¤ Would absolutely date a human to satiate his curiosity.
¤ Very thorough in bed, wants to know every little sound and reaction that he can pull from you and how to get it. Very meticulous.
¤ He gets very interested every time you display a new emotion and wants to know how to make them happen.
¤ He brings you strange gifts; a dead mouse, a coin he found on the street, a child's toy. He watches your reactions closely
¤ He can (and will) change his size and shape in bed to fill you differently. He wants to know what hurts, what feels good, and what confuses you.
¤ Craves human connection but won’t admit to it directly. If you are kind to him and don’t treat him like he's special or a freak, it will make him want to know and understand you more.
¤ He will be very loyal to you… until he’s not. He will likely wake up one day and decide he is bored with you. He won’t understand or care why this upsets you. He will expect you to get over it like he did. He might let you live.
¤ Will be thrilled if you ask for help changing your body. The idea of changing a body that the person will continue living in, and the possibility of seeing how many times he can change while keeping you alive would excite him. He would be the perfect partner for a criminal or a spy in this way.
It had been a good while now since you both had hit the road and the world around you both was beginning to brighten. The way out from your town wasn’t too much of a maze, but it was poorly lit in the direction he took; the trees above barely allowing light to seep through.
How curious it was though, that you were half asleep in the passenger seat while he, a killer, steered the wheel.
Were you really not that worried?
This was a thought that troubled him too, but he left you alone to rest for now. Your life wasn’t for taking yet, as it was more so for studying as well as trying to get to the bottom of who you really were underneath the possible facade you put on.
Soon enough, he finally found himself out of the area and onto a wider road where the light guided him slowly but surely onto the freeway. Just up ahead though, there walked a figure sporting what appeared to be a large backpack and a slim build. Kenjaku squinted his eyes as his sights adjusted, spotting the man’s extended thumb.
…A hitchhiker?
Not missing the opportunity to pick up a willing lamb to the slaughter, he slowed down his car and parked it off to the side of the road. His eyes locked onto the man who walked in front of the lights and tapped his knuckles against the window where he sat.
Rolling the window down, he gave the man an opportunity to speak. “Any chance you can drop me off in the closest town over?” he asked in a thick overseas accent, maybe Australian if Kenjaku had to guess.
“Sure,” Kenjaku replied with a fake smile, “get in the back and I’ll get you there.”
He waited around as the back door opened, closing his eyes briefly to allow them to adjust to the sudden lit up vehicle interior.
“Thanks mate,” the man mumbled his appreciation as he shuffled against the back seat, his tone of voice hinting at genuine relief. He hugged his tightly packed backpack to his chest, resting his chin over the top. “Didn’t think anyone would be out this late.”
Kenjaku didn’t reply right away, allowing for the silence to hang in the air for a moment, just enough to make the man loudly gulp before starting up the engine again. “Yeah, not a whole lot of people out here. Guess you got lucky.”
The man nervously laughed in his response, feeling a ripple of unease shudder through him, “Y-yeah. Lucky…”
Kenjaku then pulled back onto the main road, observing through the rear view mirror just how the tourist seemed to shift around, finding the situation to be rather amusing. Although, his eyes soon drifted over to you as you finally seemed to register that—in your half asleep state—that there was an extra person in the car now.
Such a late reaction to what was happening around you made him feel strangely concerned for you in a way.
Did you really not have a single shred of self preservation in your body?
He supposed not, technically.
Otherwise you wouldn’t be here with him.
“Hey,” he muttered to you quietly in the local language, nudging at your arm, “you awake?”
You glanced at him as you finally came around, the brightening daylight filling the car. It took a while for you to respond as you adjusted to being awake, taking in the world around you. In the light, you could immediately tell that he was actually quite a bit older than you, maybe ten years your senior, give or take. Some fine lines in the making but nothing too prominent just yet. You then turned briefly to meet the rigid gaze of the hitchhiker before meeting with Kenjaku’s eyes once again, taking note of a slightly faded scar that spanned across his forehead before finally nodding.
“Yeah,” you replied, succumbing to a yawn as you spoke. “I’m up.”
“First role,” he continued to speak, keeping his volume relatively low, “let’s pretend to be together to ease the poor guy’s suspicion for long enough for me to actually find somewhere to stop.”
Your eyes suddenly lit up, finding the idea to be potentially entertaining. “Oh, how exciting. I’ll play the role of your wife perfectly well.”
His eye twitched. His… wife? Nevermind, he thought, this was no time to overthink whatever mental torture you were surely keen to put him through. For now, he just needed for the man to drop his guard around him so that he could further mess with him.
“So,” Kenjaku spoke up again, increasing his tone as he swapped back to English, “what brings you all the way out here?”
“Just visiting for the food and culture,” the man quickly replied, his tone still nervous, “I’m more of a… practical tourist than one who just stays in one place though, so I guess I just ended up walking more than I could handle,” he piled on, rambling away.
Kenjaku adjusted his rear mirror to study the man’s expression before responding, “Yeah? You’re a long way from civilization, huh? Must have been walking for a while.”
“Y-yeah, um,” the tourist stammered, his fingers fidgeting with the straps of his backpack, “I had been exploring some nature nearby and I-I thought I’d make it back before the sun set, but I guess I thought wrong.”
Kenjaku didn’t reply right away, wondering more about the man. He seemed young, maybe in his early twenties at most. He also seemed trusting but there was a vague hint of hesitancy in his demeanour, meaning he still had to play his cards right to get him to lower his defences.
“So, what are you doing out here, driving this late?” the man piped up again, desperate to break the lingering silence that hung thick in the air.
“Driving back home after a late flight,” Kenjaku lied, gesturing towards you, “we were on our…” he strained his voice through his teeth, reluctantly stooping down to your level, “…on our honeymoon.”
“Oh, so you’re newly weds?” the man asked, visibly relaxing as he glanced at you in the passenger seat. “Been anywhere nice?”
“Went to Thailand,” he replied, “beautiful place. Have you been?”
“Nah,” the man shook his head and the clinging tension away, “not yet anyway.”
“Maybe one day then,” Kenjaku replied, giving the hitchhiker some false hope that he still had a future. “What did you say your name was?”
“Huh? My name’s Sam,” he disclosed.
Kenjaku nodded, not speaking any further. The remainder of the ride was quiet as he plotted what to do next. This particular kill would be a decorated one because he couldn’t replicate his appearance by a long shot. The identity theft kills had to disappear completely, which was how he could stay under the radar long enough to not arouse any suspicion.
He did wonder what he could benefit from this case study though; it was certainly a unique one for a change. An overseas traveller who took interest in exploring the world, hitching rides from strangers and putting blind trust into them was certainly a point he could take notes from.
It was likely that this guy didn’t have his life figured out, though. Backpackers his age rarely did. Maybe he was searching for an explorative thrill too, just something a lot tamer.
Maybe there was something to seeing life and actually living it that was meaningful to the man, while he was still young and healthy at least.
Glancing towards you, he decided to try and sell the couple role a little better towards Sam to further comfort him. To an extent, he was also partially curious to see just how much you would let him get away with, but for the sake of the goal being to create a warmer atmosphere and to cast the illusion of a friendly situation, he wouldn’t go too far. Placing a hand over your leg, his palm brushed around the knee but didn’t explore any further than just that.
