🌀 they/it/he, 25, service switch (read: such a sub that i'll dom if u want) ✨
🌀 main is @gh0ul-k1ss3r
🌀 taken irl by my truest love @slashrbxtch 💘🔪
i've never full sent on a kink blog before but i need someplace to dump all my favorite horny posts so they stop clogging my drafts lol. consider this my open spank bank diary ✨
kinks you will see here: omorashi, hypno/brainwashing, intox, cnc, tickling, petplay, medfet, torture/guro, forcemasc, size difference, feet
It is kinda interesting because maybe "I'm not a person anymore, I'm a cute toy that miss can touch and use however she wants!" does reflect some true deeply held truths and feelings. A disidentification with humanity, a desire for contact, a need to be wanted. You know?
But just as much the eroticism comes from how embarrassing it is for it to say out loud so cheerfully. Its forced grin wobbles, it squeezes its knees together, and its double peace signs shake with anxiety. I think that if it didn't take some work to get it to say the line, it wouldn't be very hot for either of us. Thus we have to engage with it on both levels. Both as desire and both as fear.
Which is why I keep forcing it to say it out loud over and over again, to really get it in the right headspace and attain a more complete understanding. Meditating on it. And for no other reason.
like......i don't love having to hold at work bc it splits my focus SO BAD but it also makes me insanely horny bc if i can feel my bladder at all while im driving i just start thinking abt what if it's too busy to pee when i get back to the store....what if i keep drinking water and then i have to go even worse and just never get a chance to go........
but yeah delivering to the office next to many sources of gushing, rushing water when I was just starting to get squirmy was. ough 😮💨🥵😵💫
I do quite like the idealized "obedient" headspace you sometimes see explored in hypnokink. I tend to think it's most fun to present it as someone horrifying. Unable to fight back or resist, body automatically complying with each request. I tell you to tell me that you're okay with this, that you're consenting, that this is all exactly what you desire. And, in a stuttering and struggling voice, you repeat back exactly what I told you to say. The end point after resistance: meet what you could become.
I tend to understand it as an eroticism of the fawn response. Say it in the right tone and add enough pressure and you immediately comply. Survival instinct. For just the one moment, you don't need to do anything but go along with it. You'll take account of what you have left after it's over. And in that way, I imagine you almost just want this to go on forever. So you never have to worry about what comes after, and can just forever be my toy. It'd be easier than the alternative.
okay i have to know what this omo game is that you mentioned in the tag of your ask
I think it was called Melissa Explains It All, and it was like a flash game where you go on a date with a woman, and you can choose the size of her bladder etc and the goal is to get her home while desperate and have sex with her I think? And you can go on all sorts of dates and give them items to increase their attraction to you and also their desperation. You could also get keys which unlocked different areas, for example I always remember breaking into the cinema and having the girl pee into a cup, and stopping at the makeout spot which increased desperation 🤭. I haven’t played it in many years but I understand it has been updated in recent years so I’m not sure how different it is. Here.
A shy, trim butch who knows they have kind of a big bladder, so they don’t want to bother anyone by getting up to go pee. Sitting outside at a brewery, at a picnic table, friends and girlfriend on one side, sweet shy butch on the other. It’s summer, everyone’s in shorts including this increasingly full butch… they’re thinking oh, don’t worry about it, there’s plenty more room in my bladder. They feel it. It’s full for sure but barely firm or showing, and this shy butch doesn’t want to ask where the bathroom is. They’re wrapped in conversation and mindlessly downing beers and waters.
