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jokeringcutio · 7 hours

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"This is a Nice Job" - Black Phone & FNAF Crossover - Reader Insert (Implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber x Reader) [ 1/?]

AN: As I am known to do, I might just start a few drabbles in this setting because I love it.

Summary: You're working in Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place for William Afton and Mr. Henry, when you have a chat with the hired magician for the day: The Great Al.

Fandoms: Five Nights at Freddy's, The Black PhoneRating: Teen? Warnings: Older man/younger woman, Nothing Explicit (yet), Only implied William Afton x Reader & Grabber(Albert Shaw) x Reader, Flirting with murderers? Reader likes her job around kids. Not betaread. [ Support x ]

This was actually inspired by @cartoonykat's ask:

Loud music filled your ears, interrupted by the occasional shouts of little children as you darted between the tables, a tray of fizzing drinks balanced precariously in your grip. The squeals and laughter of children swirled around you, their faces smeared with icing and joy. You placed a paper cup before each eager set of hands, your smile never faltering.

"Careful now, don't spill," you murmured, patting a small head as its owner looked up at you with wide, grateful eyes.

"Thank you!" the child chirped, clutching the drink like a treasure.

"Happy to help," you replied, your voice a soft melody amid the cacophony of celebration.

Your gaze swept across the room, ensuring all was well, when the sudden hush of captivated little ones snagged your attention. There, at the center of the restaurant, stood Albert Shaw, the hired magician for today’s party. Freddy’s Pizza Place usually had a few performers they worked with, including a clown and this magician. His white-painted face was stark against the backdrop of colorful streamers, his large sunglasses hiding eyes that held secrets darker than the void.

‘The Great Al’, they called him, as he conjured silk scarves from his large top hat, making them dance like serpents charmed by his will alone. With the hat off you could see the shoulder-length dark hair that he hid underneath his hat most of the time. It was already turning grey, betraying his age which was harder to pinpoint with all the makeup covering his face.

He plucked coins from behind ears, eliciting gasps and giggles from his audience, each trick a thread in the tapestry of his dark artistry. He was good with the kids, you thought. His low voice occasionally made its way over the music that he had playing in the background. You found yourself rooted to the spot, your heart thudding a dangerous rhythm.

"Watch closely," he intoned, his low gravelly voice a siren's call that reverberated through your bones. A deck of cards appeared in his hands, flickering through his fingers as if alive. Strong hands, you noted. Thick fingers. Delicious. No – You shook the dirty thoughts away. You shouldn’t be thinking about one of the restaurant’s performers like that.

And then, with a flourish that defied logic, the cards transformed into a flurry of doves, their wings beating against the still air of the restaurant. The children erupted in applause, but you barely heard them. Your pulse quickened. The magician smiled as he revealed a small box and teased the kids with it. It was empty, but after a magical spell, the box was suddenly filled with enough candy to share around. You’d seen this performance several times now, and every time he managed to captivate you.

"Impossible," someone whispered beside you, echoing the disbelief that churned in your thoughts.

Al's performance built to a crescendo, the very air charged with anticipation. With a final bow, he finished, receiving thunderous cheers from his young fans.

"Amazing," you breathed, the word slipping out like a prayer to a deity you were only beginning to comprehend.

"Excuse me,” the voice cut through the din of merriment, stark and commanding. You flinched, recognizing the voice before you turned around. “Could you come here for a moment?"

Oh no, have I done something wrong? The worried voice echoed inside your mind. I was only looking for a moment, Mr. Afton, you thought to yourself, focusing on what you could say in your defense. I was still on the job and paying attention.

Mr. Afton, your boss and one of the restaurant’s owners, stood in the dimly lit entrance to his office, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He was tall, his stature was impressive for a man of his age. Already greying at the top, hair thinning, large glasses enlarging his eyes, belly poking out from underneath his arms.

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the excited group of kids that had gathered around Albert Shaw. But duty called, its voice as inescapable as gravity. With one last glance at the festive chaos of the party, you made your way toward your boss, the weight of his stare pulling you forward like a marionette on taut strings.

"Mr. Afton," you greeted him, striving for a tone of respectful professionalism despite the unease coiling in your stomach.

"Come inside my office," not a question, but a demand thinly veiled with kindness. His lips curled into a semblance of a smile, not quite reaching the coldness of his eyes behind those aviator glasses.

Mr. Afton was a tall man, taller than most that you met in your life. His hair was thinning on top and greying but still had a lively curl to it. His eyes seemed larger behind the thick glasses he wore. Strands of grey adorned his pepper-and-salt beard. He was the exact definition of a ‘dad bod’. In fact, you had heard he had a family, even though you’d never seen them. Rumors said he was divorced.

You followed him inside to see a large desk, files, and papers strewn all over it. There was an animatronic in the corner of the room, purple, with ears hanging. You thought it might be some kind of rabbit.

The thud of the door closing behind you made you jump and you turned to look behind you to see Afton had closed it. His eyes met yours, only for a short while, and you fidgeted nervously with your hands because… had you done something wrong? Had he caught you looking at the magician? That must have been it, there was nothing else it could have been. He must think you to be slacking. But you weren’t. You were still alert, still focused on any peep from a parent or child.

You needed this job and actually liked it more than you thought you would.

"I've been watching you,” your boss started, licking his lips as he walked toward his desk and then turned to lean against it. He folded his arms in front of his chest, his purple tie wrinkling with the motion against his yellow blouse. The sleeves were pulled up, showing strong forearms riddled with veins and scars.

“You have a knack for this,” he started in that low, stern voice of his. “Keeping the little ones entertained."

"Thank you, sir," you replied, shuffling awkwardly in front of his desk. There was a chair there, but should you sit down? He remained standing so you should too, right? Your mind was racing. Had you done something wrong? Had you not followed protocol? Was your uniform in order?

"I just want to make sure they're all having a good time," the words stumbled from your lips, clumsily and awkwardly, but the smile you managed afterward seemed to soften the look in Mr. Afton’s eyes.

"Indeed." He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, like a storm cloud blotting out the sun. "However, I couldn't help but notice you seemed... distracted. By the magician, was it?"

You swallowed hard, caught off guard. "He's very talented," you deflected, but Mr. Afton's gaze pierced through your defenses, reading unspoken words.

“I,” you hesitated and watched as your boss raised a brow. Swallowing down your fear and gathering your courage, you spoke up again, louder this time. “I was still keeping an eye on the kids and delivering orders though. I might have seemed distracted but I was still doing my job.”

“So it seems,” Mr. Afton murmured, pressing a finger against his lips thoughtfully. You watched the wrinkle between his eyes deepen as he frowned.

"Be careful," he murmured, his voice silk over steel. "You are a pretty girl and I have noticed the man has been looking at you. People aren't always what they seem." There was a warning there, wrapped in the velvet of concern, yet it felt like a threat all the same.

"Of course, Mr. Afton. I'll remember that." Your words were steady, but inside, confusion and curiosity churned. Why did it feel like he cared? And why did it matter so much?

"Good." He clasped your shoulder briefly – a gesture that tried to be fatherly but felt possessive. "Keep up the good work. We need employees like you."

"Thank you, sir." You nodded, excusing yourself from his heavy gaze, a strange sense of relief flooding you as you stepped back into the colorful light of the party.

But as you returned to refilling cups and plating slices of cake, you couldn't shake the feeling of Mr. Afton's eyes on you, nor could you ignore the tingling sensation where his hand had been.

What had that been all about?

You wove through the sea of balloons and streamers, your heart still thudding from Mr. Afton's cryptic parting words. The din of the party enveloped you, a cacophony of glee that almost drowned out the lingering unease. Almost.

The magician, Albert Shaw, stood center stage, lowering his sunglasses to reveal his pale eyes sweeping over the crowd like a predator surveying prey. Tiny hands clapped with fervor as he flourished his final trick – a bouquet appearing from thin air. The children squealed, their delight pure and infectious. But when your gaze met his, something flickered there – an abyss that beckoned and repelled.

"Bravo!" The word slipped from your lips, but the echo in your mind whispered caution.

"Thank you, my dear audience!" Shaw's voice wrapped around the room, velvet lined with smoke. His bow was elegant, yet each movement seemed calculated, a dance with shadows only he could see.

