Kenjaku first blames his growing obsession with you on his latest vessel.
Itâs causing him to chase your affections with the greediness of a starved animal. He had to see youâevery morning, every night. If he did not, then every meticulously thought out plan just wouldnât work. It was the oddest thing!
He decides to humor it.
Youâre a strong curse user, whatâs the harm in it? You go on dates, hold hands, rut like shameless animals until his legs shake and cum drips down his thighs and still, he wants more. It doesnât stop. Itâs actually getting worse, heâs afraid. (He doesnât want it to go away.)
He gives you a child with his next vessel, thinks that might be the solutionâturning his attention to the next source of amusement. Perhaps your child will become a worthy adversary in the future or even a vessel. Except that childâyours and hisâclings to his leg and smiles up at him with the shape of your mouth, the color of your eyes, little hands offering slices of fruit with the same loving selflessness inherited from your character.
The next vessel makes no difference.
And as he stares up at the ceiling, thighs spread to accommodate your body splayed over his like a living weighted blanket, he comes to a sobering realization. One thatâs half a decade, three vessels, a house and a toddler too late.
Heâs the problem.
Heâs in love with you.
Hearing the incredulous huff that leaves him, you grunt against his temple and your hand comes up to cup the side of his face. âGo to sleep,â you murmur, fondly chastising, and kiss the scars heâs allowed to heal over. (When did that happen? When did he take out the stitches? When, when, whenâ)
The sound of your voice in his ear, low and husky from sleep, sends a shudder down his spine. You feel so good against himâwarm and heavy, and your smell is everywhere around him. He squirms, hips rolling and seeking friction, and trails his palms down your back to cup the delicious curve of your bare ass.
âFuck me first,â he says, because he feels like heâll go insane if he doesnât have you now.
You make a soft noise, sleepy but interested. âI have a mission in the morning.â The statement is a half-hearted protest at best, but your breath catches when he reaches between your bodies to wrap his fingers around your hardening cock.
âIt can wait,â Kenjaku decides, smiling when you push up onto your hands to look down at himâhair mussed and eyes bleary. Youâre so cute like this, he wants to have you forever. (Heâll start looking for a female vessel soon, give you another baby, he can preserve Geto Suguru andâ)
His nails dig into your shoulder blades, head tossing back onto the pillow as your cock sinks into him, hard and slick and perfect.
Pairing: Jester!Jinx x Princess!Reader.
Summary: Your court jester has made a habit of being over-the-top. When she tells an offensive joke at your birthday ball, she must be punishedđ
Warnings: SMUT, dom!reader / sub!Jinx, power imbalance, punishment sex, bondage, face-sitting, clit slaps (jinx receiving), ruined orgasm (jinx receiving), no aftercare bc i suck :(
Word Count: 2.3k
The ballroom glittered like a jewel box. Gilded columns, chandeliers dripping with crystal light, and nobles dressed in colors so rich they looked stolen from an impressionist painterâs dreams. At the very center of it all was you. The birthday girl, the Crown Princess, draped in silk that effortlessly shimmered like moonlight.
The ball began without a hitch, but sometime after dinner, the lull set in. When you felt the air in the room was too stiff, the company too dull, and the music too rehearsed, you clapped your hands twice.
âBring in the entertainment.â
In mere seconds, the double doors on the far end of the ballroom burst open. The Jester exploded onto the scene like a loose firework, tumbling through the grand room. Her motley costume was a harlequin-patterned bodice stitched in sapphire and plum, bells jingling at the end of her foolâs cap, leggings in mismatched stripes, and boots scuffed from too many acrobatic escapades. Her face was a clown-like shade of white, with hot-pink diamonds painted around her eyes.
The noblesâ polite conversation died a quick death. You had to admit, you found great pleasure in the fear and discomfort Jinx incited within the court, though youâd never outwardly show it. Jinx was a loose cannon; no one could predict what sheâd do or say at any given moment. It had a tendency to make the courtiers feel uncomfortable, as if they were viewing a disaster of sorts, but were being held in place and forced to watch out of social and diplomatic obligation.
Jinx cartwheeled right past the royal orchestra, nearly knocking a violinist backward. She skidded to a halt at your feet with an extravagant bow so deep she nearly planted her forehead on the polished floor.
