Horny War Crimes

(He winks and instinctually waits for the inevitable snappy comeback or flustered blush. Nothing happens. He blinks, grin faltering just a fraction as he leans in closer, realizing the steady rhythm of your breathing)

"Wait... you’re actually dead to the world, aren't you?"

(After a few moments, the sharp performative edge melts off his posture. He looks around the dark room, suddenly realizing there is no audience, no expectations, and absolutely no threat. He lets out a soft, defeated huff, his shoulders dropping into that classic, pathetic wet-black-cat energy)

"Unbelievable. I'm trying give you a top-tier performance, and you sleep right through it."

(He hovers over you, his gaze softening into something genuinely affectionate—a rare, unfiltered look he’d struggle to let you catch him making if you were awake. He reaches down, his gentle claws hovering just above your cheek, wanting to touch but hesitant to ruin the quiet)

"You look... ridiculous like this... Annoyingly peaceful."

(He leans down while eyeing your lips with a sharp glint of longing but catches himself. With a reluctant sigh he shifts and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the center of your forehead instead)

(Just as Harlequin pulls back, you suddenly shift in your sleep, tossing your arm out. Harlequin freezes instantly, his eyes widening in pure panic as he practically arches his back like a startled cat, holding his breath)

...But you just murmur something incoherent and settle back into the pillows, completely dead to the world.

(Harlequin lets out a sharp huff of air, crossing his arms tightly as his usual petulant irritation flies right back into place. He glares down at your sleeping face, leaning in just enough to flick his snake-like forked tongue at you in absolute, petty annoyance)

The bell above the door jingled as you were wiping the counter down. You started your usual warm greeting, looking up to see your next customer. Your sentence died midway through as a sickeningly familiar figure walked closer. You heard the faint jingle of bells as the clowns looked your way.

“Wow, been a while, hm? Didn’t think you’d end up in a run down coffee shop.” Your ex, Jason, leaned against the counter you had just cleaned. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“And what will you be having today, sir?” You forced yourself to remain calm, but the tremble in your hands gave you away. Jason leaned closer, smug smile on his face as a hand grabbed yours. The grasp was familiar. A suffocating promise of reprimands to come. You finally flinched away when he acted like he was going to lean in for a kiss. His mocking laughter covered up the tinkling of bells growing closer.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to harass the help, sir? If you wish for a more fun time, I’m sure I’m a better fit,” Harlequin purred as his hand gripped Jason’s shoulder. Pierrot stood behind the shorter clown, eyes burning your ex alive. Jason jerked away, giving the two circus workers an angry glare. Harlequin’s arm moved to lean against the counter, forcefully wedging itself between you and your ex.

“... You know how I like my coffee,” Jason grunted. He moved to the other end of the counter, angrily pulling his phone out to wait. You let out a shaky exhale. Before you could start, another hand caught yours. Large, warm, and oh so gentle. You met Pierrot’s worried gaze with a mix of relief and shame. You then glanced at Harlequin, his own hand close to your arm.

“Thanks. He’ll leave after he gets his drink- he probably just saw me through the window.” You hoped, anyway. You didn’t like the idea he had been hunting you down. With a soft squeeze, Pierrot released you to make the bastard’s coffee. You seemed to know it by heart, never second guessing any part of the process.

“An old lover, I’m to assume?” Harlequin asked, both for himself and his silent companion. You didn’t stop your work, but they could see your shoulders were tense.

“Ex fiance. I finally broke it off a couple years ago.” Your response was clipped. Uncharacteristically short, even with Harlequin. For once, the two monsters looked at each other in understanding. A shared anger at an outside source, rather than at each other. You hurried to give your ex his coffee, and he dared to grab your hand as he passed you the cash. Harlequin had to grab his companion to make sure no one made a scene.

“You been to that circus yet, sweetheart? Maybe we can go. I’d love to… rekindle things.” His thumb swiped over your knuckles in an attempt to seem charming. You started to protest, but two green tickets appeared in your view. Harlequin smiled, a dangerous one.

“This cafe has been a delightful haven for my fellow performers. I was going to offer these to the staff anyway, but… perhaps you two could make better use of them?” Harlequin pressed one ticket into Jason’s hand, who seemed suspicious. You looked up at Harlequin, but the green bean had his usual grin in place. You glanced at Pierrot, expecting him to cause a scene at the idea of you accepting the green ticket.