As you slipped behind the bar, the festive chaos became a blur. You began stacking cups, the routine task grounding you. You missed Erica and Lucy. They at least pulled you into conversations every now and again. Today, your only colleagues were Mike and El, who were just teenagers whose hormones had started to work and who were way too busy with each other than with managing the tables. And there were Justin and Jax. The two J’s. Boys who had worked here for so much longer than you that they often forgot you were there and were mostly talking to each other.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts, focusing on the music that played from the speakers softly in the background, that you hadn’t noticed the magician’s approach until his presence loomed over you. Albert Shaw leaned against the polished wood, his silhouette casting a long shadow in the neon glow.

"Could I trouble you for a glass of water?" His request was simple, mundane, but it crawled under your skin, insistent.

That voice, you thought, hearing that deliciously dark rasp in it. Was he a smoker? Whatever caused his voice to sound like that, it worked for you. It did things no employee should have to go through during working hours.

Embarrassing really.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremble in your fingers. "It's on the house," you joked. You poured the water, the liquid crystal clear and innocent, an odd contrast to the darkness that seemed to cling to him.

"Generous," he remarked, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. It was a smile that promised secrets, a whisper of sin.

“I do have lemonade, soda, perhaps a fizzy drink?” You offered, cocking a brow. “I know there are cans of beer in the back. I could get a real drink for you. No costs.”

The man’s expression was hard to read, with all the makeup and the dark glasses hiding his bright eyes once more. But you thought you could see his smirk grow. His fingers curled around the glass of water, muscles tensing.

“A soda, then,” he said after a contemplative hum. “I still need to drive home.”

“A soda it is then,” you confirmed, looking at him from over your shoulder as you set to work to get him his free drink. “Most men prefer the beers.”

“Like I said,” his gravelly voice came while he tapped the brim of his top hat. “Got to drive.”

You watched as he sipped from his glass of water. Little droplets of sweat were running down the sides of his cheeks, smudging the white of his makeup.

“Responsible,” you murmured, placing the soda in front of him. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thanks.” He took the glass, fingers brushing yours. Electric. Intentional. You inhaled sharply, the air suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your pulse raced. This man was danger masquerading as charm, and yet, you were drawn like a moth to a flame.

You cleared your throat and quickly turned away.

"Nice performance," you managed, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. The innocence of the party around you clashed with the intensity of the moment, the frivolity of balloon animals and birthday cake juxtaposed against the enigma before you. You were vaguely aware of eyes upon you, but when you looked up, all of your co-workers were busy minding themselves.

“You’ve seen me perform before,” the magician said. Touché. He was right there. “Was today’s better than all my other performances? Or just not as bad?”

You turned to face him again, forcing a small smile.

“It’s always a pleasure to watch your shows,” you hesitatingly confessed. Were your cheeks red again? Could he see that you were blushing? You hoped not. You clumsily started to wipe the bar with a wet rag, wiping away stains of spilled drinks and oily fries.

"Albert Shaw," he introduced himself formally, though you already knew. His name had been murmured in hushed, awed tones all day. He was on the list in the backrooms, hired via Abracadabra Entertainment & Supplies. You knew Afton and Henry bought most of their balloons and garlands from them as well. Although the agency wasn’t as big as Ha-Ha’s, from which they hired their clowns.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Shaw." Your reply was automatic, but your mind was alight with curiosity and a dangerous thrill. You lifted the wet rag, showing you couldn’t shake hands with him, to which he took no notice. He reached for your free hand, despite it being wet from the rag as well, took it without hesitation, and shook it.

You stood frozen, uncertain of what to do or how to react, when his hand was already long gone. But Albert was already talking, seemingly unaware of how the little gesture – that little skin-on-skin contact – had rattled you.

"Please, call me Albert." His tone was insistent, a command cloaked in courtesy.

"Then you should call me…" You cut yourself short, almost giving away more than you meant to, "a fan of your work." Not that he wouldn’t know your name by now. It was on a badge on your chest.

"Perhaps one day," he said softly, "you'll show me what you're a fan of up close." The suggestion hung heavy between you, tantalizing and terrifying.

"Maybe," you breathed, the word barely more than a whisper.

As he leaned forward, his finger darted out to the badge on your chest. “Pretty name,” the words tumbled from his lips far more erotically than they should have. “Fits you.”

He then leaned back on the stool in front of the bar and picked up his glass while you spun around with cheeks all flushed, the wet rag still in your hands. You made the error of pressing the rag against your forehead, making you wince and leave for the backroom to get rid of it and dry your head.

This man was making you do weird things.

Upon your return, he was still at the bar, finishing a talk to one of the parents, and seemed to have taken his glasses off. Finally. Wearing sunglasses indoors was weird. As the dad left, Albert turned back to you and nursed his drink. Your eyes deliberately focused on the kids playing, rather than on the way the magician’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank.

Yup. Definitely not going to look at that.

“You’re enjoying this job, aren’t you?” Albert’s words caught you by surprise and you turned to him.

“Well, yes,” you said, because it was obvious. At least you hoped it was.

“You’re smiling radiantly. Like a bright star in the night,” Albert said, a toothy smile cracked the white of his makeup.

“Well," you replied, trying to steady your breathing. "Their laughter, it's... it's infectious." Your words fluttered out, betraying the turmoil within.

"Laughter, yes," he echoed, but something about his tone felt off. It gave you that weird shivery feeling down your spine. "The sound of pure... innocence."

He drank the soda, watching you over the rim of the glass, and you knew that this was no ordinary thirst. This was the thirst of a man accustomed to getting what he desires, by means unknown and best left unexplored.

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his stare heavy on your skin and you vaguely excused yourself. “I got swipe behind here too or the boss will think I’m not working.” Anything to get away from his eyes.

“Of course,” Albert replied, the grin never leaving his face.

“Didn’t he used to perform as well?” Albert’s question surprised you and you blinked up, already holding a broom in your hands.

“Huh?”

Albert hummed. “The yellow bunny suit, if I remember correctly. He told me about it once.”

You had to stifle a laugh. “What’s up with you performers and hiding your faces?” You asked. “You, the clowns, all use makeup. And the acrobat lady too. Or they wear big suits with masks.”

"Ah, but we all wear masks, don't we?" Albert tilted his head, a lock of greying hair falling across his brow.

"Sometimes without knowing it," you agreed, feeling the truth of those words more than you cared to admit. Then you sighed, the broom nearly slipping out of your hands.

“I don’t like wearing masks though,” you admitted almost dreamily. “I like to show the world who I really am. Putting on a front seems incredibly tiresome to me, don’t you agree?”

When your eyes met those of Albert, they were unreadable.

“It’s an astonishing thing, to be bashfully and unashamedly oneself.” The words came out brittle, then he reached into the pocket of his black coat.

"Here," he said, slipping a card from his sleeve with a flourish that made you jump. The black and red design swirled before your eyes, hypnotic. "In case you ever need a touch of magic."

His smile was a predator's grin, yet oddly charming.

“Got to do all my advertising myself. And since you were impressed…”

"Thank you," you stammered, feeling the card's smooth edges as you took it. The numbers danced under your fingertips, promising things unsaid.

"Call anytime," he added with a wink. It felt like a secret pact, one you weren't sure you wanted to be part of.

"Maybe I will," you murmured, pocketing the card, the heat of the exchange lingering like a spell.

As he turned to leave, Mr. Afton's shadow fell over you, icy and suffocating. You looked up to find his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable. Was it anger? Curiosity? Longing?

"Good work today," he said, each word measured and precise, but there was something else in his tone. A darkness that coiled beneath the surface.

"Thank you, Mr. Afton," you responded automatically, trying to sound unaffected. But your heart raced, betraying your composure.

"Keep our guests happy," he continued, his voice low, commanding. "That's what keeps them coming back."

"Of course," you nodded, but his eyes never left yours, pinning you like a butterfly in a case.

After a silence that felt like an eternity, Mr. Afton’s stern gaze finally left your face and he turned away from you. “Good girl,” it was but a low whisper, and you had to blink, wondering if the words had been real or if you had imagined them.

The moment you came out of your daze, Mr. Afton had returned to his office, seating himself behind his desk and leaving the door ajar so that he was in your field of vision. Your eyes searched the bar, but it seemed that ‘The Great Al’ had left.

As you watched Mr. Shaw vanish behind the swinging double doors, a shiver crawled up your spine. Laughter and chattering filled your ears, pulling you back to the here and now. And when you looked up, it was to see Mr. Afton as he lifted his eyes from the papers he was working on. Pale eyes that rested upon you for just a tick too long.