Your lacking reaction bothered him yet again though, because what exactly was your deal?
Sighing, he pried his hand off of you, parking into an old house that he had mentally scouted out just weeks before.
Akiya houses were pretty common all over the rural areas of Japan. Not all of them were in great condition, but that also depended on how long that they were abandoned for. This particular house wasn’t too far gone just yet and it was also perfectly tucked away from the main road, making it the perfect grounds to carry out his little experiment. Nothing beyond that though; there was no power, no plumbing and no supplies stocked up, so it couldn’t be a long term stay.
Glancing at you again, he wondered just how much you could help him here or if he would be better off with you observing for now.
You were surely odd though and that left him somewhat confused as to what your role could actually be in the long run.
The fact that he attempted to hunt you down and tried to scare you with a live burial not seeming to phase you was almost fascinating to him.
“Sorry, we’re stopping?” Sam interrupted, pulling him out of his thought process.
Kenjaku offered a tight smile before responding, “Just stopping by our home to pick up some food for the road. Maybe you’re interested in a bite to eat?”
“Y-yeah?” Sam replied, his shoulders sagging again. “Yeah, yeah… alright why not?”
Nodding, he let himself out first and then you before opening up the door to release Sam. He then dipped his hand into an old cracked plant pot, fishing out a set of keys to let himself inside.
“Let yourself in,” he gestured to you both, giving you in particular an encouraging push inside.
He studied you as you adapted to your role, immediately finding it peculiar that you were living up to your role just as promised. Although, your overly dramatic gasping towards finding that there was no power in the household to be a little annoying.
Watching as you switched to English, he observed with a narrowed gaze as you tried a little too hard to involve the guest in your role. “Why, the power is out! Whatever shall we do?”
“Oh shit, that’s not good…” Sam murmured, “I can try fiddling around if you’ve got a fuse box somewhere. I’m alright with that kinda thing.”
“Follow me to the garage then,” Kenjaku improvised. Technically it was a believable lie that you had gotten the tourist involved in, allowing for him to be momentarily distracted with a task rather than thinking too much about what could happen next.
So maybe your role could be to lure in strangers and keep them sufficiently distracted.
It was easier to trust a couple than to trust a lone man, after all.
Whacking him over the head with a brick he had kept over a defunct freezer, he cursed at himself internally, wondering if he accidentally caused the man to die too early on, but he seemed just fine. Just out of it, but still breathing. He stopped you from blindly following him in though, holding out his hand to prevent you from taking a single step further.
“You’re too eager,” he pointed out.
“Are you gonna do barbed wire bondage with this guy too?” you asked, staring down at the man.
“Not for this particular study,” Kenjaku shook his head, bending his knees to hoist the man up before laying him out on his back over a workbench. “I like the deaths to have meaning, so I’ll figure something out for this guy instead.”
“You sure about that?” you quipped. “You nearly killed me for no reason.”
He rolled his eyes in response to you, focusing more on the task of securing the man at hand. “You were an anomaly,” he murmured, pushing the man up against the wall and tying him to the slab, “a witness, even. You had to go.”
“Yeah and look where that got you,” you teased, almost.
He hummed, “Yeah. Look where that got me.”
“So…” you trailed off, “whatcha gonna do for this guy then?”
“In order to understand how I operate,” Kenjaku started to explain (even though you didn’t ask for this level of specifics), “you need to understand that every case I have is an opportunity to learn from the victim. In this instance, I want to learn more about the meaning people find behind their everyday lives.”
You nodded as you barely followed along, having no real clue what he was talking about. “I see, yes, I fully understand.”
“Funny,” he jabbed as his eyes narrowed at you. “The plan that I have in mind is trialling our friend here to see how he reacts to new experiences.”
“Now you’ve really lost me,” you admitted.
Kenjaku pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a second. “I never had your understanding to begin with, did I?”
“Not at all,” you quickly replied.
“Let’s say that this man’s meaning to life was to explore the world, to have new experiences,” he continued to try and explain his plan to you in terms you could keep up with, “what if I were to give him an end that challenged just that?”
“To give him a new experience?” you asked.
“Exactly,” he nodded, hoping that you finally got it.
“I suppose… that being targeted by a serial killer is a unique experience,” you considered, missing his point, “that’s a unique once in a lifetime experience, yes.”
He poked at your forehead in annoyance with just enough pressure to cause you to stumble back slightly. “Yeah, no. You’ve missed the point.”
“You are literally speaking in riddles,” you protested in complaint.
He sighed, feeling a headache coming on, “There is nothing cryptic about me saying that as a philosophical killer, that I want to give the man a death worthy of his existence.”
“So what about the woman you killed at the overpass?” you asked, still confused.
He shrugged. “The metaphor was that she was always tied up with something.”
“So what now…?” you asked, doing your very best to keep up, picking up an empty green glass bottle. “You’re gonna what? Play spin the bottle with this guy and make every turn a dare?”
“Real mature,” he replied, rolling his eyes at you again.
“What?” you asked. “It could work, alright? Start off real easy peasy, then dare him to drink something mysterious and tell him it’s for the road, but it’ll be something like bleach or something instead.”
He blinked at you as you laid out an idea to him with such an upbeat tone. “I’m sorry, who did I pick up exactly?”
“Someone with an overactive imagination?” you replied with a smile.
He hummed hesitantly, “Yeah, I can see that. Why bleach?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it’s a fatal liquid, I guess? Tell him it’s sake or something, clink a regular glass of water for some cheers and watch him die for a new experience at his own hand.”
He stared at you in silence for a good minute or two before settling into the idea. “Sure. Why ever not? Bleach you say?”
“Yes! … But is there bleach to begin with?” you asked, looking around.
“…Doesn’t seem to be,” he resigned. “But I do have gasoline I suppose, stay here while I go get that, will you?”
Albeit reluctantly, he left you in the company of the man as he stepped out for a moment. Both to search the trunk for the jerry can, but also to get some air. His initial idea was to just see how much pain he could get away with inflicting over the guy, but he admittedly liked your idea more. There was something especially psychologically unsettling about it, since it was based on a false sense of trust.
He definitely needed to find out more about you, just to be on the safer side. After today, he had a plan to drive to the other side of the country and check you both into a hotel. A cheap one. A place that wouldn’t ask too many questions as he figured out what to do with you.
Upon returning, he left the gasoline by the door of the garage and stepped back into the room. Sam now seemed to be awake and attempting to get up from the bench and to your credit, you seemed to be attempting to calm and soothe the man, even if it didn’t seem to be working at all.
“Sam, was it?” Kenjaku redirected the attention to himself, stopping the guy from fretting against you.
Pausing, the man struggled a bit harder. “What have you done to me, mate?”
“Nothing,” he lied, gesturing to the doorway, “you bumped your head on the pipe while entering.”
“That so?” Sam frowned, still squinting his eyes. “Then how come I’m tied up?”
“You had a head injury,” he replied, “I was going to ease you back into sitting up, let alone letting you walk around. Wouldn’t want you to injure yourself further, now would you?”