Drunk and laughing, their girlfriend makes them laugh so hard some pee squirts out. They’re shocked and act like it didn’t happen but they’re realizing in horror that their bladder is FULL - rock hard and swollen. They’re about to ask where the bathroom is but get cut off in conversation, they desperately try one more time but everyone is drunk and laughing at once and then they feel more spurts start to flow out… this can’t be happening. No one can know. Now they can’t get up. They’re sitting in a little puddle, if they got up everyone would know they peed themselves… not only that but everyone would see they had to unbutton their shorts AND zip down the zipper….. to let their bladder out :/ it is huge and aching and it was pressing up against their waistband so bad. This sweet shy butch doesn’t know what to do…. They’re so cool and hot, and pissing themselves?? This can’t be happening! They’re doing mental calculations, how can they let some out, let enough out to then be able to sit here until it dries. They’re calculating how big their bladder is, how much they’ve drank, how much pee is still waiting to even get into the bladder when there’s more room……, how much they could let out right here on this bench and into the grass without anyone noticing. They’re bursting. They have to pee NOW. They slowly and secretly under the table pull their shorts to the side and try to angle their cunt down enough to shoot some pee into the grass… they barely make it, pee starting to come out almost immediately but they somehow get some out subtly enough but it’s so LOUD that they have to cut off their stream after a second. It sounds like someone spilled something. Luckily everyone is drunk enough not to notice except they had to hold their cunt with their hand and theyve now made a dripping puddle into their hand. At this point they really can’t get up, their bladder bulge is so visible and they’re so embarrassed by how big it is, people would definitely notice. No one wants to be asked “uhhh… is that your bladder?!?!?” And they couldn’t get up anyways because they’ve been pissing themself for the last 10 minutes and theyre trying to figure out how they can just sit there and keep peeing themself without anyone noticing.
They’re squirming trying to hold back another torrent. If anyone looked under the table they’d see them cupping their cunt, a little lake of pee pooled in their hand already, dripping off the bench and down their legs. They’d see them leaning forward trying to find any impossible relief for their aching stretched full bladder.
They have to pee so bad. They’re squirming. They’re aching. They don’t know what to do, they’re so shy. Their back teeth are floating. Their brain is floating. They are so full of piss, everything is pee, they are bursting and exploding.
Actually being kidnapped after years of fantasizing about it, having all of my expectations shattered, my trust betrayed, and being scared out of my mind. Begging to be let go and being told this is what I wanted, this is what I asked for.
My captor went through the effort of snooping through all of my socials to gather enough info to be able to take me in the first place, so of course she knew, I was stupid and I ignored all of the signs.
She knew exactly how to drag me in, exactly what to say, exactly how to act, everything fine tuned to lure me into her grasp so I'd never see the sun without her permission again.
Knowing deep down that it's my fault, and promising myself that ill find a way out. Only to be slowly broken in over the course of a few weeks, or maybe a few months. I'll stare in the mirror one day and find myself in the exact position I fantasized being in so long ago. Dead eyed, collared, bound, bruised beyond comprehension, desperate for any ounce of attention, smiling, knowing I've finally found my place.
omo thought of the day. person who has a strong bladder, but it doesn't FEEL like it. hands in a vice grip around their crotch while they're sitting, legs crossed so tight they're shaking, and they're thinking the whole time "holy fuck i'm going to piss myself i'm actually going to piss myself" but they don't. or theyre squirming, whimpering, bouncing from foot to foot terrified they're going to leak RIGHT NOW they can FEEL it..... and then they never do. they have to pee so bad they can't even stand up straight, their hands and thighs are trembling from how desperate they are to get any relief, it looks and feels so clearly like they're seconds away from wetting themself. but seconds turn into minutes and they're still completely dry, just more and more desperate to pee to the point where they can't even form words, can't even think of anything other than how they're so close to having a full blown accident. but they're not. and unless something changes, they're going to stay this way for a while.
+ bonus if they have a dom who won't let them use the bathroom until they leak a little, but it really is just not happening at all and they know there is no "letting out a little on purpose" at this point or they're going to fully wet themself
*so horny I'm about to pass out* nono it's fine, keep exposing a lil bit of tummy every time u stretch ur arms up its totally fine I'm so normal about it
Since I've been on the topic, recently I've been thinking of someone tickling my clit while my bladder is full... something about the pressure there on top of being stimulated feels so good. Desperately trying to hold yourself back but it feels so good and it tickles soooo bad <3
Summary: Art the Clown makes a fatal mistake in hot pursuit of his chosen victim. After attempting to carry on anyways, he makes an interesting discovery about his captive.