You loved your job, but whatever was going on here, you had no clue. The possibilities that filled your mind were too weird to consider. Patting the card hidden away on your body as a silent reminder to put it in your bag before you went home, you decided to ignore the weird tension that had been in the room earlier. And with a smile on your face, you went back into the sea of kids.

You loved this job and all the odd people you met through it.

AN: Guys, I did a thing (: Have you noticed the Arthur Fleck/Joker hints in it.

#william afton x reader #The grabber x reader #Albert shaw x Reader #the black phone #fnaf drabble

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jokeringcutio · 9 hours

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There’s a fic on fanfiction(.)net that I’ve kept tabs on for years to see if it’s been updated or not. While I’m no longer even in the fandom it’s written for, it just has one of the greatest storylines I’ve ever read. Last time it was updated was 2011.

The other day, I decided to reread the entire thing and leave a very in-depth review of what I thought of each chapter. I also mentioned how I started reading it when I was 13 and am now 21, but always came back to see if it was ever finished because I loved it so dearly.

Today, said author sent me a private message saying that her analytics showed that the story was still getting views even after all these years, but no one ever bothered to leave reviews other than “update soon!!!”, so she never felt motivated enough to finish it. She said that me reviewing every single chapter with lengthy paragraphs made her cry and meant the world to her. She also mentioned that she felt encouraged to write the two remaining chapters needed to complete the story and that she would send me a message the night before she updates the fic.

I’m literally sobbing. I’m so excited :’)

Please always remember to leave a review when reading fanfiction!!! It means a lot to a writer.

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jokeringcutio · 13 hours

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short little tommy oneshot, small warning of s/a, not graphicly depicted by there's two mentions. typical tcm warnings, death, blood, murder, ect. soft tommy, probably ooc.

You should be disgusted.

You should feel terrified.

And you did, to be fair. But not nearly as much as you should.

Not when that giant had brutalized those bikers who attempted to assault you, and not when he had treated you so gently. Maybe it was the fact that you didn't put up a fight, that instead of struggling to escape him, you reached up for him as a frightened child would. You had wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, rather than beating against him.

You were brought to the same dark, damp, moldy room as the bikers, but he didn't shove a meat hook through your shoulder, he sat you down on an unorganized workbench, sharp tools scattered around on top of it. In front of you was some type of chopping block. The wood was stained with a brownish color in a pooling shape, the sides dripping. Some of it was more red and fresher, and the smell of copper hung stagnant in your senses. It was so heavy you could nearly taste it, and the air being so humid and thick didn't help.

The bikers, they begged you.

They looked directly at you and cried for you to help them as the monster of a man poured gasoline into his chainsaw, the smell of diesel overpowering the smell of copper for the time being. The two men and one woman who had cornered you at that shop, tearing at your clothes until the ‘Sheriff’ stepped in. You simply stared, watched as the man revved the chainsaw and began dismembering them one by one.

By the time he'd finished, he was covered in blood, and he wasn't the only one. You couldn't see his face well, but you heard his breath hitch slightly as he saw how much of a mess he had made on you. He walked to the sink, grabbed a rag you doubted was clean before wetting it, and began wiping the crimson off you. The only sounds you could hear was his breathing, and the drips you could only decipher due to the difference in how heavy they sounded.

Your eyes met his as he gently rubbed the blood off your cheek, his hands holding your jaw still despite you making no attempt to move. He paused his movements to wipe his thumbs under your eyes, the tears that threatened to spill finally falling as he pushed them out. He tilted his head curiously before moving one hand to the back of your head, the other holding your back as he pulled you into his chest. The hug was inexperienced and awkward, but comforting nonetheless. His body heat enveloped you, and somehow, even after watching every moment of his brutal acts, your muscles relaxed, and the tension in your body slowly left with a long exhale.

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jokeringcutio · 6 days

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Happy birthday, Sean Lock 🎂 Born on this day, the 22nd of April, 1963.

#in memoriam #one of the greatest dark humor comics

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jokeringcutio · 7 days

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Hi, I was reading the stepdad William afton fics, and The grabber fics but I was wondering if you could do a Crossover between William afton and The Grabber x Reader? cause I don't know why, but those two are actually kinda similar.

Hi, I definitely would! And if you have any prompts for that feel free to send them. So far he is in only one of the drabbles: the barbecue one as the neighbor.

Unfortunately I am not well enough to write much, but I do hope that will eventually improve. And if I have the chance, the time and the energy, I probably will write again 😏

#anon answered #or well... non anon answered hihi #grabber #william afton

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jokeringcutio · 7 days

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Stepdad!William Afton x (f) reader - Cold Beer (short drabble)

Rating: Mature Fandom: Five Nights At Freddy's Warnings: Stepdad x Stepdaughter implications, taboo attraction, Smutty thoughts (not explicit). Author Note below.

The game's electronic jingle filled the room as William Afton, your stepdad, sat in his chair, engrossed in the screen of his phone. Your mom was out, leaving you two alone. His voice broke through the repetitive tune. "I'm getting a bit thirsty, sweetheart."

Blue eyes left the screen and slowly slid toward you. The game made upset bleeping noises, begging to be played. But his fingers hovered above the screen, not touching.

"All right,” you said. You knew your stepdad liked to have a cold beer on his days off. Relaxing in his chair, watching TV, or playing games on his phone. And as always, you wanted to please him, to impress him. You wanted to be his good girl and know that he accepted you as part of the family.

“Let me check if there's any cold beer," you replied, heading to the fridge. And oh, wasn't this fun? You bent forward a little more than necessary, knowing that the sight must do things to him. You were wearing the right kind of clothes, the ones you knew your mom always said accentuated your 'curves' - we all know she meant to say your ass.

Opening the door, the cool air hit your face as you peered inside, the cold welcome to your heated thoughts. You tried to focus, looking around and realizing there were no chilled beers.

“Oh,” you groaned at the sight, “seems we ran out.”

You frowned, spotting a bottle of soda that was within your reach.

"How about some soda instead?" you teased, reaching over and bending a little more before glancing back at him - still in this same position.

His blue eyes seemed dark when they met yours, his phone already out of his hand and on the side table. You watched as he shifted his hips, the crotch of his pants pulled tight at the movement, revealing that a rather impressive bulge was packed underneath. Your eyes quickly darted back to his face again.

"Let me have a look," he said and sauntered over. Before you had time to turn away, he stood behind you, too close for comfort. You felt his warmth enveloping your body, a stark contrast with the coldness of the open fridge.

Uncertain as to what to do, you tried to move from between his arms, only to feel his presence pressing against your back. As if he deliberately trapped you. Your heart fluttered unexpectedly. This couldn't be true, right? Was he... reciprocating? Was that his bulge pulsing against your back?

As you both gazed into the fridge, you felt the soft touch of his skin against yours, your eyes growing wide. Even though it seemed like an accident, you were convinced that William deliberately brushed his hand past yours.

"No cold beer," he sighed, disappointment masked by a sly grin. His touch sent shivers down your spine, but you remained frozen in place. Then, finally, his arm lowered and your hands were no longer touching. His blue eyes locked onto yours as he added, "I'd like something sweeter."

His hands were on your hips within the blink of an eye. "Whoops, don't fall over," his smooth voice came, teasing you. As he held you, he pressed his hips forward, tighter against you until there was no mistaking. He was hard. Hard and all because of you.

You could feel the heat, the hardened flesh underneath the layers of your clothes, the pulsing of his throbbing, trapped erection. And you gasped at the thought of all that the two of you could do now that your mom was away.

Now that you come to think of it... You just had a brilliant thought to keep her away for a little longer.

Flushed, you pulled away, but he followed, standing close again as you picked up your phone to text your mom. "Can you bring home more beer?" you typed out, hands trembling slightly.

"Thank you," William whispered, his hands still firm upon your hips. Warmth spiked inside your core. The feeling of his strong hands left you breathless. "Now, want to show Daddy how sweet you are?"

~ ~

AN: It's been a while, to the anons who requested/begged for more Stepdad Afton, I found this in my drafts. It was originally sweeter and more innocent, though I had plans to make it into full-blown smut. But unfortunately, I haven't been well enough to write much. I'll post an update soon, because I have been working on a little thing or two, including the Joker fic (which is finished in draft but needs another look over).

As always, you can find the masterlist on my page (pinned to the top). I have more multi-chapter works on AO3. And if you can spare something I also have a ko-fi.