“I’m feeling fine though,” Sam protested, “so let me out will you?”
“Fine enough to have a drink to wash the pain away?” he gestured towards you as you held onto the empty bottle.
Sam’s eyes flicked down, misinterpreting it as you drinking from it earlier. For some reason he didn’t quite trust Kenjaku, but seemed to trust you. Was it because you looked kind enough? How foolish of him in a way, given that you were the one who suggested such a horrible thing.
“Yeah, alright then. Let’s have a go of it,” he agreed, settling into the idea.
“Feel free to untie him, I’ll prepare a bottle,” he murmured to you.
Stepping outside for a moment, he quickly filled the bottle with gasoline. The problem with this little plan was that the damn stuff smelled quite strong. However, Sam, despite his reluctance, seemed to find trust in you. Maybe he could be manipulated if you played your part right. Certain illnesses could manifest from traumatic brain injuries such as parosmia; the condition that altered one’s sense of smell and taste.
The causes weren’t always linear, so he could play it off as the result of a concussion. It was a heavy hit after all and neurological side effects were not uncommon after such a thing.
Bringing the bottle back, he held it out to him, hoping that you’d follow his lead in gaslighting the guy in the very likely case that he sniffed that something was up.
Sam was quick to notice of course, taking a quick whiff of the open bottle before dry heaving. “This a sick joke?”
“Pardon?” Kenjaku asked, feigning innocence.
“Smells like motor oil,” the man hissed, shoving the bottle away from his face.
“Odd, it doesn’t smell that way to me. Just like regular old sake,” he said as he took the bottle back, sniffing it and masking his impression, before giving it to you.
He watched as you smelled the bottle too, your nose souring a little bit. “That smells like… alcohol, alright.”
“You’re both messing with me right?” the hitchhiker warily asked, his brows furrowing.
Kenjaku could only hum in a quizzical tone, shrugging. “It was quite the head injury, it might be a concussion that’s causing your strange aversion to smells? Of course though,” he paused, abandoning the plan for now, “if you’re not feeling right, then maybe you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol.”
Just before Sam was able to form a response however, he watched as you pushed yourself off of the bench, picking up a jar and handing it over to him some sort of clear liquid inside.
“Water?” you asked him, holding up the jar. “I had a few sips already but…”
“Yeah, alright,” Sam replied, trustingly taking the jar before giving Kenjaku a wary look, “might be better than gasoline booze.”
However, just as the man chugged down the supposed ‘water’, he dropped the now empty jar, realising that something was terribly wrong.
Kenjaku watched with a narrowed stare as the man grasped desperately at his throat and stumbled forward, his knees taking a splintering impact as he dropped down to the floor. Sam attempted to choke out words as his face grew quickly red and his eyes turned bloodshot but no coherent words followed.
It was admittedly a disturbing sight he thought, especially with the noises that could escape the guy’s lips, with nothing more than rolling groans that soon turned to pained growls.
“What did you give him?” Kenjaku asked as he took a step forward, gesturing at the now shattered jar.
“I’m unsure,” you replied, “I found it earlier while you were gone and just went with it.”
“I…I see,” he replied, watching the man continue to suffer.
Crouching down to inspect the spilled liquid, he took a tissue from his pocket and dabbed at the contents. It was an odourless substance it seemed, which meant that it was likely an acid of some kind. Given the location you found it in, it could have been battery acid or something similar, but then again, why would it be in an inconspicuous glass jar…?
Not sinking too much thought into the idea, he picked himself up from the ground and stared at the now trembling man. He supposed that the case could be considered fulfilled.
Sam, the tourist, who was cautious when met with him specifically meaning that the guy likely didn’t openly trust other men. However, when met with you, he adopted a false sense of blind trust. A bit of a disappointing case, he thought, but not every case study had to be fulfilling.
Some cases were just like that; lacking. He couldn’t help but think that this was a strangely gruesome way to go, though. The man in question was still alive, but the damage done to him internally was definitely fatal. The outer skin on his lips seemed to corrode from the touch of the liquid, leaving behind a bleached patch on his clammy flesh.
It was very likely that the acid was leaving behind a similar path of decaying destruction throughout his body, so he was as good as dead.
“I guess we’re done here,” he murmured, taking a knife out from his pocket, ready to whittle away at any obvious identifiers. “Feel free to look away if you want. You’re already an accomplice, so I’m content with finishing up the dirty work myself.”
“Is he dead…?” you asked, staring at the still man.
“Not yet,” he corrected you. “Possibly unconscious, but he very likely won’t be dead until at least a couple of hours have passed. It can take up to ten hours after ingesting acid to die, but I’d like to get back on the road sooner if I can help it, so I’m hurrying some parts up.”
You nodded, finding his knowledge about how the human body reacts to poison or similar substances to be quite interesting, leaving you to wonder what sort of life this man led before getting involved in something like this.
“Okay, I’ll wait in the hallway,” you replied, stepping outside.
Kenjaku watched as you closed the garage door, trusting you to not be foolish and to run away. Redirecting his sights towards the man again, he gritted his teeth as he took the precautions to remove his fingernails and teeth, leaving behind an empty bottle of booze in the guy’s hands as a symbolic measure.
“How’s that for new experiences,” he muttered, before feeling around with a tissue to grab the man’s wallet from his pocket, quickly returning back to you.
He kept quiet as he fetched a small metal box from the boot of his car, throwing in the discarded matter and tissues inside. You didn’t offer a single word of input, except for a slight gagging gesture when you realised exactly what he was depositing.
Quickly rinsing his hands with a bottle of water that he also kept in the back, he motioned for you to enter the car again before firing up the engine once more.
“Going a bit further this time,” Kenjaku announced to you, “let’s say across the country.”
“I guess that makes sense…” you replied, figuring that he had raked up a few numbers in this particular region.
Just a second later, your phone vibrated which made him pause for a moment, prompting him to stop the car. He then grabbed the device directly out of your pocket, glancing it over.
“You said you had a cop boyfriend, right?” he speculated, turning off the phone.
“Yes…?” you replied. “I guess so?”
He sighed, chucking it out of the window before starting up the car to run it over a couple of times with the car.
“Hey—“ you protested, barely having any time to react.
“—quiet,” he hushed you, “I’ll get you a new one if you really want. I’d just prefer not to have a corrupt cop on my tail. The guy probably has some sort of tracker installed for you.”
“I-I don’t think he does—“ you attempted to deflect.
“—oh really?” Kenjaku sassed a little, glancing at you with a resigned expression. “He should. I know I would, considering just how slippery you are. Just look at you, up to no good with someone you have no business being in the company of.”
You sighed, “Okay, I see your point.”
“Good,” he acknowledged. “You’re in an odd situation, you know. Now please, be quiet. This old shit box hasn’t got a GPS, so I actually have to pay attention to where I’m going.”
You shrugged it off, watching the rest of the house slowly disappear from your sights as the car ate up the distance. Inn a way, couldn’t help but think this just added more weight to the trail that you were both leaving behind.
You tried to relax in the passenger seat, occasionally thrown off by his constant muttering as he missed very obvious signs to roads to get him back onto the main road.
“Just pull over somewhere and sleep already before we both crash or something,” you complained, tired of looping in circles.