He nodded once. A sharp tilt of the head that had you reeling. You didn’t know what they had planned, but you would trust them over your ex any day. You hesitated, but finally took Harlequin’s ticket. How he wished it was under any other circumstance, but he’d be content with this for tonight. He bowed, placing his and Pierrot’s payment on the counter.

“See you both tonight, dear guests. We look forward to your visit.” Harlequin looked at you through his lashes, before turning heel and beginning to leave. Pierrot hesitated, then he followed after Harlequin. Jason took his coffee, winking at you as he left the shop. You looked down at the bright green ticket. You knew going tonight would end badly. You just didn’t know for who.

Despite your reservations, you found yourself at the circus’ entrance. The carnival music hung in the air as you got your ticket punch. The Ticket Taker was cordial in his greeting, but you knew he didn’t like you. You had more pressing issues than him, so you just gave him a quick and civil greeting in return. You made a beeline for Harlequin’s tent, hoping you’d be able to catch him before his show started. You wanted to ask what his plan was. You wanted someone safe.

A hand- a very human hand- clapped around your mouth and dragged you back behind some crates and props. Another hand grabbed one of your arms.

“So, you like freaks, huh?” Jason hissed into your ear. You struggled against him, biting down on his hand as hard as you could. He yelled out, letting you go just enough to elbow him in the gut. As soon as you were free of his grip, you took off running. You heard him call after you, heavy foot falls coming your way.

Tears streamed down your face, body burning with fear. People gave you odd looks but no one stopped, assuming you were part of the show or simply got too scared to stay. You looked around frantically, spotting one of your safe havens. You made a mad dash for Pierrot’s tent.

The tent was empty, not even Pierrot was inside prepping for his set. You turned, calling out for someone- anyone. A body slammed into you as you turned, knocking you onto your back. Furious hands found your throat and squeezed.

“You think a bunch of clowns are better than me? Huh?” Your legs kicked out, nails clawing at his face to try and fight him off. When your lungs began to burn and your eyes felt like they were about to pop, Jason was knocked off of you. You let out ragged gasps, scrambling to your hands and knees. You were pulled against a sturdy body, clawed hand covering your eyes as Jason screamed. You thrashed, full on sobbing.

“You know, when I pictured you crying, it wasn’t exactly like this,” Harlequin murmured in your ear. Your thrashing stopped and Harlequin walked you towards the end of the tent. Slowly, he let you go.

“No peeking,” he whispered in his usual teasing tone. Despite your high emotions, a shiver ran down your spine. He let you go and made his way back towards the increasingly-frantic demands from Jason. You wrapped your arms around yourself. You knew you should stop them. You had the chance to stop them. Jason begged for you to stop them.

You shut your eyes and clamped your hands over your ears.

The sound of screaming was silenced quickly by a sickening thud. You vaguely heard Harlequin mention Doctor. Not wanting to make a huge mess and get caught. That you shouldn’t hear what they’d do to him. A body was dragged, and the sound of bells crept closer. Unsure and hesitant. You finally forced yourself to look back.

Pierrot towered above you, eyes wide with worry. Your hands lowered, legs finally giving out as you tried to turn toward him. He grabbed you as you tripped over your own feet. You wailed into his chest, holding onto him for dear life. You babbled out apologies, but couldn’t exactly pin down what you were sorry for.

Pierrot gathered you up in his arms, moving to one of the audience seats so he could sit you in his lap. He tried to hush you, claws carding through your hair and over your scalp in an attempt to soothe. His forehead found yours, nudging against your face like an affectionate cat. His free hand went to your cheek, wiping your tears.

“You’re safe, now. You’ll always be safe with me,” he whispered. You hiccuped, nodding against him. You knew you’d be safe. You knew they’d protect you.

“Sweet enough to make a man sick.” Harlequin leaned against the seat in front of you two, tilting your head toward him. Pierrot growled, a deep and inhuman noise, as Harlequin moved your head back. He examined your neck.

“You’ll probably be sore for a few days. Maybe next time this neck of yours gets bruised, it’d be in a less… aggravated manner,” he hummed as he let your neck relax. You let out an amused, if exhausted, huff.

“... Thank you,” you finally got out, voice rough from the attack and the sobbing fit. You held onto Pierrot’s hand tightly. Your other hand reached up to grab Harlequin’s, still on your jaw. Harlequin’s smug smile faltered, eyes flicking to your hand. You squeezed both.