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jokeringcutio · 13 days

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jokeringcutio · 13 days

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jokeringcutio · 14 days

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Stepdad!William Afton x (f) reader - Cold Beer (short drabble)

Rating: Mature Fandom: Five Nights At Freddy's Warnings: Stepdad x Stepdaughter implications, taboo attraction, Smutty thoughts (not explicit). Author Note below.

Blue eyes left the screen and slowly slid toward you. The game made upset bleeping noises, begging to be played. But his fingers hovered above the screen, not touching.

Opening the door, the cool air hit your face as you peered inside, the cold welcome to your heated thoughts. You tried to focus, looking around and realizing there were no chilled beers.

“Oh,” you groaned at the sight, “seems we ran out.”

You frowned, spotting a bottle of soda that was within your reach.

"How about some soda instead?" you teased, reaching over and bending a little more before glancing back at him - still in this same position.

Now that you come to think of it... You just had a brilliant thought to keep her away for a little longer.

Flushed, you pulled away, but he followed, standing close again as you picked up your phone to text your mom. "Can you bring home more beer?" you typed out, hands trembling slightly.

"Thank you," William whispered, his hands still firm upon your hips. Warmth spiked inside your core. The feeling of his strong hands left you breathless. "Now, want to show Daddy how sweet you are?"

~ ~

As always, you can find the masterlist on my page (pinned to the top). I have more multi-chapter works on AO3. And if you can spare something I also have a ko-fi.

#stepdad william afton x Reader #drabble #five nights at freddy's #fnaf filth #fnaf drabble #stepdad au #Yay for nearly reaching a thousand followers #Not yay for my health and not having a job and being bedridden

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jokeringcutio · 18 days

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JOAQUIN PHOENIX as ARTHUR FLECK Joker: Folie à Deux (2024)

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jokeringcutio · 18 days

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Joker in Joker: Folie à Deux (teaser trailer)

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jokeringcutio · 1 month

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Stepdad!William Afton x (f) Reader - Telephone Cable (WARNINGS, SMUT)

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, stepdadxstepdaughter, while mom is away, (slight) choking kink, cockwarming, daddy's girl, unprotected s*x, creampie, daddy kink, praise kink, secrecy, Modern Day AU!, Henry giving William a call. AN: The first two paragraphs are a decoy. Underneath the read more is the real stuff. Based on this post

Sunlight peeped through the blinds, creating stripes of gold on the two intertwined figures. It was William’s favorite chair, so naturally, he’d sat down on that, drink in his hand, while the clock behind him ticked as he waited for your mom to go out.

The distant sound of her car became fainter and fainter. And then you and him were alone.

A smile spread on his face, showing straight teeth in a joyful but perverse way. A silent promise. And all he needed to do was pat his hand on his lap, and you came over to him like an obedient little pet.

~ * ~ You could feel the heat of his body against your back, the way his hairy hips rested against you from below. Your pussy squelched delightfully with each shallow thrust, and a low hum escaped his throat.

"You’re a real daddy's girl, aren’t you?" He whispered into your ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps over your skin.

You’d been on your stepdad’s cock for a little over an hour. Just there to function as a warm cocksleeve around his shaft, until his cock had grown hard inside of you and your body thrummed with desire for more.

You bit your lip and tried to nod, but the movements made it difficult. So instead, you answered by moving your hips against his own, lifting yourself a little further off his cock before you sat back down again. Your hands were on his legs, near to his knees.

You could see your reflection on the inky black television screen.

"So nice,” William’s low voice sounded, his hands tightening on your hips before this grip loosened again. He kept your hips deliberately still, making sure he had full control again. The thrusts he gave were shallow, as if he wanted to draw it all out, making the pleasure last as long as possible.

“Still so tight," he grunted, The gentle thrusts were not enough to bring you to the brink, but deep enough to make you shudder and your walls flutter around him. You could feel the ridges of his veins, the hot flesh of hard erection as it was buried inside you, the head pressed snugly against your cervix, kissing your womb and leaking the first drops of cum.

“Think I can make you come before your mom is back?” you heard your stepfather ask, his voice hoarse with delight. His hand squeezed your right breast, hidden underneath yoru sweater.

His hips still only moved leisurely.

“I think I’m gonna fill you up before she comes home. Have you carry all my seed inside your womb while she prances around, not knowing Daddy filled up her little girl good,” the mental image sent shivers down your spine and you bit your lip again. “Would you like that, huh? Keep Daddy’s secret?”

Your heart raced, the threat of him coming inside you while your mom was away only made the moment more exhilarating. Still, his hips only moved slowly and shallowly. The itch inside your core begged for more. And so did you. "Harder, Daddy," you pleaded, unable to contain your desire as you tried to move your hips. But his hands tightened on your hips, keeping you firmly pressed against him. He stopped moving fully now.

“Do you think you are in a position to make demands?” came the rough voice of your stepdad. William let go of your right hip to push his glasses back on his nose, the frame pressing against the skin around his eyes.

You whimpered sadly, wishing he would pick up his pace and let you come. Your eyes went to the clock. Not long before your mom would arrive home. You’d been on your stepdad’s cock for a little over an hour, cunt sopping wet and his shaft coated with your juices. Yet, he never let you properly ride him or come.

You just hoped he would have mercy on you and decide to make you come before your mom arrived home. You wanted to have your fill. No. Needed it.

He might love edging, but you loved it more when your pussy throbbed around him and pleasure washed over you. Nothing weird about that, right? You thought you deserved it with all the things he made you do.

“Didn’t I ask you a question?” he wondered, though the teasing in his voice was evident. He just wanted you to acknowledge his filthy desires.

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, eager to move your hips. He stilled them again, smacking the flat of his hand against your right ass cheek for good measure, an indication for you to keep still. Yet, your pussy squeezed around his cock, eager for more. You heard the gasp that escaped his lips - he wasn’t left unaffected.

“I’ll keep your secret Daddy. I won’t tell anyone that you filled me up. Won’t tell Mom. Just, please, make me cum.”

“Well,” William drawled, the fingers of his hands gently stroking past the soft flesh of your hips. “Since you ask so nicely…”

You bit your lip, prepared for the ecstasy that was about to come. But just as William tightened his grip on your hips again and the muscles in his hips tensed, his mobile phone lit up with an incoming call.

You growled in annoyance, throwing the screen a glare. The name that lit up on the screen was a familiar one and your heart sank. It was his business partner, Henry. He would never deny Henry. It might be something important, especially as Henry was at work today at the restaurant they both owned.

As predicted, your stepdad picked up the phone, still holding you close, and you were just incredibly grateful that Henry hadn’t started a video call but a normal audio one.

“I’m sorry, Henry, could you repeat that again?” you heard your stepdad say, frowning while he pushed the glasses back on his nose again. His other hand, still on your hip, forced you slightly up from his cock only to guide you back down again with a squelch. You bit your lip to keep from moaning. Suppose if Henry heard…

“It’s really hard to hear you,” a pause. “Could be… Henry, can you call the landline instead?" he asked.

Another thrust, deeper this time, hard. His cockhead bumped against your womb’s entrance, involuntarily slickening your core.

And then William put his mobile phone down, screen facing the table. You could see just in time how the call had ended and glanced at William over your shoulder to try and measure his reaction to it all.

His eyes were hidden behind glinting glasses, his expression hard to see. But then he frowned and grabbed your hips harder. Your stepdad snarled in your ear: "You better keep quiet. This is an important call."

Your heart pounded in your chest, the anticipation building as the landline phone rang. William picked it up, and you noticed how the cable of the phone brushed against you, sending another shiver down your spine. Glancing over your shoulder you saw he must have noticed it as well, eyes focused on the cable.

He hooked the phone between his chin and shoulder, using both hands to guide your hips up and down until he found the right pace and angle.

"Hello, Henry," William said, his voice steady despite the situation. Your mind swirled with thoughts of what might happen next, the danger of being discovered only heightening the thrill. But you knew you had to keep quiet, not wanting to ruin this moment or jeopardize his work.

"William, we've got a problem at the pizzeria," Henry's voice crackled through the phone. "One of the arcade games is on the fritz again."

Thrust. You brought your hands up to your lips, covering your mouth with both of them as your stepdad decided that this was the perfect moment to properly start fucking you.

After being inside of your warm cunt for so long, this was the time. When you had to be quiet.

You silently cursed him inside your mind as he picked up a pace. The position in which you were in enabled him to hit you deep inside.

"Which one?" William asked, his voice steady even as he wrapped the telephone cable around your neck, surprising you. Your eyes flew open wide, hands darting from your lips to the cable. His strong hand pulled, tightening the cable around your neck, cutting off your flow of oxygen ever so slowly. You gasped as he forcefully made you ride him, guiding your movements with his hips and the grip on the phone cable.