Yawning, Kenjaku groaned in protest, attempting to rub the sleep off of his eyes, “Y’might be right,” he slurred, pulling off into the side of the road, tucking the vehicle into a nearby rest point at a gas station, “just don’t wander off too far, I’ll find you if you do and it won’t be pretty.”
“Relax,” you poked back, feeling tired as well. The whole experience being mentally taxing. “I won’t go anywhere.”
“Better not…” he trailed off, finally succumbing to much needed sleep as he leaned back in his seat, meaning every last implication of his warning, because if he was being completely honest, he didn’t want to let you go anymore.
So whether you actually wanted to or not, you were going to be stuck with him for a long, long time.
Gojo knew you were his when he first laid his pretty blue eyes onto your godly form. The way you talked, the way you walked, they way your leg slightly bounces when your mad. It all made him even more in love with you.
He was never the type to focus on something for too long, always goofing off with his best friend Geto, but when he seen you, lips slightly glossed with a cute concentrated look on your face.
How could he possibly look away? You’re just so plump adorable to him. He could eat you up!
You on the other hand, an absolute bookworm. Studying every second of the day you can. Soaking up every inch of knowledge you could. Never going out to parties. Always in your own little world. With nothing but peace and quiet.
That is until Satoru Gojo showed up. Slamming the books right out of your arms as your walk past him in the hallway. Him and his friends laugh out, the snickering and giggling echoing in your head. “Watch where you’re going, freak.” He spat, wasting no time to kick your books away from your reach.
You stayed quiet and reached down for your books. Picking them up one by one until you finally reach for the last one. Only to see it stamped under his expensive looking shoe. He tilts his head smugly, everyone in the hall stopping to look, but of course they all stay quiet, not daring to help. “You want it? Say pretty please.” He smirks, hands in his pockets.
You scowl, wanting to do nothing but spit in his face and say ‘fuck off!’ But of course you know better. So you mutter a small soft “pretty please..” in humiliation.
The white haired male then barks out another laugh. “Pathetic.” His glasses drop a little as he leans forward, giving you a glimpse of those intimidating glowing orbs.
He kicks the book and walks off with his crew following close behind. Your breath picks up, you want nothing more than to just leave. This has been happening every day for the last four months. You don’t know why he chose you specifically to torture but he did, and he fucking loves it.
Picking up the last book you rush to your feet, quickly running down the hallway and into the nearest bathroom. As soon as you walk in you sink to the floor. Back hitting the wall harshly, you let your warm tears stroll down your cheeks. You hate this, feeling so weak. You hate it all. You hate him. You grip the fabric of your shirt, gritting your teeth in frustration.
he’s right. You ARE pathetic, in fact you are nothing, always will be, and always has been.
You stay in there for a while, not wanting to come out. Knowing everyone is still laughing and talking about it. But you muster up the courage to get up and walk back to class, making sure to wipe off the messed up mascara off your cheeks.
you push open the door, keeping your head low and eyes to the ground. You hear the low whispers. ‘Was she crying?’ ‘Probably, looks like it. You know she’s a pathetic crybaby.’ They are talking about you.
Trying your best to ignore it you take your seat in the back, praying to god this day will end faster.
At first Gojo didn’t exactly plan on being this way to you. But what else could he do? What other way could he be able to make you show such emotion? Besides, he loves knowing that you think of him. Like how you purposely walk the other way to avoid him. Or how you try to make yourself smaller so he won’t notice you. But of course he always does! Your his darling.
he just can’t get enough of you. He also loves your scent, it’s always on his mind. He even keeps a pair of your gym shorts that he stole from your locker while you were away. Drenched in your sweat, it’s his favorite, he keeps it hung up in his room. And sometimes displayed on his bed as he strokes his achy leaking cock, desperate to cum for you.
Along with the other pictures and small trinkets you leave behind. Like your pencil you left on your desk, or the piece of gum you put under a bench that he now keeps in a small plastic baggy, or even the used panties you leave laying in your room. Like treasure for him to find!
why can’t you see he loves you! Why can’t you see how bad he wants to lick the sweat right off your neck, or kiss the fresh bruises from your precious skin, or even finger your cunt so hard you cry those pretty tears!
He adores you so much. Every curve, every mark, every flaw. It’s all his, forever his . It brings him so much joy to see you cry because of him-no for him. Only him. He makes sure no one else bully’s you the way he does. Hell, he makes sure no one even looks at you the way he does. Your his. And he is yours.
I don’t care how disgusting or fucked up a fic is. NO writer should EVER be harassed for writing taboo fics, especially when the warnings are properly tagged and you choose to go ahead and read them on your own free will.
you’re not morally superior for harassing real people for the sake of fictional characters and fictional stories. you’re just a bully.
Imagine where your yandere bully locks you in his room, your hands chained to his bed while he repeately pounds into your already abused cunt whispering how he's going to keep fucking you until you get pregnant. He would cum thick white ropes into your full cunt multiple times a day, sometime exceeding 7 and he wouldn't even bother to pull out, he'd just keep whimpering and cumming inside because he just feels so good :(. His whines and moans are all you can hear when you are trapped beneath him, his hands intertwined with yours and just loves to stuff his fat tongue in your mouth desperately kissing you :( you gag at how deep his tongue violates your mouth and throat, eyes rolling back as he moans frantically, pounding faster until he cums for the tenth time, his waist and hips bucking into your cunt as he empty his balls into your sopping cunt :( at this rate you can't even process what is even happening, you just hear him whine in ecstasy as he pulls out, your little belly filled to the brim with all his thick cum is now leaking and oozing out of your puffy pussy, forming a puddle of mess :(((
You're LJ's favorite plaything. He loves to pick you up and make loud kissing sounds as he pecks at your cheeks, making it near impossible to escape his arms while he pretends to eat you.
He constantly wants to hold you, carrying you around your home with ease. He constantly makes little trinkets, trying to craft anything that is worth a spot on the shelves. Anything for his sweetheart, the sugar to his cotton candy.
Your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface; He knew you'd cross paths again as he watched your amiable self skip down the road and fade into the distance.
6k words
Girly reader who is obsessed with Art 🎀
Do I even need to say that it's smut it's all I ever write
You played the part well, he'd give you that. Art had first caught sight of you in the old costume shop in Miles County, lurking towards the back where all the nauseating pinks and creams amalgamated to create it's own fantasy-like microcosm, full of various princess and fairy costumes and similar varieties.
He didn't particularly pay you much mind initially, his focus solely on the girl he often terrorised, grinning eerily at her with a sense of foreboding. He remained cruelly amused even as the adolescent with the ironic angel wings dashed out of the shop, eager to flee his suffocating presence.
His mind had slipped the possibility that you had remained within the shop, excitedly trying on pretty tiaras and adorning yourself with sparkly jewellery, all the while remaining oblivious to the grotesque murder of the store assistant, his head cut clean from his neck. Blood pooled upon the floor, draining from the ugly orifice. His head had been tossed haphazardly to the side.
He had heard your bubbly self round the corner, humming happily with an armful of items and clothes, before bumping into his side hastily. Art peered down at your mildly shocked expression, gauging the way your round cheeks appled out into a smile.
