowing the whole charming-you thing, and he couldn’t risk embarrassing himself further. What’s that saying? Fake it till you make it, right? “Okay, I’ll- ah. I’m going to... enter you... now?” Cringing, he lined himself up with your cunt, hissing from his own touch.
Okay, the dirty talk definitely needed work- but he was hot, and you needed the clown in tears.
You spread your thighs wider to make room, and his blunt tip nudged against your folds. Jack was huffing, attempting to find the opening. He missed twice more before you sighed, reaching down to guide him. “Now, push in-” You didn’t expect him to take it as a “slam forward without saying anything”, and you arched sharply.
He was only about a third of the way inside, yet the stretch had you dizzy. “Oh- fuck. Slowly, Jack.” You gasped while he shook above you. Nothing on earth could’ve prepared him for this. You were so tight. It felt like he could barely move, the pulses of your cunt making his eyes roll.
“You’re squeezing me, I- nngh-” He buried his face into your shoulder. “S-sorry, sorry, I can’t.” Then he forced his length deeper, biting down as you screamed. It was as if sopping velvet had enveloped him entirely, the squelch of your cunt ringing in his ears. “I didn’t think it’d feel so- haah-” He keened, his hands scrambling to grasp onto your waist.
His rhythm was sporadic. Moving too quickly, his pelvis thwacking against your mound thrice, before he’d become overwhelmed. His hips stuttered, his body freezing completely. You whined, palms flat against the plains of his back.
“Fuck me, Jackie- c’mon.” You had been pent up for too long, and his pathetic grunts next to your ear had you leaking onto the sheets.
Shivering atop you, he nodded shakily. Desperately trying to please you as he began humping into your cunt. Short, unsteady thrusts, with the pleasure making his eyes water. “Ah- ah- shit. Does it f-feel good? Please, want it to feel good- please.” He dragged his head out from the hollow of your throat, resting his forehead on yours.
You bit down on your lip, moans forced out with every thump against your cervix. “Mhm, so good. Keep- oh- keep going.” The praise made him twitch inside you, his cock weeping an inhuman amount.
Jack’s biology was a mystery to himself- he didn’t know why whoever created him even gave him genitals. The lubricant pouring out of him was constant, thin and milky, making you beyond slick. He couldn’t control it, his voice heightening in pitch when you clenched around him.
It was too good, too overpowering all at once. He wanted to hold it back, stave off the building tightness in his gut, but his willpower was laughably weak. “Sorry- 'm sorry, can’t—” Gasping, his tongue lolled out, pressing against yours as you panted wetly.
Not quite a kiss, your lips simply smushed together. Mouths hanging open, with your saliva mixing and dripping down your chin.
He shuddered violently, muscles tensing from head to toe. His cum painted your tunnel thickly, and you mewled, your nails raking down his back. There was so much.
Blisteringly hot inside you, spilling out to coat his base in an off-white. “Jack-” He slumped into you before you could finish your sentence, hips still faintly jolting. “Too much, sorry- ngh.” He slurred, his limbs boneless. You pouted, huffing. “Mmph, okay.” You should have just done this from the beginning.
You pushed at his chest, and he withdrew by an inch. “I- um, I’ll try again! I promise I’m-”
However, his maw snapped shut the moment you squinted at him. “Get on your back.” An order he rushed to obey, he shuffled to flip over, and you were swift to climb onto him.
Straddling his hips, you slid your sopping slit along his length. “We’ll work on it, but I wanna’ cum, so you’re just gonna’ be good for me and take it, okay?”
You cooed at his quiet sniffling. “I’ll take care of you, gorgeous. Don’t worry.” With that, you nudged his tip to sit against your entrance, sinking down on him only a second later.
The fullness had a blissed-out sigh escaping you, your clit now flush to his happytrail. He whimpered like a dog beneath you, and his claws sank into the fat of your ass.
Head thrown back, he squirmed. The new angle made it feel as if he barely fit, overly snug inside your walls and cramped enough to have his climax already stirring. His eyes rolled up into his skull when you started working yourself open on his girth. “Fuck.”
You were bouncing quickly, not wasting any time to let him adjust. Your pussy slammed onto his girth, and the lewd sounds of skin smacking echoed loudly. You giggled, drunk, while you used him. He hit the spot just right, stretching your hole in a way that had you addicted to the friction.
The ridges of his cock, the veins running up the length, would catch on your opening. Dragging in and out as you fucked down onto him. “Yeah- huuh- mm, yeah.” You moaned, drinking in his ruined expression. Jack was a mess.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, makeup smeared on your pillows. Babbling half-syllables and practically incoherent. He writhed nonstop, turning his face to one side just to jerk his head in the other direction.
“Don’t s-stop- please- pleaseplease- ngh.” His shoulders bowed, brows scrunched up, he bared his canines. His jaw clenched like he was in pain.