âYour Radiance!â she beamed up at you with bright, mischief-drunk eyes. âI come to offer the court a little sparkle on this joyous occasion!â
You merely raised an eyebrow, looking down your nose at her. âTry not to set anything on fire this time.â
âNo promises!â she chirped, giving you a two-finger salute. She vaulted herself onto a banquet table before anyone could stop her. âLadies, gentlefolk, and boring advisors!â Jinx cried out, arms thrown wide. To her credit, she was a captivating entertainer. âTonight, we gather to celebrate our beautiful Princess! A woman of many talents, includingâŠâ She paused. Thought. â...sitting there looking very regal!â
A ripple of polite laughter shot through the younger nobles, much to the horrified dismay of their elders. You felt warmth creep up your neck. She continued pacing along the tableâs length, boots narrowly missing gold-rimmed plates.
âBehold!â Jinx gestured dramatically toward you. âWith a single flutter of her majestic eyelashes, the Princess can command armies! Shift alliances! Andâmost impressivelyâcause every suitor in the room to swoon into their champagne!â
Several nobles stiffened while a few bachelors choked on fruit tarts. You shot Jinx a disapproving glare. For some reason, this only seemed to spur her on more.Â
âYour future queen, ladies and gents! Perfect posture! Perfect smile! Perfect life!â She twirled a fingertip in the air like stirring a pot of invisible trouble. âAlmost makes you wonder if sheâs even human⊠or just a very pretty wind-up doll.â
If the ballroom had gone uncomfortably rigid before, it was frozen now. A scandalized gasp swept the hall like a breeze. The insinuation that you were a mere objectâa decorationâshattered your carefully cultivated image of a strong, independent young woman preparing to lead a country.
It made you look weak.
âDonât worry, Princess!â As the entire court seemed to be holding its breath, Jinxâs voice sounded louder than ever as she turned back to you, giving you an exaggerated wink. âIâll wind you up anytime.â
You felt the blush burning now, but Jinxâs laughter was contagiousâwild, carefree, refusing to bend to decorum. You felt the eyes of your courtiers on you, riveted to see your response. Were you really about to allow a member of your own staff to speak to you in such a disrespectful, openly salacious way?
You rose from your throne, face storm-dark.
âJinx,â you hissed, voice like sharpened porcelain. âYou are dismissed.â
Unaffected by the shift in your demeanor, Jinx did a backflip off the table and landed gracefully in front of you. She bowed again with a mocking flourish, bells jingling mischievously as she bounded toward the exit.Â
But as the party continued on, something kept nagging you like an itch you couldnât quite scratch.Â
The Jester had openly disrespected you in a room full of people, and you had simply let her walk away unscathed. In a way, it had only proved her point; that you were a doll, meant to look pretty and nothing more. No bite.
You huffed, deciding it wasnât enough to merely dismiss Jinx.Â
You would need to correct her behavior.Â
You didnât bother knocking on Jinxâs bedroom door. After all, it was your palace. You pushed the door open with a decisive shove and stepped inside.
Jinxâs room was something you never could have imagined, and yet, it was so utterly Jinx. It looked like a carnival had exploded within four walls. Bright streamers hung from the ceiling beams, and paper lanterns glowed in mismatched colors. Sketches were pinned everywhere, some startlingly beautiful, others absolute nonsense. Trinkets cluttered every surface: juggling pins, half-finished inventions, glittering beads, and odd little wind-up toys that twitched when you passed as though greeting you personally.Â
She was still wearing her costume and makeup from earlier, and you briefly wondered if she wore it at all times on the off-chance the royals needed some cheering up, or if she simply hadnât gotten changed from the party yet.
The bells on her hat jingled as her head snapped in your directionâobviously peeved someone would dare force their way into her private spaceâand then her features softened as she recognized you. She gasped, loud and theatrically scandalized, before sweeping into an exaggerated curtsey.
âMy Princess,â she sing-songed.
âJinx,â you replied flatly.
She rose, unbothered by both your tone and the cross look on your face. If she noticed your fury, she greeted it like an old friend.