⛔️⚠️ WARNING⚠️⛔️ this is a tickle fic!!! No likey no readie!! Thank you 💙
⚠️⛔️ ADDITIONAL WARNINGS⛔️⚠️ this fic is based on the Terrifier movies, so, expect the following; gore, graphic descriptions or depictions of gore, blood, cruel and brutal torture, death, fear, anxiety, life or death escape attempts, stalking, blunt and sharp weapons, mortal danger, non consensual bondage, non consensual tickling, and of course clowns
Authors note: I stumbled across a fic by @hypn0sis-ba1t and it gave me the courage and inspiration to finally write and post a Terrifier fic. Thank you so much again for inspiring me!! I hope you enjoy my garbage, lmao
Juniper's ears rang.
She had no idea how long she had been running. Fueled by survival instinct, she forced her burning legs to move as fast as they could carry her.
Her chest ached from her dry, panicked breaths, her heart pounding loudly in her ribcage. The complaints her body screamed through her nervous system were ignored as she tore down the dark, quiet street.
He had been following her for days.
The news had said there was a copycat killer on the loose; a tall and lanky man in a black and white clown costume. As the days crept closer to Halloween, more and more bodies had been found in varying states of dismemberment.
Juniper had been absolutely enthralled.
Being a true crime buff since her discovery of the genre, her morbid curiosity got the best of her. Based on the locations of the bodies, there was a pattern for where he would be next. That was easy enough to figure out. The timing, though, was a bit harder.
So, she waited.
Sitting in her car, armed with nothing but a camera and a can of pepper spray, Juniper staged her own stake-out in the parking lot of an old gas station.
To her credit, she did try to warn the police. Those arrogant bastards laughed at her and hung up the phone before she could tell them about the pattern.
Oh, well. They had the gas station address at least.
Right now she wished she would have listened to the advice of her friends; mind her own business and stay the fuck home.
After one day, Mr. Copycat Killer himself appeared.
Exiting from behind the gas station.
Covered in blood.
Juniper started her car and drove off quickly, hoping he hadn't seen her. Those too-knowing eyes in her rear view mirror told her that he had.
Ever since, its been a game of cat and mouse.
She ditched the car by day three, opting to walk. Her dark hair had been pulled into a hastily done braid to ward off the growing tangles, but it hadn't done anything for the sweat and dirt.
Any time she found somewhere to hide, he always found her.
Sneaking in after she found a place to sleep, he would leave his latest victim for her to find once the smell of blood and post mortem woke her. He took joy in her horrified retching, standing just within her view to watch. The second Juniper's eyes landed on him, she would run again.
Her braid slapping against her back, sweat soaked clothing clinging to her skin, she pushed her body to keep moving.
This time was different, she could feel it in her chest.
Something primal drove her as she chanced a look backward, finding him keeping up with her despite his leisurely pace. He had a black garbage bag slung over his shoulder, a grin splitting his face paint to reveal yellowed teeth.
She screamed.
Under her feet, she could feel her shoes threatening to fall apart. The soles were bare of any tread, duct tape wrapped around each toe and heel to seal off the worn holes in the rubber. Her knees and palms were scraped from numerous hard tumbles, black and blue splotches spotting her skin, and the rising exhaustion adding weight to her limbs.
It was Halloween night. If she got caught, she was going to be in his grand finale.
Suddenly, she tripped, crying out as she landed on open cuts and fresh bruises. Juniper scrambled to her feet again, her pace stuttering as she tried to recover.
Her legs shook, knees feeling like stretched out rubber bands under her weight. Hot blood trickled down her shins, soaking into her socks and leaving a sickening, cold pool around her ankles. The pain of the fall had been enough to push her over the edge, tears threatening to well in her eyes as fear began to win.
Juniper's breath came in ragged gasps, her voice grating against her throat. Animalistic sounds of frustration escaped her as her stamina started to give out. She drove her legs with desperation, pressing with everything she had. Sobs rose in her chest as her body disobeyed.
As she began to slow, she looked back. Again and again she glanced over her shoulder as she shambled against her fatigue.
He was still there, only a few yards away, pumping a fist in the air as if cheering her on.
She yelled, trying to override the exhaustion with seething rage. The roar faded into a sorrowful wheeze, voice cracking.
“Leave me alone!” She croaked, breaking off down an alleyway. She heard him wheeze in response, slapping his thigh in amusement.
Frantically, she searched. She tried to open every door and window she passed. With every locked entrance, her panic clouded her mind.