"Whack-a-Mole," Henry replied. Slick sounds came from where your hips met, where his cock moved in and out of you with force. "It's been acting up all week, and I can't figure out what's wrong with it."

"Did you try resetting the system?" William inquired, gently tightening the cord around your neck. You struggled to keep your breaths quiet, focusing on the sound of their conversation.

"Of course I did," Henry sounded exasperated. Your cunt clamped down on William’s cock and you bit your tongue from crying out. Behind you, William transferred the cable of the phone to the same hand he was holding the phone in – not only tightening the cable around your neck but also leaving his left hand free.

That free hand circled you to rub against your clit, making you writhe on top of him as you tried to suppress a moan. Your walls started to flutter helplessly around his shaft, and he closed his eyes and nibbled on his bottom lip in reply.

"It worked for a while, but then the problems started up again."

"Sounds like a short circuit," William suggested, a wicked grin playing on his lips as he watched your eyes widen. "You'll need to open it up and check the wiring."

Thrust, squelch, thrust. Your breasts bounced underneath your shirt as he picked up the pace – no bra as requested. You felt your face flush in embarrassment, praying that Henry did not hear the wet noises that filled the room, and grateful that phone calls with smell hadn’t been invented yet. The room smelled heavily of musk, of raw intercourse and hot slick.

His fingers against your clit roughened, increasing the pace until his index finger slipped forth and bumped against your slick hole and his cock. And then his touch subsided, just in time to prevent you from coming.

You subdued a groan in annoyance. Nearly there, you thought. But the promise that he would make you come still lingered.

"All right, I'll give that a shot," Henry agreed, though there was a brief pause in which William’s hips didn’t move forth, but instead circled, stirring his cock - like a wooden spoon in soup - inside of you.

You gasped at the sensation, your hands loosening the grip on the cable and grabbing air instead as you threatened to fall forward. The cable pulled you back, the only thing holding you upright on your stepdad’s lap.

And then, with a devilish grin, your stepdad pressed his hips against you again with a loud squelch. His cockhead bumped against your cervix, eliciting a yelp from your lips. Although not loud, it obviously had been loud enough.

"Is everything okay over there?” Another pull on the cable took your breath away, preventing any more sound. Somehow, the suffocation was just enough to tip you over the edge. Stars started to cloud your vision, your walls clamping down hard on your stepdad’s cock.

Tears formed in your eyes as your stepdad humped his hips against yours, cock pressing against that delicate spot deep inside while you came.

You actually came.

The grip on the cable loosened and you brought your hands to your lips again to keep from crying out, walls trembling around William’s cock as your body was submitted to wave after wave of orgasm.

It felt so good.

And he didn’t stop or show mercy. He just kept fucking you as if he wanted you to betray your secret tryst.

“It sounds like there are some...odd noises. Are you playing with one of the new animatronics, hmm?" Henry said, indicating that William had promised to work on a new animatronic for their enterprise.

William grinned. “Perhaps,” he teased, another particularly hard and deep thrust. It betrayed that he was near now as well. That, and the hoarseness that crept into his voice.

"But you will have to wait and find out," William lied smoothly, giving the cord a playful tug. Your body reacted accordingly. "Don’t worry. My day off is well spent."

"Okay, if you say so," Henry said, still sounding a bit suspicious. "I'll let you know how it goes. Thanks for the help, William."

"Anytime, Henry. Good luck," William replied before hanging up the phone.

As soon as the call ended, he removed the cable from around your neck, leaving behind a faint red mark. His hands went down to your hips, forcing them up and down. Your tight walls were forced up and down his shaft, clamping down like a vice. His breathing increased.

You muttered nonsensical things, all soft whispers as the overstimulation was getting too much.

“Almost,” your stepdad mumbled, “almost, there, baby girl, almost,” and with a loud groan he came with one firm thrust deep inside.

You felt your body tremble as you came down from your high, breath returning to you as your pussy pulsed softer and softer around his throbbing cock.

Hot liquid coated your walls. And then there was silence. Just the ticking of the clock.

You moved gently on top of him, turning to face him over your shoulder and placing a petite kiss on his lips. His blue eyes were fixed upon you, following your gaze with affection. You knew he would deny it if you asked him, but he truly cared about you. This was more than just a primal hunger for sex. Your stepdad loved you, and you were starting to feel the same.

More and more with each day.

"Thank you, Daddy," you whispered, flushed and breathless from the exhilarating experience. He leaned down to press a tender kiss to the top of your head, his touch surprisingly gentle.

"Get dressed," he ordered firmly, his eyes glinting with a hint of danger. "Your mom will be home soon."

You obeyed without hesitation, standing up on trembling legs. His cock, for the first time in nearly two hours, slipped free from its confines: you.

It felt odd after having been filled for so long. You knew your stepdad loved to be close to you and to enjoy your warmth for as long as possible. And quite often that wasn’t long enough. It was why he wanted you to sit naked on top of him – whether just with your pants off or skirt flipped up, or perhaps naked in full. It didn’t matter, as long as he would be inside of you.

At first, you had thought it weird, but exciting. Now, you’d grown used to it, and you loved the feel of his stretch. You missed him when he was gone.

Slipping your panties back on, you made sure that William could see the evidence of his actions. The sticky cum that slipped out of you was dripping on the fabric of your panties, coating the crotch of your panties like paint. You left them deliberately halfway up your knees, waiting for all of the sticky liquid to have left your folds. Once the dripping stopped, and most of it had collected in your panties, you slowly pulled them up and pressed William’s hot cum against your core once more. As if your body could absorb it like this a second time.

Once your mom would be home, those panties would still be on, and your stepdad would still be inside and against you. He growled appreciatively, a predatory smile curving his lips.

"Daddy's good girl," he murmured, just as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached your ears. Both of you glimpsed outside, hidden by the blinds, to see your mom step out of the car, a bright smile on her lips. Your stepdad turned to you, flicking a knuckle of his fingers gently past your cheek; an affectionate gesture.

His blue eyes slid down to your now-clothed cunt, knowing his cum was still there. Then, William quickly left the room. You hurried to make yourself presentable, running a hand through your disheveled hair before retreating to your room, pretending as if you'd been there all along.

When your mom opened the door, you were behind your desk working on an assignment that needed to be finished soon. You smiled up at her, innocently. “Hi Mom, how was your day?”

AN: For @likoplays 8) Might do a different approach to the same prompt later on. Not betaread etc.

Taglist: @likoplays @2pacl0ve

AN: For more, follow me (:

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jokeringcutio · 1 month

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DRABBLE/ Insomnia!READER X THE GRABBER

Fandom: Black Phone 2022

Pairing: The Grabber/ Albert Shaw x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dark!, Non-con/Dub-con, Forced!Blowjob, Smut, Insomnia!Reader, Kidnapped!Reader, Victim!Reader. Implied age gap/ older man/younger woman, somnophilia, use of Little/good Girl.

AN: for @ninakuli How would the Grabber react if the reader couldn’t get to sleep? Well, this might be one of the ways.

“Can’t sleep?”

The rough voice made you look up from your position lying on the moldy mattress. You wondered how anyone could sleep here. A stranger’s house, a damp basement, an unknown environment. The walls were bare except for the painting peeling down. The tiny barred window that let in the only light, whether it was day or night because of the lamp that hung in front of it, was up too high. The walls absorbed any sound. It was a prison made with hellish barriers.

And then there was that stranger who came watching. You never knew when he would be down here. Never knew what he would do next. It had you on edge. How could anyone ever sleep when he was around?

So far, he’d mostly been down to watch you, talk to you, work on your mind until his words confused you and you started to believe you’d ended up here all because of your own doing. That you deserved being here.

But there had been that one time when you had pretended to have been asleep, eyes closed, in hopes he would become bored and turn away. But instead of leaving, you had heard his breathing deepen. And then you had felt his hand between your thighs, fingers pressing deep into your clothed skin until one finger curled against your covered cunt. You could still feel his fingertip press against your sensitive bud. The touch hadn’t lasted long, for you’d shot up instantly and his hand had been back by his side almost just as fast. But you were certain it had not been a dream.

And now you were scared of him. Frightened, that if you were to go to sleep, he might take you in it. That he might claim your body as his own when you could not fight back.