âA gift for you,â she announced brightly, producing a single delicate handkerchief from her sleeve and offering it with a flourish. You only crossed your arms, giving her a deadpan stare. You knew this trick.Â
Her smile dropped, and she rolled her eyes dramatically before gripping the end of the cloth and giving it one sharp tug. More fabric slipped outâsilks, satins, every color imaginableâunfurling in a cascading, seemingly never-ending chain. She kept pulling and pulling, each new square brighter than the last, her gaze locked stubbornly with yours as though daring you to break first.
You did not.
Finally, the last kerchief fluttered free. Only then did you extend a hand. Her eyes widened, and she smiled softly, dutifully placing the scarf in your palm. You pretended to admire the craftsmanship for a moment, and when you were sure her guard was down, you swiftly knocked her back onto the bed. You were upon her as quick as the drop of a guillotine, and just as deadly, securing her wrists to the bedpost. Once the initial shock wore off, she began a half-hearted attempt at fighting back.Â
âHey! What are you doing?â
You finished tying the knot around her wrists and leaned back to deliver your explanation. âJester, your jokes are crude and insensitive.â
She feigned offense. If she had proper use of her hands, sheâd be clutching imaginary pearls. âMy jokes are witty and hilarious, thank you very much!âÂ
âAs such,â you continued, ignoring her. âI cannot allow you to mock me in front of my entire court without repercussions.â
Her eyes widened, and an evil smirk grew on her lips.Â
âOh, no, Princess, Iâm terribly sorry,â she cried in an overly exaggerated tone that suggested she wasnât sorry at all. âPlease, oh, please donât⊠punish me.â She batted her eyes at you in a highly suggestive manner. You frowned, pausing your movements.Â
âOn second thought, perhaps I should just throw you in the stocks.âÂ
She narrowed her eyes, calling your bluff, and you shifted your body weight slightly, pretending to be moving off her.Â
âI wonât learn my lesson!â The words burst from her, a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. Her face scrunched stubbornly in a way that you would have found cute if she werenât so enraging.
âOh?â
She shook her head, pouting. âIâve always been more of a⊠hands-on learner.â
âWellâŠâ You gave the scarf an experimental tug, smirking when it held firm. âYour hands wonât be on anything tonight.â She let out a dissatisfied whine in response. âNone of that,â you chastised. âAfter all, this is meant to be a punishment.âÂ
Your hands teased down her body slowly, past her tits, ribs, waist, and down to the swell of her hips. You peeled her leggings off with ease, and she didnât put up a fight. Her legs fell open instantly, exposing her bare pussy to you.
She sucked in a sharp breath when your fingers connected with her clit, rubbing a single, soft circle on the already sensitive nub, a ghost of contact.Â
âWhatâs the matter, Jester? Out of jokes to tell?â You pressed harder, and she clenched her jaw, unwilling to release the vulgar sound that was curling in her throat. âItâs unlike you to be so quiet⊠Perhaps I should stop.â You removed your hand suddenly.
âNo! Please!â She bucked her cunt upwards, chasing the sensation. She was already impossibly needy, though youâd barely even touched her.Â
You chuckled. Seeing her like thisâon her back, defenseless, and squirming for any sort of attention⊠âNow this is genuinely amusing.â
You replaced your fingers on her clit, giving her the friction sheâd been so desperately craving.Â
âI live to please.â Her reply was less sarcastic and more breathy than she meant it, but she couldnât help it with you touching her most sensitive spot.
Without warning, your hand came down hard. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as her back arched. She shivered and tried to hold back a broken cry. You went back to rubbing gently as if you hadnât just struck her.
âWhoâs a little doll now, hm?â You teased, making her cheeks glow a rosy pink color before landing another sharp slap. She let out a tiny whimper. âA little toy I can play with however I want⊠How exciting.â
You suddenly became too aware of the warmth pooling between your legs and decided Jinx was having too much fun for your liking. You deserved some fun, too. It was your birthday, after all.
You moved off her, and she whimpered at the loss of warmth, but her eyes widened as you removed your dress and undergarments until you were perched before her in nothing but a corset. She struggled against the fabric of her restraint, desperate to touch you, but the garment didnât budge, and she let out a disgruntled groan. You placed your legs on either side of her bound arms, just beside her head, knees almost pressing into her shoulders. Face to face with your leaking pussy, Jinxâs breath hitched, and her eyes grew dazed.