“No, no, no…” She whimpered, pulling frantically on another door handle as shuffling approached behind her. Juniper ducked to the side, pressing her back to the brick wall. He stalked up to her, his height casting a shadow over her as he walked to the door.
In the dim light, she could see an annoyed look on his face. He looked to the door, then back to her. She couldn’t do anything but stare in frozen terror.
Juniper yelped as the clown exasperatedly dropped his garbage bag, the contents crashing loudly as he gestured to the door. He waved his arms as if lecturing her before reaching for the handle. He grasped it, rattling the handle as he mimed trying to pull the door open. He went as far as to prop his foot on the door frame and arch backward, face twisted into a mocking, strained expression.
He stopped, dropping his foot and turning to face her. With one hand on his hip, slouched in a scolding way, he turned the knob with the other hand and pushed.
The door creaked open easily.
Juniper blinked, briefly glancing away from him to look into the building. He stood there, quietly waiting.
She slowly stood, wavering. He sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked at his nonexistent watch and tapped his foot. He dropped the arm, slapping it to his hip before starting to sweep both arms in an obvious command to go through the door.
You have to be fucking kidding me.
Juniper glanced behind herself, finding no other escape route.
Goddamnit.
Scrambling, she darted through the door, screeching as his fingers barely caught her braid as she passed. She whipped her head, tearing her hair out of his hand as she stumbled forwards into the dark room. She screamed again as she crashed into a metal shelf, small boxes falling around her as the clown let the door slam shut, plunging her into total darkness.
Everything happened so fast that Juniper had no time to react.
The second darkness shrouded her, a large weight slammed her against the shelf. Her breath left her as the mass expertly found her wrists, bringing them behind her and tying them together with a supernatural speed. As soon as air refilled her lungs, she was pushed to the ground, crying out as she hit the linoleum hard, her ankles tied together before she could attempt to kick.
Frenzied tears streamed down her face as she tried to get words out. She could hear him circling her like a vulture, the tap of his clown shoes echoing around the room.
“Please… p-please let me go…” she said, curling up as best she could on her side. The bodies he had left for her to find flashed in her mind, reminding her what was to come.
“I won’t say anything. No one will know where you are. Just let me go, I’ll keep my word!”
The corpse of a male, his abdomen hollowed out like a pumpkin. His organs laid in a heap, cradled in his arms as he sat against the wall. His eyes had been plucked from their sockets to be propped up next to her head, watching her lifelessly as she slept. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle, his cheeks torn from the forceful opening.
The word “Art” had been smeared across the concrete floor in blood.
The clown found a light switch, the fluorescent bulbs flickering to life above her as they revealed her surroundings. They were in a supermarket.
The clown stood by the wall, silently snickering as she cried.
A woman in a black dress, her arms and legs broken and posed in an unsettling, frozen crawl. Her neck had been snapped, head spun almost all the way around as it pressed into the floor horizontally, her heart placed in her open mouth. That creation had been the first to successfully make Juniper vomit.
The crime scene was once again signed “Art”.
“What do you want from me?!” She screamed. The clown threw his head back in silent laughter, pointing at her and clutching his stomach. He began to approach, wiping a tear from his eye as she struggled to move away.
Art grabbed her braid, lifting her head painfully to look at him. He grinned as she hyperventilated, dropping her head ruffling her hair as her forehead slammed to the floor. Grabbing her upper arm, he lifted her, and with one violent throw he sent her careening into the center of the room. She groaned as she tumbled to a stop, her vision swimming.
Art made a show of dusting off his hands, happily strutting back to the door. Juniper whimpered, knowing exactly what he was doing.
He was grabbing his tool bag.
As he reached the door, he turned on his heel and held up a finger, promising he would be right back. Juniper closed her eyes tight, trying to prepare herself.
The door rattled.
Then shook.
Juniper cracked her eyes open, watching as Art frantically struggled with the door.
He scoffed, deflating as the door didn’t budge. Hands on hips, he rocked on his heels as he thought, looking around the door for anything that could be in the way.
Despite herself, despite the pain and fear, Juniper smirked.
“Did you try pushing?” She said with as much sarcasm as her broken voice could convey.