Anxiety ate you, piece by piece until it wrecked your nerves and made you shiver with fearful anticipation. Any sound would trigger a panicked reaction and would have you sit up and open your eyes. Because he is here again, isn’t he? Even when he wasn’t. You were constantly alert, ready to shy away from any advances he might try to make.

And so, you blinked up at him fearfully while you wondered what he would be doing next. He’d commented on your lack of sleep the past few times he’d been down there, annoyed that he couldn’t watch you sleep like he had the others. You didn’t know how many had been here before you, only that he somehow seemed to enjoy observing them when they weren’t awake.

Creep, you thought. You wondered if he got off of it. And why he couldn’t just enjoy you while you were awake?

Perhaps that had been a wrong thought to have, because what he said next made shivers run down your spine.

“I know just the thing.” Just the thing for what? To make you sleepy? You wondered for a moment if he referred to some kind of drug, or if he might just knock you out with one of his fists. But he did neither.

He cocked his head to the side, the mask’s chin pointed at his right shoulder. He was observing you, his stance pensively. What was he thinking? But then you regretted that thought when the man came over to you, coming closer than he had in the past few days.

“An ancient old medicine,” he said, voice low and gruff, while he started to unbuckle his belt. And that was the moment you realized what he might be implying. What he might want from you. He probably had wanted this all along.

Your eyes grew wide with fear as you tried to crawl back on the mattress until your back hit the wall and you couldn’t back away any further. “It has proven to be very effective over time,” his husky voice sounded. Then a chuckle emerged from behind the mask as he pushed his pants and underpants down to reveal an achingly hard cock, pre-cum dripping from the tip and glistening in the faint light that fell in from the window above.

The belt was wrapped around his right fist, the end of it dangling in front of you.

You tried to shield your eyes with your hands. “Please,” you begged when you noticed he’d stepped even closer and completely ignored the fact that you had tried to get away. “No, please,” his hand was upon your wrist, yanking it away to uncover your eyes. You looked up at him, tears glistening in your eyes, while you pleaded for him to spare you. “I’ll go to sleep,” you said, voice choked by tears. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll go to sleep. You don’t need to do this.”

He paused in his actions and there was that tilt of his head again as he studied you through the hole-eyes of the mask. The belt dropped from his hand and fell to the basement floor with a clank.

His right hand came up to your cheek and you flinched, afraid he might slap you there. But his touch was gentle, his palm lightly upon your skin. You opened your eyes again to look up at him mistrustingly and wished you could tell what kind of expression he held behind that darned mask he was wearing.

You couldn’t tell. All you knew was that he was taking his time, standing there, only inches away from you. He was gently caressing your cheek, his thumb tracing circles. The motion was soothing as if he was trying to comfort you. It worked as well, for you felt your shoulders relax somewhat, despite your brain being on full alert.

His other hand was holding his cock. The aching hard member twitched in his grip as a new spurt of pre-cum droplets emerged from the tip. You tried not to look at it, which was hard as his shaft was on eye-level with you, ready to be brought to your lips.

Would he do it? You wondered how far he would go. He hadn’t touched you before like this. He’d been mostly at a distance. Except for that one time. But it figured he would eventually succumb to these primal desires. Why else had he taken you? If it had been just to kill then he would have done so already. Why keep you alive if not for this?

You whimpered, slightly trembling under his caress. A low hum escaped the masked man, then he stood straight again and you saw him move his upper body. The vest he was wearing fell open, his naked stomach showed. Round, you thought, pudgy. Yet, the muscles that showed on his chest betrayed your kidnapper was a man of strength. A strength that was confirmed almost instantly when he suddenly reached for you.

You felt your head being yanked towards him, and his shaft that had been angled at your lips was now pressed against them, begging you to spread them wide. He kept pushing, roughly, until the meat was between your lips and the head of his cock was upon your tongue. The salty taste of flesh mixed with the bitterness of the pre-cum filled your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks. And then he started to thrust.

You looked up at him, pleading silently for his mercy. But at the sight of your tear-stained eyes, his thrusts grew even fiercer and his grip on your head even tighter. You were left with no alternative but to suck, accepting his cock deep inside your throat.

Low, deep rumbles came from the depth of his chest when you started to cooperate. He was pleased, humming and moaning ‘oh yeah’ and ‘just like that’. Sounds that vibrated through his cock until you felt them in your mouth.

Dirty, your mind provided you while he moved you up and down his shaft. The salty and bitter taste of him filled you completely. The curly hairs around his manhood pressed into your nostrils when he pushed your head forward, blocking off your chance to breathe. You sputtered around him, feeling the tip at the back of your throat, feeling his cock spasm between your lips.

You gurgled and sputtered, trying not to choke. A moment of respite when he slid your head back again and his cock nearly left your lips, but then he pushed forward again until his hips met your cheek and your nose was nestled deep within his pubic hair.

You gasped and tried to claw at his hips, but all you felt was how he kept a tight grip on your head and stilled his movements, leaving his cock deep between your lips, the head pushing the back of your throat.

The process repeated itself a few more times, until his cock finally slipped from your lips and you were left gasping for air. A trail of sperm and saliva dripped from your lips and ran down your chin. You moved your hand up to wipe it away, but he caught your wrist before you could get there.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, you heard a chuckle derive from behind the mask. “Na-ah,” the man tusked, his low gravelly voice making something twist deep inside you. A longing, a tingle that had you squeezing your legs together. A foreboding feeling washed over you, that he wasn’t finished just yet. That this was only the beginning.

“Leave it there,” the man hummed. The pause that followed felt too long, making you writhe uncomfortably while you waited for him to either speak or let go of your hand. In the end, he did both, nearly at the same time. “I think I will have to cover your face in a layer of my spunk next time,” there was that rasp again. You had heard it before, how he could slide from a normal, almost gentle tone, into a demonic rasp that was usually used when he was angry and full of curses. “Paint your face a nice white with my cum,” he clicked his tongue behind the mask. His voice became lighter again.

“But for now, there’s another way I have in mind to tire you.”

You shivered at the promise and tried to back away again. The man in front of you got hold of his throbbing cock, wrapping his left hand around it. You saw how his fingers curled around the glistening shaft, still covered in your saliva, and watched how the veins throbbed when he moved his hand up and down at a firm but gentle pace. The ring on his finger glinted in the weak light, skin rippling as he pumped his hand up and down his throbbing cock. Still hard. Balls underneath heavy with cum.

“Undress, sweetie,” he cooed, voice soft like honey. But when you refused to do as he said, his tone turned drier and more menacing again.

What happened next was much of a blur. He made you undress for him, tweak your nipples for him, rub your hands up and down your bare chest for him while he watched and laughed and licked his tongue past his teeth at the show. His hand never ceased moving up and down slowly, hardening himself underneath his touch until he thought it was enough.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart,” it took only one command and you were back on your back on the mattress. Your bare back scrubbed along the mold. Even covered in the dark shade of the mask, you could see the glistening of his eyes, pupils wide. You hesitatingly spread your legs for him.

He crawled over you, cock still in his hand, and pressed your legs apart to fit himself in between. His right hand was on your thigh, palm pressed against your soft skin. His left hand guided his cock to your quivering cunt until you felt the head kiss your labia. A wet feeling against your pussy lips and you realized he was smearing his pre-cum at your entrance, deliberately rubbing the head of his cock up and down your entrance while some of the pre-cum came seeping out.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders and your lips parted in a gasp. “Please,” you begged, knowing it to be futile. Then he dipped in, just the head. Careful fingers pressed the tip in. Not enough to hurt yet, just enough to tease.

He paused in his actions just to bend down, his hair brushed against your cheek as he whispered near your face. “That’s my good girl.”

Then he thrust forth without mercy.

You were speared upon his cock that night, in the basement that was your prison. He left you sore and tired as he forced orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling body beneath him.

He’d been right. You closed your eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber afterward, relieved when he finally rose from the bed and left you alone. You were too tired to notice when the Grabber returned for you in the midst of the night to get some more relief. Until you faintly awoke to wet sounds and the odd feeling of something thrusting deep inside you.

“Hush, pretty girl,” the low voice whispered in your ear, hips moving relentlessly while he kept pushing himself inside. One hand was on your breast, squeezing it tightly while he toyed with you. His other arm was around your waist, his knee between your legs as he held you from behind, your cunt squeezing down on his cock which was covered in your mixed juices.

“I’ll make you go to sleep soon, little one. Don’t you worry. I’ll make you sleep real deep.”