Blood lightly covered his form, and specs of it had been transferred onto you. You didn't react, as happy as ever, giggling at your mistake. "Pardon me! I'm sorry, I'm in a world of my own.", your curls bounced as you gazed around the shop, bypassing the crude, decapitated head, and instead focusing on the locked door at the entrance of the shop.
"Oh! I didn't realise they shut so early. That's okay, I've got everything I need.", you whirled past him, almost skipping over to the door and unlocking it. The dresses and other items in your hands still had the tags on them, unscanned and unpaid for. As soon as you stepped a foot out the door, the alarm rang.
Even still, you remained as unperturbed as ever, glancing back at the clown. "You won't tell, will you?", you had indicated to your stolen goods, flashing him a dazzling smile. "You look like someone who knows how to keep a secret.", your eyes briefly swept over the decapitated body and the viscous fluid oozing out of it; you didn't bat an eye.
In fact, your smile rivalled Arts as he nodded slowly that, yes, he could definitely keep a secret. His head tilted inquisitively, searching your expression for a semblance of fear or shock, but he genuinely found none. As you offered him a cheerful goodbye and skipped off down the road, Art bet most people thought you were ditzy and dumb.
Staring at your receding form in the distance, Arts keen eyes knew the aura of darkness when he saw it. You were bubbly, but there was something downright malicious simmering below the surface. He didn't bother seeking you out, you were bound to cross paths.
That had been a year ago. A few weeks after your initial meeting, Art had paused his laborious work of crafting within the dilapidated house due to the sound of male shouting tinged with irritation.
"You've brought me out here for what? You said I could fuck you, so why the fuck are you leading me into the middle of nowhere? Got your boyfriend out here or something?"
The tone was downright condescending and full of unrighteous anger; he believed you owed him something. Art stood amongst the shadows of the lowering sun, arms crossed languidly as he watched, recognising your melodious voice instantly.
"You don't have to be so crude about it, I just want to have a romantic walk in the forest." You pouted, eyelashes fluttering at him as a small smile tugged at your lips, a pretty sheen of lipgloss staining them rosy.
The man gave you a disgusted grimace, checking his phone repetitively. He seemed aggravated, pawing at your skirt covered hips and backing you into a nearby tree. He outright ignored everything sweet you had to say, barely sparing you a glance as he scrutinised your form hugging jumper appreciatively.
Still, you prattled on and on, rambling kindly about how beautiful the forest became in the autumn, how refreshingly cold it was and that it was the perfect weather for a nice walk-
"You've got such a slutty body. Shut your mouth for me, yeah?" Hands began smoothing the already short skirt up your thighs, bunching the fabric, before they were slapped away. You ducked past him, skipping over to your bag that you had dropped earlier on and started searching for something.
"I just need to grab a condom. I'm a good girl, you know." You twirled a lock of hair with a sly smirk, digging through the multitude of items within your handbag. You pouted your lips in mild irritation, hand swiftly seeking what you needed, before you nodded to yourself happily, hand clutching what you desired.
Standing straight, you twirled around and offered the man a wink, to which he scoffed. Barely a second later, his kneecap was blown off as a resounding bang echoed throughout the thicket.
He screamed and fell to the floor in a heap, blood pouring grotesquely over the leaves that blanketed the damp ground. You held the gun out in front of you, aiming steadily. You shot the other knee, face stoic, and rolled your eyes at the blood curdling scream he released.
Art remained in the shadows, arms folded with intrigue as he chuckled to himself, eyebrows low. He watched the man roll back and forth upon the ground, crying out for help and for mercy. Peering back at you, he cocked his head at the way you giggled with a delicate hand covering your mouth, gun held high.
"You're so silly for thinking I'd ever let you touch me. At least take a girl out for dinner first, you know?"
With a playful wave goodbye, you shot him in the head, watching the way his body collapsed backwards, twitching. All fell silent. You sighed contentedly at the peace, smoothing your skirt back into place pristinely.
A rustle of leaves drew your attention, a tall, monochromatic man standing eerily still, lurking behind a tree at you. He was grinning. You waved at him amicably; he returned the gesture.
"Oh, I'd recognise you anywhere! From the costume shop, right?"
Art nodded slowly, stepping out from behind the tree and taking measured steps towards you. You still held the gun in your hand, but it was pointed at the floor.
As the clown approached, you found your neck craning upwards, his body swallowing you in it's shadow. He was lithe and lumbersome, grinning down at you.
"Think you could keep another secret, Mr tall and handsome?" You giggled, face a light pink from his close proximity and intense stare; he was alluring. In fact, you found yourself downright infatuated with him. You could sense the danger oozing off of him in waves, and although a bolt of caution shot through you, you couldn't deny the peculiar attraction you felt to his unique and theatrical self.
Art declined his head down at you, pointing softly to himself, humbly, as though to say 'who, me?', before comically twisting to look behind him, seeking out the other person you were surely complimenting.
It made you giggle again, smiling sweetly up at him as you shook your head at his playfulness. "Sorry, I shouldn't be so bold. You're the miles county killer, aren't you? It makes me nervous being in the presence of someone way above my calibre."
Your eyes fluttered around cutely, before returning up at him with a beautiful sparkle. Art waved off your compliment dramatically, grin sharpening at your girlish giggle. To anyone else, his rigid closeness and predatory stare down would immediately raise flags. But you seemed happy enough, cheeks a cute pink.
"It's so difficult though, being efficient, secretive and untraceable just like you. If I had half of your strength, it would make my life so much easier. It really takes it out of me having to lug these bodies around. And also-"
Art didn't take notice of when you both had begun to walk slowly through the shadowed forest, only that he didn't mind hearing your rambling. He watched you gesture dramatically as you told your stories of having to lure horrible men into the woods before shooting them, and cocked an eyebrow as you suddenly changed subject and fawned over the falling leaves, excitedly proclaiming your love for the various reds, oranges and yellows.
Art nodded thoughtfully at most things you said, even if the gesture was slightly mocking in its sincerity. Even still, he quite liked your voice, and he found himself laughing at some of the tales you told. You were delicate, short of stature compared to him; It would be incredibly easy to reach over and snap your neck. Art found that he didn't want to.
He wasn't restraining himself out of kindness, and he wasn't even actively attempting to be polite. He simply wanted to act this way, here and now, as spontaneous as always. It was humorous, for once he was the one listening calmly, and you were the one grinning far too widely at him.
That was some time ago. Since your first real introduction, you had seen Art here and there, pleasantly surprised when he'd turn up just as you were about to clean up the mess you made of a body, only to drag it with ease to whichever location you desired and burn it.
From there on, sightings of him became even more frequent, moreso to the point that one day you heard a crash in your kitchen, running down with gun in hand, only to bare witness to Art standing menacingly with a horrific smile, blood coating his form and a scissors and pliers held intimidatingly.
Upon seeing you, confusion entered his eyes, his hands lowering. You had never seen the clown appear bashful at his own mistake, raising his hands and shrugging as though to say 'oops'.