Art whipped around to look at her, a suffering look painting his features as he mouthed a “Ha-Ha”. He gave her a dismissive wave, starting to kick the door as hard as he could, the force throwing him backward with every try.
As he was distracted, Juniper tried to sit up. She managed to roll to her side, wincing as her bonds pulled sharply against her wrists. She stretched her fingers, trying to find gaps between the rope to loosen it, deftly working her fingertips between the lengths.
She didn’t notice when the banging stopped.
Juniper yelped as Art crouched down in front of her face, raising an eyebrow. She cowered, immediately pulling her fingers from the ropes.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll stop!”
He huffed, looking from her to the space behind her. Gripping her by the shoulders, he sat her up and propped her to sit leaning against another shelf. With one hand, he lifted one leg of the shelf and hooked her bound wrists around it, then dropped it to anchor her in place.
Her breath quickened, heart racing. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes again as he crouched over her, one foot on either side of her legs. He leaned in, his acrid breath burning her nose as she pressed herself into the shelf as much as she could. He studied her, drinking in her panic with a hungry expression, eyes dull and unblinking.
Juniper watched as his face changed, shifting to something akin to begrudging acceptance. He shrugged, kneeling to straddle her thighs as he began to rip open the front of her sweat-stained tank top.
Confusion and worry flashed across her features, head shaking wildly as he ripped the cloth. He started at the neck line, meticulously tearing down the middle. She was too afraid to blush at the nudity, watching him push the cloth back to expose her front. He cracked his knuckles, stretched his arms, and grinned wickedly at her.
He’s going to rip me apart with his bare hands.
Juniper squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away from Art. She waited for the pain, bracing for the feeling of her skin tearing open in jagged sheets. She prepared herself as much as she could to die after all this time fighting to survive.
He had won.
She felt him dig his fingers into her middle.
It was… clumsy.
Art clearly wasn’t prepared for the amount of resistance skin holds, digging in as if to grab and tear away handfuls. It hurt, but was more uncomfortable than anything, much less painful than what she was expecting.
She opened her eyes, looking down as his hands fumbled at her flesh. By the look on his face, he was just as surprised as she was. Gripping harshly, he pulled at the raised area the compression made before it slipped out of his fingers, leaving odd red marks and scratches in their wake. He tried the same at her sides, encouraged when she hissed in discomfort, but confusedly shook his head when nothing more came of it.
Art moved up, trying again at her ribs.
Juniper flinched.
Not from pain, though.
The flesh around the bones was leaner, more taut and thick. The squeeze massaged into the dense sheet of muscle, grinding into her lower ribs roughly.
That had tickled.
A yelp escaped as she involuntarily tensed her core, twisting out of his hands. A smile crept across his face, slowly nodding as he reached for her ribs again. She shook her head, watching the hands move back in.
He dug in, and she jumped. He didn’t let her shake his hands off this time, continuing to press, assuming he had found the weak spot. Juniper bit her lip, fighting the smile that the sensations teased into her features.
Art didn’t notice at first. He probably wouldn’t have if it weren’t for a single, damning, huffed giggle shaking her torso in his hands.
He froze, hands still on her ribcage. Slowly, he locked onto her face, watching her as she paled visibly.
“H-hey! What’s the hold up…? Weren’t you going to kill me?” She stammered, trying to appear angry. Arguably, this was not the best thing she could have said, but she wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
Adrenaline was one hell of a drug.
In any other circumstance he probably would have laughed, but Art was unnervingly focused. He watched her face closely as he squeezed her ribcage again.
Juniper’s breath hitched, smile curving around her attempt to bite it away. He squeezed over and over, calculating, a mischievous sparkle growing in his eye as her breathing stuttered.
“Will you stop that?!” She squeaked, a snicker escaping. Juniper squirmed, thunking her head back against the shelf, shoulders slumping in disbelief. Her nose was wrinkled in barely contained mirth, a new flavor of whimpering reaching Art's ears.
That was a fun sound.
The clown removed his hands, sitting back. She watched as amusement broke across his face, shoulders shaking as wheezes left him. He quirked an eyebrow, smiling playfully.
Juniper wasn't sure if she should feel relieved or dismayed.