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jokeringcutio · 1 month

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would you ever write for TDK joker? craving something reader/ledger joker - would you ever write for him? maybe she asks to see him without his makeup and she’s totally dazzled by him, tells him how beautiful he is, touches his scars gently (I mean, he is heath ledger with some scars without it, so it tracks😍😅) and he softens

Yes. (Short Drabble follows below:)

Rating: Mature? No Explicit Smut (yet). Just some loveliness. ~*~

You watched from the shadowed corner of the hide-out, the dim light flickering across the Joker's slouched silhouette as he shuffled in. Exhaustion hung on him like one of his tailored jackets, shoulders sagging, his chaotic day etched into every line of his body.

"Rough day?" Your voice cut through the stillness, a blade wrapped in velvet.

He grunted, a non-committal sound that vibrated against the peeling walls. He faced away from you, hands reaching up to smear away the clownish facade with a stained cloth, movements slow and deliberate. The smeared white gave way to tired skin beneath, the green paint-streaked water darkening the basin.

"Chaos reigns," he murmured, the words almost lost as he wiped the last vestige of makeup from around those sleep-deprived eyes, revealing the man beneath the monster.

You stepped closer, the space between you charged with an electric current. The air felt thicker as your gaze traced the contours of his face – yellow teeth, the sallow skin, the embodiment of neglect. No wonder he had never dared to show you his face before, how he kept himself hidden from both you and the rest of the world.

A shame, really. The rest of the world was missing out.

Seeing his unmasked visage, there was something painfully human about him that took your breath away.

"Joker..." It wasn't just a name; it was a revelation, whispered with a reverence that surprised even yourself. "You're beautiful."

The word clung to the damp air, a truth laid bare. You saw him, truly saw him beyond the chaos. Not just the demon that the world portrayed him as, but someone who touched upon the divine. There was beauty in his darkness, a captivating allure in the raw edges of his insanity.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, the agent of chaos stood still under your gaze, the world outside the decrepit walls of the hide-out fading into nothingness.

Your hand reached out, tentative as a whisper. Fingertips grazed the jagged landscape of his scars, grotesque and tender all at once. The touch was featherlight, tracing the history written in his flesh, the story of a smile carved by brutality.

He softened.

“Why hide this from me?” The words came out in a breathless whisper.

The wordless exhale of breath, a silent surrender. There, in the dim light, the Joker's eyes flickered with something unnamable. Not joy, not peace. A flicker of humanity amidst the turmoil.

"Liar,” he breathed, the sound a caress against the stillness.

"Beautiful," came the echo of your own voice from moments before, now reflected at you in his voice. His hand lifted, the gesture slow, purposeful. Cold fingertips danced across your cheek, a stark contrast to the warmth blooming within you.

Laughter bubbled up, nervous, shy. Your heart a staccato against ribs. You let him draw you nearer, his grip ghostly on your hand.

He was touching your face with such reverence, studying you with his darkening gaze. It made you feel like jelly under his touch. He had called you beautiful before, but this time, to hear it as an echo of your own words, felt wrong. You were no liar. You’d spoken the truth.

Joker was, without anything to hide behind, beautiful. The most beautiful man you ever saw.

His lips met your palm. Scar tissue, rough and uneven, pressed into your skin. A delicious shiver coiled down your spine, your core pulsing with desire.

"Beautiful," he murmured again, his gaze holding yours captive. And in that look, the world tilted, madness and sanity blurring into a heady mix.

"Joker..." Your voice faltered, drowned in the intensity of his eyes.

"Shh," he silenced you, the sound soft as the brush of moth wings. "Just feel."

And you did. You felt everything.

You trembled, the room's chill a stark contrast to the fever in your veins. "Make love to me," you whispered, the words a loaded gun.

He didn't speak, actions speaking volumes as he moved with a predator's grace. Clothes discarded, whispers of fabric falling to the floor. A hush before the storm.

Your bodies collided, a crash of thunder in the silence. His hands, commanding, insistent, mapped every inch of you, claiming territory. You arched into him, a willing conquest, the world reduced to the space where skin met skin.

Passion flared, raw, and unbridled. Each movement was a sentence in the story you wrote together, punctuated by gasps and moans. The Joker – no longer a specter of chaos but a man ablaze with desire - moved with a singular purpose.

You clawed at the sheets, each breath a plea, each touch a promise. He complied, a give and take that danced on the knife-edge of madness and euphoria.

And then, stillness.

Afterward, you lay entwined, a tangle of limbs and labored breaths. The silence was delicate, a gossamer thread weaving through the aftermath.

"Did you ever imagine..." your voice drifted, a feather on the wind.

"Imagine?" he echoed, his chest rumbling with a low chuckle.

"Us. Like this." Your fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, daring to explore the man beneath the monster.

"Never," he admitted, the word almost lost between you. "Chaos doesn't plan."

"Yet here we are," you mused, the irony not lost on you.

"Here we are," he agreed, his eyes searching yours for a truth you hadn't spoken.

"Will you show me your face more often?" you asked tentatively, seeking his eyes.

"Why would you want that?" The question hung in the air, a thin veneer over deeper inquiries.

"Like I said," you whispered. “Beautiful.”

A grin curled his lips, the scars uncurling like the petals of a flower. Gorgeous, your mind provided.

“If your reaction will always be as intense as this, I just might.”

"Good." A simple affirmation, yet it carried the weight of worlds colliding.

"Good," he repeated, tucking you closer to him.

The kiss he placed on top of your head felt like heaven. ~ AN: I haven't been well enough, but once I am, I definitely want to write more for this man. I love his little insane ticks, the licking of his lips, all his mannerisms. Definitely would love to write more about him. But to everyone who didn't get the memo, I am ill (it isn't a flu or a broken leg or something that will go away on its own, it won't go away in a few days, it needs treatment and possibly surgery and time, so keep your fingers crossed that everything will end well so I can write more for all of you lovelies out there.) ♡

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jokeringcutio · 1 month

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Abijah Fowler x (f) Assassin Reader Drabble [ Warnings: Smut]

AN: On popular demand, another Abijah Fowler x Reader. You are an assassin set out to kill Fowler. It doesn't go according to plan.

Warnings: Non-con/dub-con content, SMUT (not as detailed as you're used from me, sorry, I'll give the prompt a retry in the future, possibly as a consensual forbidden love fic >D ), Not beta-read. Quick Drabble. ~~ Masterlist - Request Box - Ebooks&Website - Support me on Ko-Fi ~~

You watched him through the slats of the ceiling, your heart a drumbeat in the silence. Abijah Fowler, the man with the soul of a serpent, was seated at the head of a long, dark table. Such an outlandish habit. His fingers, stained with the ink of sin, traced the lines of a map that plots downfall and destruction. The other men, shadows in the dim light, nodded and murmured their assent to his vile plans — willing puppets dancing on his twisted strings.

Corrupted souls, all of them. But they weren’t your concern.

Your grip on the hilt of your dagger tightened. You had memorized the layout of this place, moved through the corridors like a ghost, unseen, unheard. Now you hovered above them, an angel of vengeance poised to strike. Your mission was clear: end Abijah Fowler.

He was explaining something, his voice a gravelly melody that carried tales of violence and power. His strong and broad shoulders moved, dipped backward as if he tried to loosen the muscles in them. His oddly colored hair captured your attention, thinking it had been a color akin to bronze or perhaps even gold once. But streaks of grey made him seem more like the other old men in this country. If it hadn’t been for his distinct facial features, the pale color of his skin, and the large shape of his bright-colored eyes.

An angel of death you saw in him. Anyone else called him a demon.

He regaled them with stories of conquests past, painting pictures with words dipped in blood. They laughed, a chorus of discordant notes, and you felt the bitterness rise in your throat.

"Of course," Fowler's voice sliced through the laughter, "it all depends on eliminating any... unexpected threats." His eyes, predator green, suddenly fixed on you, turned upward to the ceiling and straight at your hidden person. A cold smile curled his lips. "Isn't that right?"

The room fell silent. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready to spring, to fight. But you remained still, barely breathing. There was a chance this was all just a bluff, that he hadn’t seen you. But then you saw his unwavering gaze, saw the unnatural bright green eyes that rested firmly upon you, and you knew that you were exposed, the advantage lost. You cursed inwardly, waiting for his next move, knowing the game had changed.

"Come now, don't be shy," he coaxed, his tone mocking. "Join us."