“God, thank you. I didn’t… I never thought he’d go that far, and…” Your voice faltered as you trailed off. Harlequin shifted, uncomfortable at the genuine display. Pierrot bonked his forehead against the side of your skull.

The chaotic symphony of the carnival—the screech of carnival ride mechanics, the echoing screams, and the manic, surprised laughter—was finally bleeding into the quiet of the midnight hour. Pierrot had taken his final bow in his main tent nearly an hour ago, leaving the remaining crowd to filter toward the exits, clutching their half-eaten treats and whispering about the chilling marvels they’d just witnessed.

But your mind wasn't on the show.

As the overhead lights flickered off around the perimeter, casting the red and black canvas into deep, looming shadows, Pierrot was asking sweet, attentive questions. He wanted to know which part of his act was your favorite this evening, his gentle-monster persona on full display as he prepared to guide you back to the privacy of his quarters.

You had other plans.

Driven by a sudden, intoxicating impulse that clouded all better judgment, you wrapped your fingers into the heavy fabric of his costume and yanked him to the side. You dragged your monster boyfriend right into the narrow, pitch-black gap where the main tent’s heavy fabric converged with the side of Pierrot's living quarters.

A shadowed little pocket of the grounds.

Pierrot’s golden eyes widened, his breath hitching as he looked down at your knuckled grip on his chest. A deep, vivid blush crept up beneath his face paint, entirely hyper-focused on the friction of your palms against him.

“M-My dear? Are you alright? Do you feel... dizzy?” His voice faltered, but his golden gaze instantly darkened as the sweet, potent scent of your arousal bloomed into the cool night air. He tracked the sudden, erratic spike of your pulse, his eyes dropping to the frantic rise and fall of your chest.

Gods, you looked delicious. Hungry heat flared within his eyes—a predatory craving that had absolutely nothing to do with food.

“Kiss me,” you demanded, biting your lip as the thrill of near-exposure spiked through your veins. Even though the park was clearing out, the danger of the open air made your skin tingle.

The command, paired with the other sensual signs of your desire, sent a visible shockwave through Pierrot. He became instantly love-drunk, his posture growing heavy and rigid. You wanted him; now. You couldn't even wait the short trek it would take to reach his bed. The sheer desperation of your hunger had his length awakening beneath his trousers, his mind reeling from a simple demand that somehow felt so beautifully unhinged.

A low, rumbling growl vibrated in his chest as he tilted his masked face down to yours. “Y-yes, my lady... I would very much like to taste you,” he rasped, his pitch dropping into a distorted, gravelly register. It was the dangerous, thrilling edge where the man ended and the unleashed monster began.

His long, wet yellow tongue darted out, tasting the air between your lips before plunging into the heat of your mouth. He possessed a terrifying strength, yet he held back with a agonizingly polite restraint, tilting your head to drink you in without completely overwhelming your senses.

It was the exact kind of calculated control he used right before he completely lost his mind.

Your soft, needy sighs melted into his low, rumbling moans. Pierrot’s large hands clamped onto your shoulders, tethering himself to the last shred of his sanity—a restraint that shattered the moment your fingers dug into his hair, your other hand sliding up to grip the nape of his neck. Fingers becoming more gentle as they came into contact with scars. The contrast from when the injury had been made, to the gentle touch of the angel before him...

His eyes rolled back, lids fluttering shut as you hooked your leg high around his hip, pulling his heavy pelvis flush against your aching core. That eager, desperate friction earned you a deep, approving vibration from his throat. When he finally tore his mouth away to breathe, it was with a heavy reluctance.

You leaned against the canvas, cheeks flushed and panting for air.

“You look—,” Pierrot choked out, completely entranced. His lips curled back, exposing the wicked gleam of his razored teeth as his thoughts took a sharp turn into the depraved. “Absolutely breathtaking, my dear. And you taste...” He tilted his head back, inhaling sharply as if memorizing your flavor into the depths of his soul to remember in every future reincarnation. When his gaze snapped back down, the predatory glow in his irises pinned you in place like a deer caught in a pair of oncoming headlights. “Heavenly. I could ruin you like this for hours, if you'd let me.”

A violent shiver racked your body at the mental images. He didn't miss it.

A low, dark chuckle vibrated through his chest, pressing directly against your own breasts. The sheer perversity in his tone made your core ache, a heavy dampness soaking through your underwear. The grounds had gone completely silent around you, making his deep voice feel overwhelmingly loud.