It made you giggle, hand to mouth. You pointed towards the window, indicating to the house nearby. "Art, weren't you supposed to be killing my neighbour tonight? You've trespassed the wrong house!" You snickered, bounding over to him excitedly and staring up at him with the most innocent, adoring expression; it made him want to lift the pliers and rip your stunning eyes out and keep them forever.
Art had the decency to realise his mistake, scratching the back of his head awkwardly before rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. He remembered you saying you lived close to his next victim, but he didn't realise you were adjacent. Mistakes for him were so rare.
Art scoffed at himself, shaking his head and throwing his hands up in the air as though saying 'ive made a real mess of this'. His theatrics made you laugh, increasing drastically as you watched the way he perched his hands on his hips in exasperation.
"I'm really glad you're here. I've never shown you around my home before, so..if you've got time..." You trailed off softly, lifting your hands and crossing your fingers with hope as you danced side to side, awaiting his response.
Art deliberated upon that, taking his time as he watched you dance, before shrugging once with a grin. Sure, why not. He could spare a minute or two before he absolutely maimed your neighbour.
He felt your smaller form bolt over to his side and lock arms with him, and he let you. You pulled him along, showing him each room swiftly before dragging him up to your bedroom and pushing him in.
"You look soo dangerous in my room! I love it!"
You had a point. Perusing the room, he found it to be incredibly girly. You had a lot of pinks, fairy lights everywhere and a few teddies here and there. His monochromatic self standing eerily still within your room feels like he's siphoning the pretty colours out of it.
Regardless, you utterly beamed at him, more than happy. You bordered on manic, he thought, body shaking in excitement and fists clenched so hard. Your bright grin stretched wide, eyes round and watchful, focusing solely on him and his reaction.
After what felt like ages, Art lifted a finger up to his neck and mimicked a cutting motion, head tilted to the side and tongue poking out like a comical cartoon character that had been killed. This room was far too bright for him, sickeningly sweet and adorable, but your high pitched giggles of glee at his honest opinion had him chuckling silently too, eyebrows low as he watched you dazzle.
That had been one of your biggest turning points with the clown, and from that day you saw him almost daily. In fact, he walked into your home whenever he felt like it. You'd find him lounging on your chair by the TV at random times in the night, or eating at your kitchen table serenely.
What you cherished the most was when he took you to his dilapidated hideout, dark and dingy and cold, fully juxtaposing your little home; you were now the only beacon of light and colour in this place.
He did enjoy terrifying you now and again, especially in his hideout, his tall form no longer behind you, silently waiting for the moment to make you scream. Each time it made you incredibly excited, anxiety building up inside of you giddily.
When you'd least expect it, Art would be there, coming at you with a hatchet and swinging it downwards playfully. He'd listen to your high pitched squeals and relish in the way you'd flinch and cover yourself protectively. He'd laugh and point at you, shaking his head; it got you every time.
"You're so scary! But honestly, you're so attractive when you do that. Surely some of your victims admit that? The women? Maybe some men?" You swayed your shoulders bashfully, cheeks turning pink like they so often did in his presence.
Art paused at that, a mild look of bewilderment shaping his face at your proclamation, before a sinister smirk darkened the expression considerably. You blinked owlishly as the clown began to take measured, predatory steps towards you, backing you into a damp wall.
He was so tall, caging you against his body, and all you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, gnawing your pretty lips in anticipation of his next move. He chuckled silently at your reddening cheeks and the way you reached your hands up to cup them delicately. Finally, as an answer, he shook his head slowly.
You seemed mortified. "Did you cut their eyes out first or something? You're handsome to me! Tall, intimidating, dark, incredibly strong--", you began counting on your hand all of Arts best qualities, all the while the clown crossed his arms and nodded patiently, egging you on to continue with a wave of his hand.
"--Honestly, I've always thought this, but I didn't want to be too bold, and I'm feeling really shy with you backing me up against the wall but I also love it, and--and I'm rambling because I'm nervous."
Your admittance seemed to be the biggest factor that contributed to how the two of you were now: You completely smitten with him, and him accepting the fact that he would never kill you. You were sweet and you made the best hot chocolate, and you did make the killings more fun so he'd keep you around.
You were incredibly bubbly, always smiling at him beautifully and helping him cut up body parts with your constant giggles that rivalled his own. He had unintentionally made you cry once, and a foreign emotion had struck him.
Art thought it would be incredibly amusing to offer you a badly wrapped gift with a human body part inside it. He did it mostly to shock you and hear your shrieks of surprise that would eventually melt into laughter, and he didn't particularly put much thought into what body part he would gift you with.
Upon opening the box, you were stunned into silence at seeing the rotten, maggot infested heart staring back at you. You didn't cry out or scream, and you didn't giggle or smile. Instead, your large eyes filled to the brim with tears, lips quivering before the fat droplets spilled over and a sob was wrenched from you.
"Oh my God.", you held a hand to your mouth, mascara streaking your cheeks messily. "Is that a heart? For..for me?", you spoke in utter disbelief, words whispered and shaking. Art cocked his head at your peculiar display of sadness, but nodded nonetheless. He had never seen you cry before.
"That's the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me.", you rushed out in a broken sob, sniffling and wiping your tears profusely. Art blinked, face depicting confusion, lips tilted downward. His mind blanked as he awaited your explanation, amusement doused temporarily.
"Id always appreciate anything you gift me, but a heart? Of course I'll be your girlfriend!" You shrieked out with a sob, box dropping to the floor as you jumped and lunged at the clown, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.
He felt your tears soak his neck, his hands lifted up in mild shock, face deadpan, frozen as you wrapped your body around his own, perched upon his lap. Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in amusement and exasperation, mimicking your emotional sobs over your shoulder with a dramatic pout, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.
He eventually threw his hands up in defeat, chuckling to himself. He did not foresee a reaction like this coming when you opened that box. He was more than content to play along, and eventually wrapped his strong hands around your body, charcoal eyes swirling with evil. He rather enjoyed your spontaneity.
Following the initiation into an apparent 'relationship', Art received a few gifts from you too. He himself received a human heart in a black, satin box. It was relatively fresh, and he couldn't help but sigh dreamily and flutter his eyelashes at the romantic gesture. His theatrics were over the top and evidently condescending, but it flew over your pretty head.
He was mildly impressed. You often used guns to kill your victims, lacking the strength and speed to ever out maneuver anyone bigger than yourself. Your hands were never that dirty either, you were not acquainted with using sharp weapons on the human body, so to be gifted a heart of all things, carved with effort from somebody's chest - it made Art nod in genuine approval.
The rest was history.
Art felt unnaturally domesticated within your presence, but he really didn't mind. You had a lot of uses, and he couldn't deny the possession he held for you. If claiming you as his own meant that you were in a 'relationship', then so be it.
He remained nonchalant to your girlish romanticism. He found it to be amusing and peculiarly cute, and even when he'd coo at you mockingly like a little dog, you loved it. In fact, a lot of his condescension did not perturb you. You were overjoyed at him mocking your kissy faces, pouting petulantly, mirroring your own actions.
Art couldn't deny enjoying the tender moments too. He had come to the conclusion long ago that he would never kill you - you were the only exception - and would display surprising levels of intimacy if only to hear your high pitched giggles and tease you for your pinkening cheeks.
