Archive of Our Own ^beta

Blue the Fox
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Fairs are funny things. They roll into town like tumbleweeds made of flashing lights and tinny music, scattering joy and just a little bit of chaos. We’re a traveling crew of misfits, drifters, and dreamers, the kind of people who don’t stay in one place too long because we wouldn’t know what to do with roots if we had them.

It’s all temporary. You set up in a Walmart parking lot or some scrubby field on the edge of town. The trucks roll in, hauling rides that look a lot less exciting when they’re folded up into steel rectangles on wheels. The Ferris wheel unfolds like some massive metal spider and the Tilt-A-Whirl gets bolted together by guys who have probably never read a safety manual.

The games? Those are my favorites. They’re built to steal your money with a smile. Try to knock over a stack of bottles with a softball, but the bottles are weighted and the ball’s too light. Win a giant stuffed bear by popping a balloon with a dart, but the balloons are half-deflated, and the darts are dull. It’s all a con, but people still flock to it, throwing down their crumpled bills for a chance to take home something too big to fit in their car.

And then there’s the food. Greasy, sweet, and probably a health hazard, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t smell amazing. Fried dough, powdered sugar, caramel apples, and everything deep-fried. Twinkies, Oreos, even butter if you can believe it. The air’s a mix of fryer grease, hot asphalt, and the kind of optimism that only comes with spinning around on a ride that could probably use a few new bolts.

But my place isn’t on the rides or at the game booths. My place is in the costume. I’m Blue the Fox, the fair’s mascot. Blue’s got a bright blue body, flurry, and a cartoon head with wide eyes and a goofy smile. Kids love Blue. They scream and wave when they see me, dragging their parents over for a picture.

What they don’t know is that inside that suit, it’s just me—Jay. Early twenties, unshaven, and kind of a mess. But the suit hides all that. Inside Blue, I’m just a character. A walking cartoon. I’m not Jay anymore. I’m Blue the Fox, and nobody has to see the guy sweating buckets inside the costume, praying he doesn’t pass out before the shift’s over.

It’s hot as hell in the summer. The kind of heat that makes the asphalt stick to your shoes and the air feel like soup. But I don’t mind. The suit’s padded, and the big head has a little fan inside, though it’s about as useful as a paper straw in a milkshake. Still, I can grin and wave, and kids don’t see the guy who can’t afford to fix his car. They see Blue, and they’re happy. That’s enough for me.

The fair’s alive now, the rides spinning, the lights flashing, and the music blaring from every corner. Carnival music is weird, like something from a haunted music box, but when it’s layered with pop songs from the Gravitron and the screams from the Zipper, it becomes its own chaotic symphony.

I’ve been with this fair for a couple of years now. We’ve been everywhere—small towns with nothing but a single diner and a gas station, bigger towns where people complain that the fair’s not as good as it was last year. The road is home, the kind of home that changes every week.

And just like that, I’m back in the suit, stepping out into the midway. Time to bring Blue to life again.

And time to find a new victim.

A child to rape.

Nobody looks twice at Blue. Not the kids, not the parents, not even the carnies I work with. Blue’s just part of the scenery, like the Ferris wheel or the smell of cotton candy. And that’s why it works.

I didn’t plan to end up like this. I don’t think anyone does, not really. You don’t wake up one morning and decide you’re going to be the kind of person who carries that kind of weight inside them. A child rapist. It starts as a whisper, a feeling you can’t quite name. You try to ignore it, push it down, tell yourself you’re normal, just like everyone else.

But the whisper turns into a hum, and then a roar, and before you know it, you’re staring at yourself in the mirror, wondering if the thing looking back is even human anymore.

The fair isn’t just my job—it’s my cover. The rides, the games, the lights—they’re all distractions. I can be anywhere and nowhere at the same time. I’m Blue the Fox, a mascot that waves and hugs kids.

And then fucks their little brains out.

But let's back up a bit. Before the fair opens, I'm just Jay, slumped in my trailer, trying to convince myself that I won't do it again. The smell of the costume—synthetic fabric and sweat—is a constant reminder of what I've become. But the urge is there, a serpent coiled in my gut, waiting for the right moment to strike. I tell myself I can control it, that I won't let it ruin me, but deep down, I know the truth. It's only a matter of time before the serpent takes the wheel.