You dropped down gracefully despite the hammering in your chest. Standing before them, outnumbered but unflinching, you refused to let them show any fear. Stoically, you faced them, thinking of all the lessons and all the training you had. The men stared, their gazes ravenous, but it was Fowler who held your attention. A dangerous dance awaited, everyone could feel it in the air. But you knew his moves, knew how he could react, knew you stood little chance in a hand-on-hand combat.

Especially if he brought his demon guns.

You needed a distraction, something that could increase your chances of survival. Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat in the cavern of your chest. Words, like poisoned arrows, flew from your lips as you stepped closer to Abijah Fowler.

"I've heard tales of your prowess," you murmured, voice a silken thread designed to ensnare. "They say no man can match you in the dark arts of war and pleasure."

Fowler's green eyes glinted, a predator basking in the glow of his prey's admiration. He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through the tension-thick room. "Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear." His words were honey-laced with venom.

One step. Another. Close enough now that you could count the lines etched into his weathered face. You felt the heat emanating from his broad frame. Fowler's hand shot out, swift as a striking snake, clasping your wrist in an iron grip. The trap snapped shut.

"Gotcha," he whispered, a taunt wrapped in a victory.

Instinct took over. Your body remembered its training before your mind caught up. You twisted, a flash of movement, wrenching against his hold. The element of surprise was on your side, for a heartbeat or two.

"Feisty," Fowler observed, almost admiringly.

The dance of death began. A ballet of blows and blocks. You lunged, struck, kicked—each move a desperate plea for freedom. Fowler countered, effortlessly, his strength overwhelming. The other men watched, wolves observing their alpha.

"Should we help?" one ventured, doubt lacing his voice.

“No, he can take her, easily,” another one guffawed.

You hated him for the comment and wanted to punch his face in, but you knew he was right. Fowler was bigger than you, broader, heavier, and more skilled in combat. You were trained to be a silent creeper, someone who brought death without being seen, a shadow of mercy, or an anger of hell.

Another heroic block of his attack, but your underarm was smarting. Pain shot through you, your body feeling sore. When he finally landed a blow that sent you staggering back, you tasted the copper tang of defeat.

"Never send a child to do a killer's job," Fowler sneered, advancing on you, the space between you charged with the promise of pain and something darker still.

Breath short, chest heaving. His presence loomed, an oppressive shadow eclipsing your tumultuous thoughts. Abijah Fowler's green eyes glinted with a predatory gleam, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a macabre grin that set your nerves on edge.

Was he studying you? The feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach was unsettling. Abijah Fowler was an attractive man, despite all his oddities. And hadn’t his character been so devilish, you might have fallen for his charm. But he was a demon. And in his eyes, you now saw demonic thoughts rise as he studied your features, eyes roaming your skin as if you were unclothed.

You felt the grip of his hands around your wrists, squeezing just a bit tighter. Felt the calloused skin of his thumb as it brushed gently past the mouse of your palm.

"Outside," he commanded, voice low and laden with dark promise. The men hesitated, exchanging leering glances that spoke volumes of their wretched character. "The lass and I need privacy."

"Seems Fowler's got himself a new plaything," one of the men chuckled, coarse laughter bubbling up from the others as they filed out, their intentions thick in the air like a miasma.

Your heart thrummed against your ribs, each beat a silent drum heralding doom. He was close now, too close; the heat from his body mingled with yours. You could kill him—if only you could reach your weapon. But he had smacked it out of your hand with the first blow, it had clunked to the wooden floor aimlessly. You couldn’t even tell where it was from where you stood. Your fingers twitched, betraying the urge.

"I'm not some doll for your amusement," you managed to say, words edged with a defiance you didn't feel.

"Oh, by the time I am done with you, you will wish I’d killed you sooner,” Fowler murmured. You could smell the odd sourness of his breath and wondered what had caused it. His grip on you tightened.

“Who sent you? And why would they send someone so young and unqualified," Fowler murmured, cruel satisfaction seeping through his tone. His breath caressed your ear, sending involuntary shivers down your spine.

The room cleared, the door clicking shut behind the last man. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by your ragged breaths and the pounding of your pulse. Then, movement. Fowler's hands were upon you, guiding you with unwanted familiarity—a predator toying with its prey.

"Let's see what you've made of," he said, pressing you down forcefully over the table that dominated the center of the room. Your cheek met cold wood, and you flinched as the ink from the maps smeared beneath you, staining your skin with the blueprint of their vile machinations.

"Consider this a different kind of battle," Fowler whispered, his voice a serpent's hiss as he leaned over you, his weight an unspoken threat.

Fowler's hand slithered up your leg, rough fingers catching on the fabric of your clothes. A tug, a deliberate pull, and the material gave way to bare skin, your exposed calf a pale contrast against the darkness of his touch. His breath hitched ever so slightly, a sign of his burgeoning arousal not lost on you.

You struggled on instinct, but stilled when you felt the bulge against your thigh increase. This didn’t actually arouse him, did it?

"Fight me," he growled, a low rumble in his chest as you twisted beneath him, struggling for leverage. "I do love it when you struggle like that."

Your muscles coiled, ready to spring, but he was a slab of stone pinning you down. The heat of his body radiated through the thin barrier of your clothing, igniting a reluctant fire within. You hated how your body betrayed you, responding to his proximity despite the storm of loathing raging in your heart.

His hand wandered with more audacity, venturing into forbidden territory. A gasp tore from your lips, unsanctioned pleasure sparking along your nerves. Fowler chuckled, a sound laced with darkness, as if he relished in pulling these reactions from you.

"Good girl," he purred, his breath hot against your ear. "Let go, just for a moment."

You fought against the tide rising within, but the dam broke under his relentless pursuit, waves of reluctant ecstasy crashing over you. Your climax hit with the ferocity of a tempest, leaving you shuddering and vulnerable in its wake.

He wasted no time, freeing his aching long cock, the size and girth you had never seen before. A gasp tore from your lips as he sheathed himself inside of you, bottoming out with little mercy. He set a grueling pace, showing little care for your pleasure or well-being at this point. But your core was slippery, your walls fluttering around him with passion, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from moaning loudly with each and every deep thrust his foreign body gave you.

Was this how it had been for every lover he had ever taken, forced or otherwise?

A second orgasm wracked through your body. You’d find an excuse for this later on, if you were to survive this ordeal. You would find a way to condone the liquid that dripped from your core and onto the table below, the way the stained ink brushed past your nipples, the way your body pulsed with pleasure after Abijah Fowler found his release.

You felt a hot palm on your naked back, gently caressing the skin there, and heard the low hum that came from his lips. He sounded pensive, as if he were determining your fate. Your thoughts slid back to your weapons and the many ways to get your hands on them, but his body still kept you trapped underneath him.

As you lay there, trembling, Fowler's voice slithered in your ear once more. "There's a task I need done," he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin. "A certain individual who needs to be...taken care of."

His implication was clear, an order veiled as an offer. "Do this for me," he continued, "to my satisfaction, and I shall spare your life."

"My life..." you rasped, your voice laden with the weight of reality. There was no choice, only the illusion of one. You nodded, sealing a devil's pact, while inside, a lethal promise took root. Fowler had ignited a vengeful blaze, and from its ashes, you would rise—his destruction, your sole aim.

This was not the end. It was a twisted beginning, and you swore to yourself, to the silent gods of retribution, that you would have your revenge.

Abijah Fowler would pay.

~ AN: I want to do this character more justice (and the smut). But quite frankly, it is a bloody miracle I have been writing anything at all. Things don't go well health-wise, but we'll know more at the end of this month. I hope to feel good enough soon to write a better drabble for Abijah and Reader.

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jokeringcutio · 1 month

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Imagine. . .

You're falling asleep in Aziraphale's bookshop, feeling warm and safe and spread out over a sofa. There's rain gently tapping against the windows, and it's dark outside. The warm glow of the shop's lighting and the smell of old books surround you as you doze off. Aziraphale has a record softly playing in the background as he's lightly stirring his cup of tea while humming to himself. You know he's sitting at his desk even with your eyes closed because you have the layout of the shop already mapped out in your head. You're nearly in dreamland when you feel a blanket being placed gingerly over you, up to your chin, a slender finger accidentally brushes your cheek while tucking you in. Definitely Crowley.

"Have a dream," he mumbles, mostly to himself, because he can't afford to say 'nice' or 'pleasant'.

You're not sure if you imagine it, but you could've sworn you felt a hand gently brushing a hair out of your face before you completely fall asleep, Aziraphale's humming one of the last things you remember before your consciousness slips.

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