Like right now, how he had his large palm delicately stroking your soft hair, brushing strands out of your face. His hand reached down to cup the side of your face, thumb tenderly rubbing circles upon your cheekbone.
You sighed dreamily, the exhale leaving your nose as you bobbed your head up and down his thick length. You sat perched on your knees between his wide thighs on the living room floor, sticky lipgloss leaving a messy residue on his shaft, your lips glistening with saliva.
You had been doing this for a while, languidly pleasuring him, and he let you. He allowed you to sink to your knees and fondle him until he was half hard before your loving mouth engulfed him. All the while, he watched whatever movie you had on TV.
Even when his dick was fully hard, splitting your jaw apart, he barely looked at you. He was focused on the movie, a masked killer hunting a woman down, and hardly spared you a glance even as you worked him faster, slurping and sucking him messily.
It made you unbearably wet, craving his attention, craving even a semblance of pleasure in his expression, or a buck of his hips to indicate that he was enjoying it. Instead, he stroked your cheek delicately, lazily, as though you were a pet that was doing a satisfactory job and nothing more.
Your brows knit together frustratedly, and you took him deep into your throat, saliva pooling down your chin as you choked and moaned quietly at the pulsating between your thighs. You were so wet it was beginning to coat them.
Granted, you had foregone the underwear, instead wearing an incredibly short skirt that had your plump ass cheeks hanging out. You were needy today, you depended on his attention, but he refused to spare you even a thought and it made childish tears well up in your eyes.
Your knees spread below you, skirt rising up higher upon your hips. If he had spared even a moments gaze upon you, he'd see the way your tight, puckered hole swallowed a pretty buttplug, embellished with a sparkling pink diamond on the end.
The pressure was pleasant, and you used your inner muscles to squeeze the toy, wiggling desperately as you did. You closed your eyes as you began sucking him lewdly now, the sounds becoming sloppy and loud as you reached a hand between your legs to play with your aching clitoris.
You were dripping whorishly upon the floor, moaning around his huge cock as you rubbed circles around the pulsating nub before slipping your fingers over it directly, hips bucking in relieved pleasure.
Arousal surged through you as you felt his hips lift the slightest, seeking the back of your throat, and your eyes flew open to witness the serenely blissful expression on his face, only to widen your eyes.
His gaze had been unknowingly on you for a while now, lacking it's usual grin and instead staring sternly, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark eyes. There was a lecherous blackness in his gaze, drinking in the way your cheeks reddened considerably, eyelashes fluttering bashfully against your cheeks.
You had his full, undivided attention now, and it only served to make you increase your efforts tenfold, bobbing your head up to the very tip to suckle the sensitive nerves, lapping up his salty precum with your hot tongue, before sinking back down as far as you could go, lifting a hand to fondle his swollen balls, encouraging them to unload inside your wanting mouth.
Arts intimidating stoicism faltered momentarily at your ministrations, head leaning back into the cushioned chair as his mouth opened in a silent, pleasured exhale, his sharp and angular jawline emphasised greatly from this angle.
That subtle, minor expression of bliss shot bolts of unfiltered arousal through you. You moaned around his cock, redoubling your efforts even as your jaw ached. You suckled your way to the tip, releasing his solid length with a pop; your hand took over, jerking him steadily.
"Mm, I get so wet whenever I give you a blowjob. If you had spared half a second to look at me, you'd notice.", your voice came out in a quiet, childish whine, lips pouted dramatically.
Art lolled his head to the side and stared down at you, eyebrow cocked in a silent question. He scrutinised your little pout and the way your eyes sparkled with unshed tears and a slow, sharp smirk etched it's way onto his face.
Aw, did you crave attention? Are you his little attention whore? Art snickered at the thought, but found that this must surely be the answer; you craved his affections, and he chuckled as your lips quivered.
Art stroked your face tenderly and pouted right back at you, nodding and mockingly agreeing with your little outburst. It really was awful of him, wasn't it? He'd have to rectify that.
Before you knew it, you found yourself bent over the arm of the chair, legs kicked apart as he toyed with the little plug in your ass, wiggling it back and forth. You had a glorious ass, round and fat and smooth, and even he wasn't immune to its juiciness.
He jiggled your cheeks playfully, watching the skin mold to his hand and ripple outwards under the pressure. One day, he'd fuck your tight little rim raw, and the thought had him rock hard as he pushed his cock against your sodden pussy and glided in halfway with a teasing smirk.
"Nng, don't tease me. P-put it all in, stretch me out-", you begged pathetically, pushing your luscious ass back against him.
Art pulled out slowly to the tip, rubbing along your folds for a moment, before catching the tip against your hole. With a playful wiggle of his eyebrows, he sunk in as deep as he could, parting your velvety walls. The stretch was always considerable, always tinged with pain. It made you shudder beautifully, back arching.
"Yes, yes--Love this feeling, love you--", you rambled in a high pitched, girlish tenor, moaning as he filled you to the brim and more.
Arts face split into a nasty, smug grin behind you, shoulders shaking with laughter. It was pretty clear that you loved him, he thought. Each time his cock found your sodden hole you'd proclaim this proudly, delirious and euphoric.
Gripping your waist, Art smoothed his calloused hands down to your hips and back up rhythmically, hearing you sigh in delight. He fucked you the way he knew you loved, hard and deep, and had no issue acting so intimately, so romantically, as you'd say.
You were his, and he enjoyed your feminine noises of pleasure. He felt that you were the only instance where he would ever act this way. With you, he didn't merely act on a whim anymore, dangerously spontaneous. Of course, that did happen on occasion, but in moments like these, when he was paired up with someone so bizarrely loving, so warm and bubbly and intimate, he found that reciprocating wasn't all that hard anymore.
He revelled in your little adoring sighs as he smoothed his way up your womanly figure, and the way you'd nuzzle into his palm every time he'd trail a strong hand down your jaw and onto your neck to hold possessively.
You were as unhinged as him, but you were also..gentle. He didn't particularly want to hurt you too much anymore. He did want to fuck you into a crying mess, however.
Art pressed a thumb to the dazzling diamond sticking out between your cheeks, applying pressure so it sunk in deeper, all the while fucking you hard and filling you so full.
He had a feeling that you were hinting at something with the way this delectable little toy jutted out of you. You were so pure on times, he imagined you found it hard to admit. That was fine, he'd get it out of you one way or another. If you wanted your ass played with so much, all you had to do was ask.
He wiggled the toy back and forth, pulling on it slightly and feeling the way your tight hole suctioned it back in. You whined at the feeling, your ass and pussy deliciously full, and stared back at him with dazzling, loving eyes.
"Ahh-Art--Feels so good-!", you gasped, moaning sweetly to him, so high pitched and whiny that he couldn't help but coo down at you in faux affection. His cock pummelled into you rhythmically, the wet slap of skin permeating the air. His heavy balls slapped sinfully against your pulsing little clitoris causing your legs to quiver and shake.
Art gripped the base of the toy more firmly, wiggling it side to side once again, before pulling it out from your tight rim. You whined noisily at the feeling, shuddering as you felt his fingers dip down between your legs to gather lubrication, before prodding at your hole once more and sinking in to the knuckles.