“Your body tells me you want exactly that.” Pierrot breathed, completely intoxicated by your reaction. “You want me, heavy on top of you—tasting every inch of your skin. Marking you. Taking you over, and over—I'll take whatever piece of you that you're willing to give me, dear one. I need it... I need you like air. Please...”

Your lips parted, slick and wanting, but your voice caught in your throat.

“Please, say you'll let me. Say you'll—“

Suddenly, Pierrot froze. His pupils contracted into razor-thin slits, his head snapping violently to the right. The grip on your shoulders tightened until it bordered on painful, his entire body locking up as he strained to listen to...something.

But the only sound you could catch were the distant, rhythmic thrums of the diesel generators and the ambient chirp of crickets. Yet, he was hyper-vigilant, every muscle in his towering frame coiled like a spring.

“Pierrot...? Are you okay? What's wron—?!”

Before you could finish, his large hand clamped firmly over your mouth, cutting your questions short. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a freight train. Pierrot let out a strained, agonizing groan at this symphony of your bodily panic, his clawed fingers flexing hard against your cheek.

Without a word of explanation, he began to haul you toward his quarters, but as his eyes swept the path, a sudden flash of panic crossed his features. He looked left, then right, his gaze locking onto a massive, heavy wooden wardrobe used for external prop storage just a few feet away.

Whatever was coming, you weren't going to make it to his tent in time.

Before the panic could fully seize you, you were swept inside. Pierrot guided you into the cramped wooden wardrobe with a desperate, surprising gentleness, slipping in right behind you just as the distant, unmistakable clink-clink-clink of jingling keys cut through the quiet. Then, the heavy door clicked shut, plunging you both into an ear-shattering, suffocating silence.

Fuck. Fuck.

It was one thing to lose track of time in the privacy of Pierrot’s tent, but it was another entirely to be caught fooling around on the open circus grounds. You still hadn't exactly won over the rest of the troupe. In spite of Pierrot's adorably oblivious perspective, the Ticket Taker and the Jester were not your biggest fans.

According to your naive monster-boyfriend, you were doing great with his found family. “They love having you here, my dear! They're glad to see me so happy!”

They showed that love through silent, unblinking glares that could melt lead. Right. Going swimmingly.

What a sweet creature you were falling for. Naive, but sweet as the day was long... Speaking of long—you blinked into the pitch black, acutely aware of the crushing proximity of your bodies. Beneath the heavy layers of his costume, the rigid, lengthy thickness of his arousal pressed hard against your lower belly.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly against his torso, delicious friction against your nipples. You bit your lip—hard—your heart hammering so violently you wondered if the pounding muscle would simply give out. Would it be from the sheer, illicit thrill of being pinned in the dark, or was it the sound of heavy footsteps drawing closer?

Who the fuck knew.

Your eyes couldn't make out a single thing in the absolute dark of the prop closet. Pierrot, possessing the vision of a nocturnal predator, didn't share your blindness. You could hear the ragged catch in his throat, feel his normally sluggish heartbeat kicking into a more frantic rhythm (for a monster, at least), and track the way his sharp claws trembled against the small of your back.

It was the specific way they shook whenever he was warring with himself—teetering on the edge of being gentle or taking you roughly. It was always your call; he was a gentleman to a fault and never pushed. But damn, it was intoxicating to think about him completely snapping. Who knew you had such a masochistic streak?

Suddenly, the crunching steps of boots ground to a halt just a few feet from the wooden door.

Pierrot’s golden eyes widened in the dark. Before you could even inhale to whisper, his palm slapped flat over your mouth, shoving your head back against the wooden wall. His other hand clamped tightly around your waist, ruthlessly dragging your hips flush against his. He was entirely motionless, a painted statue, but beneath his trousers, his cock throbbed suddenly against you.

Your eyes rolled back, a phantom memory of how it felt when he filled you flashing through your mind, causing his breath to hitch. You panted heavily through your nose, chest heaving, and looking up at his direction helplessly. The absolute undertone of filthiness with this situation was becoming unbearable. Paired with adrenaline? Gods you were wet and twitching already with many thoughts. So many thoughts of what the two of you could be doing. It took everything the poor monster had to choke back the possessive, rattling growl building in his chest.

A heavy, exhausted sigh resounded from the other side of the wood. The Ticket Taker’s steps started up again, continuing his nightly route to ensure all guests were in their proper places outside of the grounds before the final lights-out.

The moment the footsteps faded, a shaky sigh of relief escaped against your lover’s palm. But Pierrot didn't move. If anything, he pressed his weight further into you, anchoring you against the wall as your heel caught on an old prop.