As the first families start to trickle in, I watch them from the shadows of the midway, the plastic smile of the mascot head hiding the monster behind it. I see them—the kids with the wide-eyed wonder, the parents with the glazed-over stares of exhaustion. I look for the ones who are a little lost, the ones who stray from the pack. It's easy to spot them. They're the ones who look up at the Ferris wheel and see magic instead of rust.

I find him in the late afternoon. A little brown-haired boy, maybe six years old, wearing a Batman T-shirt that's a size too big for him. He's got a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He's all by himself, probably lost in the maze of color and sound. His eyes dart around, looking for the familiar faces that have vanished in the crowd. He's the perfect target.

With him, I will do as I have always done, play the happy mascot, tell him we'll go find his parents, lead him into the woods nearby, and then I will show him Blue is not a fun little cartoon mascot.

Blue is a monster.

Every step I take in the suit feels heavier, the foam and fabric weighing down my body, my soul. The fan in the headpiece whispers sweet nothings into my ear, trying to cool the feverish anticipation coursing through me. The heat outside is nothing compared to the inferno inside this costume. Or maybe it's just the guilt.

The boy's eyes light up when he sees me. That's the thing about kids—they're so trusting. So pure. So goddamn easy. He waves at me, and my heart sinks. Why do they have to be so innocent? Why can't they see what I really am?

I force myself to waddle over to him, my giant foam paws awkwardly returning the wave. The music from the midway is a cacophony of laughter and screams, but in my head, it's a sad, twisted lullaby. I crouch down so we're eye-to-eye, and I can see the hope in his gaze. He thinks I'm here to save the day, like some kind of furry superhero. Little does he know.

"And what's your name, little guy?" I ask, my voice muffled through the foam head. The boy's eyes light up even more; if that's possible.

"I'm Timmy," he says, his voice small but clear over the din of the fair. "I can't find my mommy."

"Well, Timmy," I reply, the foam mouth moving with my words, "Blue's going to help you find her, okay?" I stand up, towering over him, and offer a paw. He takes it without hesitation, his tiny hand lost in the oversized glove. The fabric feels sticky and hot against my skin, but I keep the skip in my step. It's part of the act.

We weave through the crowd, him chattering away about the games he's played, the rides he's been on. I nod and smile, listening with one ear while I keep the other tuned to the world around us. The carnival is a minefield of distraction, but I've learned to navigate it with a predator's instincts. I've done this before. Too many times.

I avoid families taking pictures and the locally hired security who are too busy hitting on teen girls to even notice me. We get closer to the edge of the fairgrounds, and I see the perfect spot in the nearby woods, a little out of the way but not too far for a "lost" kid to wander. The trees are thick enough to hide us from prying eyes, yet close enough to the lights that I can still see the flashes of color from the rides, like a twisted disco.

"Where are we going?" Timmy asks as he looks up at me, seeing only the cartoonish eyes of Blue and not the intentions in my own.

"Just a shortcut, Timmy," I lie, steering him closer to the shadows of the woods, "Through the Magical Woods!" The music fades a bit here, the lights not reaching as far. It's a strange kind of quiet, a muffled silence that swallows up the screams of the rides and the laughter of the crowd. The smell of the fair—fried dough and diesel—is replaced by the earthy scent of the forest.

Timmy's grip tightens on my paw, and I can feel his excitement. The poor kid probably thinks he's going on some grand adventure, that he'll tell his friends all about it tomorrow. The trees loom above us, their leaves whispering secrets to each other, secrets that only people like me are meant to hear. We're almost there.

The moment we step into the woods, the real me takes over. The foam smile on my face feels like it's stretching wider, a grin that's more akin to a snarl. I find a spot, a little hollow in the underbrush that's just hidden enough. The lights of the fair throw a patchwork quilt of color across the ground, but here in the shadows, we're invisible.

Timmy's still talking, his words tumbling over each other in a rush of excitement. I listen with one ear, the other tuned to the sound of the fair, distant now. I walk briskly and he follows suit, looking up at me with those big, trusting eyes. I can see the future in them, a future that's about to be torn apart.

"Okay, Timmy," I murmur, my voice still cheerful, "Let's rest for a second. Just need to catch our breath before we find your mommy."

He nods, panting slightly from our quick walk. He's so tiny, so vulnerable. It's easy to forget that under this suit, I'm a man, not a creature of pure joy and wonder. I guide him into the hollow, the leaves crunching under my oversized feet.