For an evil clown, he sure was a pretty crier. Trembling to the point his teeth chattered, tits squished together and dewy with perspiration. It made you greedy, had your hips slowing to a lazy grind before you trailed your touch up his chest. You snickered when a sad whine escaped him, his pout adorable.
“You wanna’ be mine, Jackie?” You murmured, and he nodded in return. “Mmh- y-yes- wanna’ be yours.” His bottom lip wobbling, his hiccups were quiet. Little soft sniffles that seeped into you like a drug.
You grinned. “How bad?” The sudden grip on his pec was firm, making him gasp. “So-! So bad, please.” You were groping him everywhere.
Kneading at his tits, his biceps, feeling him up to your heart's content. You were ravenous, your hunger never-ending and insatiable.
“Ugh, so cute. I’m totally keeping you.” Then you wrapped a hand around his throat, an iron hold on his windpipe. “Open your mouth, pretty boy.” His tongue swirled out, glistening while you pitched forward.
You spit a fat glob into his mouth and moaned when he gulped, picking up the pace without a word. He practically arched off the linen. “Fuck- please- huh, f-fuck me please- so good. Feels s’good.” Jack had no idea what the fuck he was saying, the begs clawing their way up, driven by pure need alone.
His whines were lewd, pornographic, like he’d never heard. He had no idea he could even sound like this. Raw and visceral as he watched you ride him to Heaven's gate.
Your pussy was so wet, your arousal coating his hilt- he choked. “Cumming- cumming- nngh—” Running out of air, he garbled, drool bubbling at the corners of his mouth.
But you were a sadist, and his pathetic nature was too beautiful to end now. You had to stretch it out, savour his tears as if you were parched.
You began humping his cock roughly, molding your lips to his. He laced your tongues together, the striped muscle elongating to explore your mouth.
His glowing pupils had formed hearts when you finally released him with a syrupy smack, and you hummed, cooing. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding from me.” You clamped around him, ensnaring him with your cunt.
“You’re so fucking big- I gotta’ milk your pretty cock to make up for how selfish you are, Jackie.” He sobbed at that, the pleasure having his head spinning like a carousel. He’d just poured a load inside you, and you were already forcing another one out of him.
He thinks he’s dying. Jack genuinely believed you were going to send him to the afterlife with your cunt. Immortality be damned, this would be his demise.
Sensations he didn’t know existed had him gagging on his own saliva like a whore, his body going haywire at every corner.
“Oh, haah- look at me.” You gasped, palm pushing down even harder. His gaze snapped to meet yours, his lids fighting to stay open. It felt like he was going to explode, the mattress squeaking, the headboard battering into the wall.
His face paint had stained your skin, white and black slathered across your cheek and lips, proof of how you ravaged him. You were ruthless, abusing his oversensitive length with abandon. “Uh- mmh-” The noises you made weren’t helping his restraint at all.
Sickeningly sugary, filthy as you chased your own high. Your free hand joined the one at his neck, a collar crafted out of lust and possession. His legs shook, his abdomen painfully tight. “Who’s pussy is this?” You drawled, constricting his airways, and he slurred in response. “Ah- nnh- wha-?”
You slammed your cunt down, extra punishing. “Who’s fucking pussy is this, Jackie?” Your eyes were ice-cold, hips mean. He thrashed, his struggle to escape the stimulation useless. “I- nngh- uh- uh- m-mine?” You sneered.
Ramming your heat up and down his cock hard enough to make him convulse. “Say it like you mean it, big boy-” You snarled, making him scratch at your thighs. His lungs were about to collapse- and he could’ve sworn he didn’t need those. “I’m yours- you own this perfect fucking cunt.” Mercy was not a name you knew well, and he keened.
Panting, his vision blurred, the pressure in his skull a centimetre away from bursting. He flailed under you, slurring. “Y-Yes, ma’am! Huuh- fuck- fuckfuck-” His broken cries sent you over the edge, and you gasped.
Tensing, with your spine curving, you squirted around his girth. Soaking his pelvis and thighs, climax hitting you like lightning. He spurted gluey ropes inside your tunnel, stuffing you to the fucking brink- then he went limp. Chest heaving when you released his throat, he blinked slowly, dazed.
You pecked his jaw, dragging kisses up to his cheekbone. “Good boy. You’re like- so cutesy, y’know?” He exhaled shakily, his massive frame a dead weight.
Jack could barely reply, yet his weak attempt made you giggle anyway. “Mm, you’re super boyfriend material. I’ve been needing a strong man to help me relax.” He didn’t really understand what that meant, but he was glad you were happy.
His breathing slowed bit by bit while you spoke, an exhaustion he hadn’t felt in decades cementing him in place. The last time he was even close to this tire was when he went on that killing spree back in two thousand eight. And that was a full day of slaughter.
You must be a succubus. A higher-level demon. Some all-powerful monster with a pussy made out of soul-draining diamond.
“We should get matching PJ’s! It’d be fun, we can have a movie night tomorrow cause I’m off till Monday—”
And apparently, he was now your boyfriend. Jack supposed the weird human sayings were true after all.