Art looked at her with giddy excitement, rubbing his hands together as if about to dig into a favorite meal. Watching her face, he reached out to hover his hands above her exposed skin, slowly wiggling his fingers. His grin widened as she cringed and sucked her stomach in.
"You fucking suck, you know that?" She grunted through gritted teeth. He just shrugged as he teased just inches above her skin, biting his tongue with focus.
He began to move to an inaudible rhythm, floating his hands back and forth as if conducting an orchestra. He feigned dropping his hands, looking amused as she braced each time. With one hand, he raised a finger, silently counting off a waltz-like time signature as Juniper protested, trying to distract his attention.
1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3...
He added flourish to his movements before touching down, darting in to pluck at her sensitive flesh, then float away as if he were playing an elegant piece on a harp. Each pluck made her flinch, high pitched squeaks escaping obediently. Up and down her sides, staccato prods and pinches picked up speed as Juniper squirmed, red starting to creep across her face.
Art was delighted by the reaction.
That is, until he reached her lower ribs.
He touched down with both hands, swiping thumb and forefinger over the inch of skin where ribs met her side. She jumped, tensing, as a yelp tore from her. This sound was much louder than the squeaks, making Art freeze.
A frown bled over his face, puzzlement growing in his eyes. He sat back, one hand on his hip and the other scratching his head. Tentatively, he reached out again, huffing with dissatisfaction when he had to follow her squirming to repeat the action.
She yelped again, a stream of curses following. He ignored them.
He shook his head, raising an eyebrow before plucking around her sides again, nodding thoughtfully at her resulting squeaks and protests, then reached up and tweaked the lower ribs again. He sat back in thought as she, once again, let out a pitchy yell. Juniper caught a whisper of a smirk hanging on his lips when this one was followed by a breathy laugh.
He scooted up, ghosting his fingers up along her ribs, occasionally prodding his thumb in as she gasped and writhed. He made a face as if looking for something, dragging jagged nails and poking until...
There!
He jabbed the knuckle of his forefinger between her middle ribs, massaging in quick, gentle circles. Juniper cried out, cackling loudly as he moved his other hand to pluck at her lower ribs. He tilted his head, leaning in to listen.
"W-what are you doing?" She said between gasps, trying to arch away from the digging. He raised a finger to his lips, shushing harshly before continuing, grinding the knuckle in a bit harder as she wailed.
Art scribbled across her lower ribs with thumb and forefinger, picking up the pace. Alternating between soft and hard digging with his knuckle, he listened intently, not hiding his playful grin.
Suddenly, he found something, his knuckle vibrating softly as the nails of his other hand found a good spot towards her front.
Juniper squealed, curling in on herself as bubbly giggles poured from her. Her ears burned red, hiccups lacing her laughter, knees trying to curl up behind Art as he played with this new reaction.
An almost fond look washed over his features, lips forming silent coos. He retracted the higher hand, pressing it to the side of his face in a mocking fawn. His shoulders shook with his own mirth as she continued to giggle, despite one less hand.
Juniper threw herself back, shoulders banging into the shelf as she melted into her laughter. Her brain was a flurry of chemicals; adrenaline, serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin, all mixing into a cocktail to make her mind fuzz. She wasn't sure if it was the days of running or the lack of sleep, but she could feel her muscles relaxing, drained of their strength.
"N-no... Knock it off!" She begged, making Art snicker. It had been a long time since he's made anyone laugh, besides himself. Just like fear, mirth was addictive, leaving a sweet scent in the air in place of a sour one.
He reached in with his free hand, mimicking the motions of the other, scribbling his nails across the ticklish band of skin around the center of her torso. Juniper's giggles went shrill, involuntary writhing becoming desperate. She flopped to the side as far as her bonds allowed her to, body giving out under the wave of endorphins.
Art allowed her to do this, watching as her slump pulled one arm away from her torso. The gap was just enough to slip his hand higher, finding the hollow of her underarm.
The second his nails reached the spot, she lurched up into her seated position. She screeched, clamping her arm down, effectively trapping his hand where it spidered and pinched in her armpit. Wild belly laughter shook her frame, egging him on as he reveled in her torment.
Juniper shook her head wildly, unable to get a word out. She felt lightheaded, trying desperately to dislodge the hand, but her body wouldn't cooperate. She pulled at her restraints, bound ankles scraping against the floor, only managing to jostle her capter lightly as she tried to plead with slurred, broken speech.