As soon as we're hidden, I drop the act. The hand that was so gentle and comforting tightens around his wrist. His eyes go wide with confusion, then fear as he realizes that something's wrong. He tries to pull away, but I'm too strong, my grip too firm. "What are you doing?" he whispers, the first crack in his bravado.

I push him down, my furry paw over his mouth, muffling the cries that want to escape. The fabric of the costume smells sour, like fear and regret, as I struggle to keep him quiet. My heart is racing, but not with excitement. It's with dread, with the knowledge that once again, I've let the monster win.

I pull off one of the gloves and reach between my legs, my fingers going through the fur to find the zipper on my crotch. The foam suit is sticky with sweat, but I manage to get my hand in, to free what needs to be free. Timmy's eyes are wide, his mouth a silent 'O' of horror as he realizes what's happening. His tiny hand pushes against my chest, but it's like trying to stop a freight train with a pillow.

I pull my cock out, "You're going to suck my dick, Timmy," I snarl at him, "And if I feel teeth I will kill you."

The smell of the forest fills my nose, mingling with the stale scent of fear that's suddenly thick in the air. Timmy's eyes are wide with terror, his tiny body trembling beneath the weight of the monstrous furry costume that's crushing him. He tries to struggle, but I'm too strong, too heavy. I press my foam-covered hand harder against his mouth, the fabric sticking to his face as he cries out in silent horror.

"I am going to remove my hand," I warn him, "If you fucking scream I will bash your brains in, got it?"

Timmy nods frantically, his eyes brimming with tears. He's trying to be brave, but his whole body is shaking like a leaf. I remove my hand slowly, and he sucks in a desperate breath, his nose scrunching up like he's about to cry.

"Now, be a good boy," I coo, my voice still muffled by the costume. I lean down, the foam nose brushing against his cheek, and I can feel the warmth of his little body, the tremble of his fear. My cock is hard against his leg, already dripping precum. I pin his arms above his head as I climb up on his tony form, my cock slapping his cheek as I position myself in front of his face.

"Suck it," I demand, pushing my cock closer to his face. The plastic eyes of the fox mask stare down at him, unblinking; as if they too are enjoying this sick game. Timmy's eyes squeeze shut, his tears flowing as my adult cock looms over him like a horror from his worst nightmares. He tries to turn his face away, but I grab his jaw and force him to face it. The first touch of his trembling lips to my tip is like a punch to the gut, but not the kind that hurts—it's a twisted thrill that sends a shockwave through me.

He tries to fight, his little body wriggling beneath me like a caught fish, but I've got him pinned. I can feel the strength of his fear, the desperate need to escape. But he won't. Not until I'm done with him. I push harder, and he opens his mouth, taking in the first few inches of my dick. His eyes are wide open now, staring up at me, pleading. The taste of his salty tears mixes with the bitter taste of sweat on my cock.

My hips start to rock, the foam costume moving in a sick parody of passion. The leaves rustle around us, the only witnesses to this twisted scene. The zipper digs into my stomach, but I don't care. The only thing that matters is the warm, wet heat of Timmy's mouth. It's a strange sensation, feeling the fabric of the costume rub against my skin as I thrust in and out of his tiny mouth. The plastic smile on my face feels like it's melting into a snarl.

Timmy's eyes are wide, full of fear and tears. He's choking, gagging, trying to fight back the vomit that's rising in his throat. The smell of the forest is thick with the scent of pine and earth, but all I can smell is fear and the bitter taste of bile. The more he struggles, the more I push. I'm a monster in a mascot's costume, and there's no escape for him now.

I rape his mouth violently, feeling the power surge through me with every gagging sound he makes. My hips piston faster, the foam body of the suit rubbing against my skin, the fan in the headpiece buzzing in a mockery of the situation. His tiny hands ball into fists as I keep him pinned down, his nails digging into the fabric of the costume, trying to find purchase, trying to push me away.

I release his wrists and grab his head, forcing my prick down his throat, "No teeth," I remind him with a snarl, "Now suck!" His eyes bulge as he gags, but he obeys. He has to. He's just a kid, and I'm the one with the power here. The power of fear, the power of strength, and the power of a sick, twisted need.

I feel myself getting closer, the pressure building. His tiny hands claw at the costume, trying to push me away, but it's too late. The sound of him choking on my cock is only making me harder, the fabric of the suit sticking to my skin with sweat and his tears. I can see the veins popping out in his neck, the desperate way he's trying to breathe around me. But I'm relentless, my own breath coming in ragged gasps as I fuck his face.