When he spoke, his voice was a pitch-black rasp, the vibrations rattling through your own ribs. "You're trembling, my lady. Is it because you're scared we'll be caught... or... is it because of how much you want me to touch you right now? How much you want me inside of you..."

You were at a loss for words, wondering what a needy, ruined mess you must look like to his enhanced vision. Those golden irises burned into you, his chest heaving with a nearly silent, dark chuckle.

“You want me to claim you, dearest? ...Even here?”

His long, wet tongue slithered up the sensitive line of your neck, resting over your pulsing artery. A shiver racked his massive frame. He ground his clothed cock against your soaking center, a desperate, rolling friction.

“Th-the idea that you want me so badly... so badly that you can't wait for my bed... it makes my blood feel like fire. Is that what you feel? Are you burning with me...?”

His whispers tickled your ear before his tongue took over again, tracing a wet path to your collarbone. You gasped, your hips automatically hitching upward when you felt the blunt edge of his sharp teeth scrape against your sensitive skin.

“Y-yes,” you whined whimpering against his hand, unable to hold back the pathetic, needy tones in your voice.

Your voice in the moment broke his restraint. Pierrot pushed flatly against you, desperate for maximum contact, his own low, needy moans mingling with your shallow breaths as the closet grew unbearably hot.

The final thread snapped. Any remaining pretense of monster-gentlemanly restraint dissolved right into the humid air of the storage closet.

Hands clawed desperately at fabric in the dark. It was a frantic, clumsy scramble of tearing at the fastenings of his costume and shoving your clothes out of the way just enough to bare the essential skin for sweet, desperate lovers' plans. You couldn't wait, and from the ragged, desperate sounds tearing from Pierrot’s throat—neither could he.

He pinned you back against the wooden wall, one of his thighs wedging between yours to force you open. When his bare length finally popped free, thick and pulsing with a terrifying heat, he pressed the blunt, wet tip of his cock directly against your entrance.

A wave of instinctual panic flared in his chest—he hadn’t prepped you, hadn't stretched you for the sheer stretching size of him. But the moment he rubbed against your folds, sinking into the slick, overflowing cream pooling at your thighs, all guilt vanished. You were drowning in your own arousal. You were ready to take him. All of him.

He let out an animalistic growl, a raw, rumbling sound that shook his entire frame. Before you could even brace yourself, Pierrot hooked his large hands under your thighs and hoisted you off your feet, driving his hips forward.

You cried out, the sound swallowed by the darkness as he buried himself inside you to the hilt.

The initial stretch was overwhelming, a tight, burning fullness that made your toes curl. He gave you a short time to adjust; always thinking of you. Until the heel of one of your feet seemed to spurred him to get going. As you wish. Back pinned against the vibrating wooden wall of the prop closet, Pierrot began to rut into you with a wild, unhinged ferocity. It was fast, heated, and heavy. Every slam of his hips sent shockwaves through your core, his heavy chest heaving against your breasts as his claws dug into your skin to keep you lifted.

For a few torturous, ecstatic moments, it was pure, unadulterated friction. You felt you were losing your mind to the sensation, your fingers reaching under the back seam of his belled-hat and knotting into his long hair, pulling him closer as the pleasure began to coil tight in your gut.

"More," you panted against his neck, your teeth scraping over his painted skin. Smearing and revealing dark, rough skin. "Pierrot, more."

He let out a choked whine of his own at the demand. To your absolute dismay, he suddenly pulled completely out of you. You let out a pathetic, high-pitched whine at the sudden loss of his heat, your hips twitching in abandonment—his heart ached at the sound with a tang of pity.

But he wasn't done. Sloppily, his large hands gripped at your hips, spinning you around in the cramped space until your front was now pressed flat against the closet wall.

Before you could even fully process the change in position in absolute darkness, he leaned his massive weight over your back and drove back into you from behind.

The angle was lethal. He hit your deepest spot instantly, and a loud, piercing cry started to tear from your throat. Knowing the sound would echo right across the quiet circus grounds, Pierrot reacted on pure instinct. He shoved his gloved hand over your mouth, his fingers gripping your jaw.

"Sshh, sshh, please, my lady," he pleaded into your ear, his voice a frantic followed by a few grunted moans as he resumed a brutal, pounding rhythm. "Bite me. Bite my hand, dearest, but please... keep it inside. If they hear us..."