He pulled his hand free just as tears started to well in the corners of her eyes, giving her a brief moment to breathe. She took in air greedily, too tired to move away as he raised a hand to her face and wiped a tear from her eye. She watched as he brought the wetted finger to his mouth, licking the tear off of it and tasting with a thoughtful expression. Deciding he liked the flavor, he grinned.
"Ew..." Juniper said, barely a whisper. He scoffed, wiping the finger on his clothing. He looked her up and down appraisingly before reaching for her hips, latching on and digging his thumbs into the hollows of the bones.
The effect was immediate.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Juniper yelled, frantic cackling erupting from her. She thrashed, nearly tossing Art off of her as she tried to escape his touch.
Art looked surprised, making a show of digging in harder to keep himself steady. A snort ripped from Juniper, making him let go to clap his hands gleefully before diving back in, leaning in close to listen. Another snort escaped, her blush deepening as he repeated the action, forcing the sound out again and again.
She threw her head back, tears forming again as she endured. Her laughter tapered off into wheezing, a show of her exhaustion as he pulled at her sanity.
When he paused again, Juniper was in shambles. Her torn shirt had slipped off of her shoulders, leaving her torso completely bare. Her hair was frizzed and sticking up at odd angles, residual laughter bubbling from her loopy grin. She didn't notice when he turned around, settling on her shins as he began to untie her shoes.
Through her daze, she spotted something in the front windows of the store. Coughing, her throat dry from mirth, she watched as red and blue lights flashed in the parking lot.
Could it be..?
Juniper felt a surge of relief wash over her. Outside, shadows of police officers ran past the windows before kicking the front door in, the glass crashing to the floor.
Art lurched, sitting up to pear around the shelves before standing. He looked to them as they swept the store, calling for anyone inside to come out with their hands up. Juniper couldn't see them, but she heard the thudding of boots and saw the beams of green-dot sights cutting through the dim light.
He was too late.
She had won.
Art looked to her, a deep, angry frown coating his features. He kneeled beside her, pointing a finger in her face and looking her directly in the eyes. He didn't speak, but the message was clear.
"This isn't the last you'll see of me."
Flashlights washed over them both, men calling for Art to put his hands in the air. The clowns frown morphed into a malicious grin, slowly standing to face the officers.
Juniper watched as one put a bullet in his head.
He didn't even flinch.
Suddenly, he ran forward, blood spraying as they opened fire. Art barreled through them, shoving the shocked officers to the side as he made a break for the door. Two followed while the others surrounded Juniper, calling for an ambulance and untying her.
She had survived.
"He did WHAT?!"
Juniper shot her arm to the side, wrenching her phone away from her ear. Abby's volume was not helping her headache.
"Yeah... I don't know what to tell you." She said as she ran a hand through her hair, happy to be home and safe.
After the police took her to the hospital, all they found was minor injuries and bruising. They stitched up the few things that needed it, gave her a pamphlet for PTSD counseling and a bottle of clinical strength ibuprofen, and sent her on her way. The second she got to her apartment, she collapsed on the couch, not bothering to change or shower. Despite the discomfort, she slept well into the afternoon.
She made sure family and friends knew she was alive as soon as her phone was charged enough to do so. Clean and rested, her injuries didn't hurt as bad anymore, save for the pounding headache from days on the run.
"Thats so weird... Do you think he, like, likes you or something? Mercy doesn't exactly sound like his style." Abby said, voice incredulous.
"I don't think so. I certainly hope not." Juniper laughed. "He seemed like he still wanted me dead. When they found me, he looked at me like he'd come back for me."
She stood, making her way to the kitchen. She listened as Abby rambled about her theories while she raided the pantry. Box of Goldfish crackers under one arm, a sleeve of cookies in one hand and a soda in the other, she kicked the pantry door shut, her friend still chattering away on the phone.
Art stood at the counter.
Juniper froze, snacks slipping from her grip. The soda exploded, spraying across the floor, loud enough for Abby to hear.
"Junie? Junie, what happened? Are you okay?"
Art waved, smiling. He took an apple from the fruit bowl, biting into it and making a face.