Then he pukes.

It's a wet, hot mess that splatters the front of the costume, soaking through the fabric to my skin. The smell of bile and half-chewed food fills the air, and for a second, I'm so stunned that I pull back. The plastic smile on my face feels like it's melting, the foam eyes staring down at him in disgust. Timmy's coughing and crying, snot and vomit mixing as he tries to push me away.

"You little shit," I snarl, wiping the vomit from my costume with a trembling hand. Timmy's eyes are squeezed shut, his whole body wracked with sobs. The taste of his fear and vomit is still in my mouth, and for a moment, I actually consider just leaving him here. But the serpent inside me isn't satisfied. It wants more.

"Take off your pants," I demand, the foam mouth moving with the force of my words. Timmy's sobbing turns to hiccups as he fumbles with the button on his pants, the tremble in his fingers echoing the tremble in his voice. I watch with a strange detachment, as if I'm not really here, as if this is happening to someone else. The plastic eyes of the fox mask seem to bore into his soul, urging him to obey. He finally manages to push them down, exposing his tiny, white underwear.

"Underwear too," I say.

Timmy's eyes go wide with fear, but he's too scared to argue. He wiggles out of his underwear, his tiny penis shriveling up in fright. He looks so small, so helpless. The serpent in me stirs, eager for what comes next.

I practically pounce on him, turning him over and shoving his face into the ground, his tiny body convulsing with sobs. I position myself behind him, his little ass up in the air, vulnerable and exposed as I rub my cock between his pale cheeks, my tip already pressing against his anus, slick with pre-cum and saliva. It's no substitute for lube. It's going to hurt him. He will scream, cry, beg, and that's exactly what I want.

I line up with his tight, untouched hole, feeling his body tense in anticipation of the horror that's about to come. I thrust, feeling the initial resistance give way. He cries out, a high-pitched scream that pierces the night, but no one will hear us out here. The forest's noises seem to swallow it whole, indifferent to his pain.

He's so fucking tight, like a vice around my cock. His cries are muffled by the dirt and leaves, and I can feel the tremble of his body as he tries to pull away, to escape what's happening. But he can't. I've got him, and I'm going to fuck him until he can't even remember his own name, just like countless boys and girls across the country I have raped in this same fucking costume.

I push deeper into Timmy, his little body trying to clench around me; as if he could somehow keep me out. But it's no use. I'm in control now. The fabric of the costume is sticky with sweat and vomit, but I don't care. I'm lost in the moment, the thrill of the hunt and the power of the predator. I don't take it slow, I don't care if it hurts him. That's part of the thrill. The more he cries, the more I want it.

And he does cry, so hard he ends up vomiting again on the ground but I keep thrusting into his tight, virgin asshole. The smell is nauseating, but it does nothing to deter me. If anything, it fuels my depraved desire. This is not a new reaction. I have seen kids puke, pass out, beg, plead, and a few rare instances, usually in the deep south:

Kids who are used to it, ones who have already been bad-touched by uncles or cousins, little fuck toys for adults. Now and then they're a fun treat but I prefer them fresh, unused, just like little Timmy.

I lean in closer to him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, the fur of the fox head brushing against his skin as I coo, "It's okay, Timmy. It'll be over soon."

"It hurts!" He cries, "I want my mommy!"

The words don't penetrate the fog of lust in my head. They're just sounds, background noise to the symphony of my own depravity. I push in harder, feeling him stretch around me. The costume's fabric sticks to my sweat-soaked skin, the foam eyes seemingly leering down at the boy beneath me. The fan inside the headpiece is useless, my body heat trapped in the suit like I'm wearing a furry oven.

I rape him harder, deeper, the sound of his cries mixing with the distant laughter from the fair. It's a strange symphony, the joyous shrieks of children riding the carousel and the muffled sobs of a child being destroyed. His little hands are clenched into fists, nails digging into the dirt as he tries to escape the pain but I make sure he feels it all, every sickening inch of me.

I'm close, so close. The feel of Timmy's tight, trembling hole around my cock is driving me wild. His cries have turned into whimpers now, his body going limp with resignation. The dirt and vomit on his face are a stark contrast to the clean, innocent look he had when I first saw him. I'm going to ruin him, and I'm going to enjoy every second of it.