You cried out, back arching and legs widening further at the feeling of his thick fingers rhythmically filling your ass. It felt dirty and forbidden, something you had never done before, but each and every time he gave your virgin hole attention, whether it be a delicate stroke of his thumb or his tongue lavishing the area, it had you so wet and sticky that you could barely handle it.
Art grinned salaciously as his digits pumped into you deeply, all the while his rigid cock slipped into your pussy relentlessly, stretching you in ways that you should be used to by now, but you never were. He was so long and thick and it made your mind whirl with pleasure.
"S-so dirty putting your fingers in there I--ahh-- I shouldn't like it but I do!", you rambled adorably, your tongue loosening as he fucked you harder, snapping his hips against your bouncing cheeks.
Art snickered and shook his head at your innocence; A finger in your ass was probably one of the least dirtiest things he had touched. Another digit entered your passage, his hot length ravaging your pliant form. You cried out in broken whimpers, rambling little, soft compliments about his sheer size and how you needed him to fuck you, how you loved him.
You became dumb once his cock was near you, he found. He quite liked it, revelled in your incoherent stammering, or the way your eyes would be glued to his massive length.
Art grinned cruelly down at you, a sudden darkness enveloping his irises as he gripped painful handfuls of your hips, his fingers no doubt bruising the tender area, before he pushed your body forward so your upper half fell down with a yelp, your ass fully on display for him and fucked you so mind numbingly rough that tears streaked down your cheeks, your high pitched sobs and cries to slow down were music to his ears. In the next breath, you'd beg him to never stop.
Your thighs quivered and shook as his balls slapped hard against your clitoris, his cock fucking into you so sinfully you were outright weeping. You shrieked when your orgasm peaked, splattering down your quaking thighs as you gasped and fisted the blankets desperately.
Art grit his teeth in concentration, feeling that overwhelming urge to unload himself within you. He placed a rough hand against your head and forced you downwards, his head tilting back and lips parting in bliss as his cock filled your crammed little hole with ropes of hot cum. His hips stuttered as each powerful rope shot out, your pulsating walls milking him and lapping up as much as it could before the excess spilled messily out of your pussy, around his girth and down his balls.
You were panting shallowly as he finished, unceremoniously dropped as his hands and body removed themselves from you. Cum dribbled out of your used hole, and you flushed darkly as Art righted your bunched up skirt, smoothing it back down over your ass and putting his cock back inside his costume as though he hadn't just decimated your body and mind brutally.
You pushed yourself up on weak arms, turning to face the cheeky grin of the clown who looked as pristine as ever, not at all out of breath and sweaty like you were. Art indicated to the forgotten movie on the screen, nodding over to the settee so that you could both take a seat and finish it, but upon taking a step forward your legs felt so shaky you thought you were about to collapse.
You stumbled forward and gripped his costume tightly, gravity making the thick, warm cum inside of you dribble down your thighs messily. Art outright laughed at your unstable legs, cooing down at you and winking at you slyly. He shrugged nonchalantly, raising his hands as though to say 'oops'.
You giggled up at him bashfully, feeling him lead you to the settee before you promptly flopped backwards onto it and spread your legs out over his lap. Art didn't mind, from how short your skirt was he got a good eyeful of your glistening, puffy pussy. It made him scoff darkly to himself, shaking his head.
"Oh, Halloweens on. This used to be my favourite film, I had a massive crush on Michael Myers for the longest time-".
Ah, there it was - your silly ramblings had started again, and Art cocked an eyebrow at your admittance, peering at the character on the screen who seemed to be choking a stupid teenage girl.
"--And I guess I do like Jason too but, I don't know, he never appealed to me as much as Michael--"
Art nodded along to your cute outburst, watching the way your eyes sparkled passionately. He smoothed a hand up your calf, smirking.
"--But Jason is so much faster than Michael, which is kind of attractive, you know, the whole predator/prey thing, and--"
Art raised both brows now, grin positively evil. You wanted to be chased, did you? Hunted down and captured like a victim? Interesting. He began to chuckle to himself, arms folded and turning in his seat so he could give you his undivided attention.
You felt your cheeks pinken at his look and realized you had probably admitted too much. From the way he wiggled his eyebrows, stare turning predatory, you knew he was plotting something.
"What? It can't be that surprising that I'd..kind of like to be on the receiving end one day. We hunt so many people, it must be hot being hunted," you sighed dreamily, hand reaching over to his and stroking it tenderly. It was rough and calloused.
"Especially by you. That would be..", you paused, biting your lip in a sultry display. You imagined the scene: Him undoubtedly capturing you and having his way with you. You could feel heat blooming in your abdomen. "-Exhilarating. I-Ive thought about it a few times.", you shrugged softly, embarrassed. You struggled to meet his gaze, but when you finally did, it made your breath hitch.
Long gone was that teasing grin, instead replaced by a stern austerity, eyebrows low and shadowing his dark, smouldering eyes. He chuckled once, demonstrated by the way his shoulders lifted in amusement, but his face remained downright terrifying and blank.
You fluttered your eyes to your lap, crimson faced and fidgeting, rubbing soothing circles into his veiny, strong hand.
"Do you...like that idea? I-if not that's okay. It's weird. I shouldn't have said anything.", you trailed off vulnerably, uncertain. You struggled to decipher his moods when he wasn't smiling, and it scared you.
A firm hand gripped your chin, tugging it upwards to meet his fiery gaze forcefully. He was so close, suddenly leaning halfway over your body and with a deliberate, slow nod, he wanted to make it clear that he would very much enjoy that.
You bit your lip in nervousness despite his clear agreement, studying his expression cautiously, but a smile soon graced your lips as Art wiggled your chin fondly back and forth, offering a small smirk; He liked that idea.
Soon, your face brightened up, and you practically jumped at him and snuggled against his chest, his thigh between your own. "You make me so happy.", you whispered, sighing in delight as you watched Michael kill another teenage girl.
Art shrugged playfully, patting your head. You probably should have never admitted that fantasy to him. He'll chase you like you wanted, give you a little head start, but after that he'd treat you like a real victim. You'll be so terrified that you're shaking, having second thoughts about the ordeal.
Then he'd fuck you into the dirt like a whore, knife held too close to your neck, borderline cutting into your flesh. He wouldn't go too far - Some light cutting, some choking, a gun to your head. It was all relatively toned down.
Even still, no matter how much you begged and screamed and pleaded, you'd still hold that adoring infatuation for him. It made him tilt his head back fully, unhinge his jaw and laugh so violently it actually scared you.
You knew what he was. You knew the dark, unfathomable pit of evil inside of him would swallow you whole too, making you his victim one way or another.
You knew he wouldn't kill you, but that doesn't mean that he'd never torment you. These were facts that you simply accepted; you loved him, you didn't know if he was capable of such an emotion, but him keeping you alive and treating you tenderly now and again was enough for you.
It made your heart sing and your insides pulse with need. Leaning your head fully against his chest, you curled up against him as he almost naturally enveloped you in his arms, holding you close. You nuzzled into him and savoured the moment.
You couldn't wait for the future ahead. You couldn't wait to maim more people with him and make love to him in their blood. You couldn't wait to become his next victim.
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