You didn't need to be told twice. As he slammed into you, driving you ruthlessly against the worn textured wood, you clamped your teeth down into the thick fabric of his gloved hand.

The reaction from him was instantaneous. Pierrot let out a low, distorted moan, his hips hitching into a faster, completely uncontrolled pace. He loved it. The feeling of your teeth sinking into him, your muffled, vibrating moans pressing directly into his palm as he wrecked you from behind, drove him over the edge. He was completely unleashed now, his chest heaving, his sharp teeth nipping at the nape of your neck as he chased his release. Pearly, menacing teeth twitched over the nape of your neck; wanting nothing more than to sink into the skin and mark you. His, his, his. For everyone to see. A shiver started at the top of his spine, fully driving deepened possessive thrusts.

The friction was blinding. The tight, slick heat of your walls gripping his length was too much to bear. Your climax hit first, a sudden, violent clamping around his cock that had you throwing your head back against his shoulder, your muffled screams biting deeper into his glove.

That ruined him. With a final possessive growl, Pierrot buried himself as deep as he could go and sparked into his own climax, his body shuddering as he filled you with a thick, burning rush of heat. He pulsed inside you again and again, holding you tightly against the wall until the last of the tremors faded.

For a long minute, the only sound in the closet was the synchronized, ragged panting of two lovers desperately trying not to collapse.

Slowly, Pierrot pulled away, his breathing still shallow. He gently helped you rearrange your thoroughly rumpled clothes, his hands trembling with a sweet, familiar reverence that felt entirely at odds with the absolute filth he had just subjected you to.

As he carefully cracked the closet door open to ensure the coast was clear, a sliver of moonlight caught his face. His mask was flushed with a deep blush, his hair was a wild, sexed-up mess, and his heavy costume was hilariously askew.

He looked down at you, his golden eyes wide and blinking with that familiar, love-drunk innocence.

"Well," you spoke shakily, offering him a tired, loving smile as he blushed harder and adjusted his ruffled collar. "I didn't answer you earlier, but I think that was my absolute favorite performance of the evening."

Pierrot's eyes widened at your cleverness—words sinking in more and more. He blushed harder, completely covering his face with both his hands as you guided him back to his quarters for round two with a giggle.

{BONUS Perspective}

Ticket Taker had traced the muffled commotion back to the perimeter of Pierrot’s main tent, thoroughly annoyed that lingering guests were delaying his tight schedule. He despised any disruption to the nightly routine; to Bil, protocol and consistency were the closest things to godliness on these grounds.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't find a lost local.

The moment he stepped into the narrow gap between the canvases, the thick, cloying scent of Pierrot mixed with the unmistakable, musky heat of his human lover slammed into his senses like a brick wall. Bil’s features instantly twisted from minor annoyance into profound, unfiltered disgust.

Stopping a mere six feet from the weathered wooden storage for old props, Ticket Taker sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. If the overwhelming stench of their mutual arousal wasn't already a giant neon sign, their frantically slamming heartbeats might as well have been broadcasted through a megaphone.

Bil tilted his head back, staring up at the dark sky in silent prayer for patience.

Jester hadn't given any orders to liquidate the human—well... not yet, anyway. That bureaucratic oversight was the only reason your pesky, stubborn existence was still tolerated on the circus grounds. Pierrot’s bizarre, codependent hold on you was continuing to unexpectedly derail Bil's meticulous timetable in ways he genuinely wished he could lobotomize from his memory.

He could hear the wood of the closet groaning under their shifting weight. It was pathetic.

With a slow, judgmental shake of his head paired with a deeply tired sigh, Ticket Taker turned on his heel and continued his route. He still had a closing checklist to complete, and he—quite frankly—refused to be an unwilling audience to the inevitable, degenerate rutting that was bound to commence any second.

HOOOO boy. He's intense. His tendrils would feel up every part of you, while he'd grind and thrust into you. If you thought he was handsy in public, it's a million times worse (better) during sex.

Likes to test how flexible you are. He'll push your ankles to your ears. He'll have you on your side and stretch your leg as far as it can go for better access. His own little show with his favorite doll.

Uses his tendrils to hoist you up, hands on your ass as he uses his tongue between your legs. His tongue is long, as we've seen, and he abuses that fact.

Obviously a biter. Leaves hickeys and bite marks Everywhere. His favorite places are your neck (visible to others), stomach, and thighs. He tends to leave scratches, as well, in the heat of the moment.

NSFT