After what may seem like an eternity for him but is over far too quickly for me, I cum.

Timmy's body goes rigid with pain as I empty my sickness into him, his whimpers turning into a keening wail that pierces the surrounding trees. His tiny body shakes with the force of my release, the leaves and twigs sticking to the fur of my costume fur as I pull out, watching my cum and a hint of red, blood, leak from his abused asshole.

I lean back, panting, feeling the weight of the costume pressing down on me, the foam sticking to my sweat-soaked skin. The plastic smile feels like it's going to crack, like the fabric of my sanity is tearing apart at the seams. For a moment, I almost feel something like regret. But it's fleeting, washed away by the rush of power that floods through me.

There's just one thing left to do.

I may be able to easily whisk a child away for my own perverse pleasure while dressed as Blue the Fox but I can't have him telling his mommy who did this to him.

No, Timmy won't be seeing his mommy ever again.

As he rolls over I am on him again but this time not to rape him, this time to kill him. My hands clasp around his slender neck and I begin to squeeze, the fabric of the costume muffling the sounds of his desperate gasps. His eyes go wide, the same eyes that had sparkled with excitement just minutes ago when he first saw me, now filled with terror and pain. The fox head looms over him, the plastic smile a twisted grimace as I watch the life drain from his face.

I'm not just a monster in a costume anymore—I'm a killer. The grip around Timmy's neck tightens, my fingers digging into his soft flesh. His legs kick out weakly, trying to find purchase, trying to push me away. But it's no use. He's too small, too powerless. The fox head feels like it weighs a ton as I watch the light in his eyes fade, the spark of life slowly being snuffed out. The fan inside the mask is blowing hot air into my face, but it's nothing compared to the heat of what I'm doing.

I can feel his throat being crushed, the slowing of his pulse. His eyes are red, his lips blue, and his face is contorted with the horror of what's happening. It's a sight I've seen before, but it never gets old. The thrill of watching the life leave their eyes, the power in my grasp—it's like a high, a drug that I can't quit. The foam claws of the costume and my fingernails press into the soft flesh of Timmy's throat, and I can feel his desperate attempts to breathe, his futile struggles to survive.

But it's too late.

He dies in my grip.

Timmy's tiny body goes limp, his eyes rolling back into his head. The fight drains from him, and I let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling the weight of what I've done. His chest stops moving, the last breath leaving his body in a final, defeated gasp.

I keep my grip for a minute longer, counting down the seconds. I have done this so many times now that I know what it takes to strangle a child. In my first few attempts with others, they woke up again but not Timmy, oh no, Timmy is dead. I can feel it, the way his body has gone slack, the way his eyes are staring up into the dark sky, unseeing.

I finally lean back, panting, feeling the weight of Timmy's lifeless body against my fur-covered thighs. The costume's fabric is sticky with sweat and vomit, the foam smile on my face a macabre contrast to the scene beneath it. His eyes are still wide, still staring, still filled with the last moments of fear and pain. I reach down, closing them with trembling hands. It's not out of respect—it's more like I'm putting him to bed, ending the nightmare I've subjected him to.

I look down between us and see his little penis, shriveled and caked with dirt. The sight makes me smile, a twisted grin that the fox mask can't quite mimic. I remove the head of my costume to lean down and lick it clean, my tongue sliding over his cold, lifeless skin before I suck it fully in my mouth.

The taste of him, the mix of fear and innocence, it's intoxicating. It's a taste that will linger on my tongue long after I leave this town, long after the carnival has packed up and moved on. It's a taste that fuels my sickness, that keeps the monster inside of me alive.

I keep him in my mouth for a few moments, rolling his little prick around like a piece of candy before releasing it, letting it flop back down. His body is still warm, but the heat is fading fast. I can feel the stickiness of my cum and a bit of his blood on my cock, the last bit of him still clinging to me like a macabre trophy.

I made my preparations the first day we arrived, as I do in every Bumfuck Nowhere, U.S.A. town we visit.

I'll hide the body well enough to secure my escape with the fair in the night.

And onto the next town, the carnival rolls, a mobile bastion of joy and horror. I, Jay, am a silent, unassuming part of that horror. I don the costume of Blue the Fox again, the foam smile feeling heavier with each passing night. The stains on the costume have long dried, but the smell lingers—a pungent reminder of Timmy and the countless others before him.

And I am already eager for the next child to take my hand.

The End.