âLive to please, do you?â You lowered yourself onto her mouth. âGo on then.â
As if jump-started, she greedily took everything you were willing to give. You knew that if her hands were free, sheâd be clutching your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer, and keeping you from ever lifting away from her, content to die with her head buried between your thighs.Â
She lapped at your cunt like she was starved. Her tongue traced impatient strokes around your folds before dipping inside to taste your sweetness. She enthusiastically sucked your swollen clit into her mouth, and you cried out; a loud, surprised sound. You felt her smile against you; she liked making you act improperly. You thought about giving her clit another slap, but you had told her to please you, and you supposed you couldnât smite her for simply following through.Â
If Jinx were smart, sheâd pace herself. Tease you every so often to prolong the length of time you spend in her bed, writhing on top of her. But Jinx had always been a spoiled little thing; temperance was not in her nature.
The knot in your stomach released soon enough, heat blooming in your core. Your thighs shook, and a loud moan escaped you before you could swallow it. Jinx messily continued lapping at you, swallowing every last drop of your release and moaning into you as if your pleasure was her own.
She humped the air, rutting her hips against nothing. Either out of pity or silent reward, you reached down and rubbed gentle circles on her clit, not bothering to admonish her when she bucked eagerly against your hand.
Just as she teetered over the edge, you removed your hand from her once again. She inhaled sharply as the momentum of her orgasm continued, but the pleasure came to a screeching halt, much like crashing directly into a brick wall. To make matters even worse, you landed a final, harsh slap directly to her clit, making her cry out against your dripping cunt.Â
As the aftershocks subsided, you pulled away and reveled in the sight of her. Lips drenched in your release, pussy red, hips twitching...
âHave you learned your lesson, dear Jester?â
A mischievous smile spread across her face. âHm⊠I think youâll have to teach me againâŠâ
thought itâd be fun to try out those nsfw abcs so here's my first one ever for an ftm sonar with a top reader
mdni no pronouns mentioned for reader. obviously afab language used for victor and a mention of top surgery scars. also small warning for various mentions of substance usage/abuse since itâs vic lol. and i used @/the-coldest-goodbye 's template!
A = Aftercare (what theyâre like after sex)
heâs the type that tries to strike up a conversation after, sometimes itâs awkward but it is genuinely kind of endearing. in a relationship with someone heâs actually interested in, he tries to check in on you without making it obvious that itâs what heâs trying to do, so he kinda dances around the topic until you reassure him you enjoyed your time. depending on how the day went or how the sex was, if heâs tuckered out heâll just lay there but won't fall asleep unless you do; he hovers a bit, and will probably kinda trail after you if you tend to get up and do things after sex. he likes being around you and soaks up your affections like a sponge so heâll be silently wanting to be held or kissed. he can cook a mean post-sex meal, which is his best way to show you that he cares because in the beginning heâs gonna be a little too awkward for verbal confirmation. heâs also a huge fan of post-sex showers, which sometimes leads to another round but itâs always super relaxing. he likes sharing hair and body products.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partnerâs)
heâs kind of into everything about him just due to him trying to cope with his insecurities by turning his self-consciousness into ego, but heâll end up liking whatever it is you like about him. heâll lean more into his human parts, his chest and arms and muscles, but if youâre really into his bat features and give those parts of him the most attention, heâll slowly begin to agree with you and be less harsh on those parts of himself. he inflates his brains the most, though he brags about being smart in the wrong areas.
on his partner, he pretty much likes everything about you. he wants to say his favorite thing is your overall body, your chest and muscles, your hands especially. but he really likes your face, not just because he finds you stunning but because heâll really like it if youâre expressive. he stares at your face a lot, whether you realize it or not. he likes to watch you talk and smile, drifting often to your lips. heâd really like it if you talked a lot, both in the bedroom and out. he finds your lips attractive and really likes looking into your eyes.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
victor can be as dirty as he can be sweet. he likes your cum in his mouth, on his face, in his fur, on his skin, anywhere inside him. he has no issues with it. some days he has more interest in it than others; heâll read a random reddit post of someone saying how much they like it when their partner cums on their face and itâll be the only thing he wants to do for like five days. heâs easily influenced and almost anything and everything gets his mind running. heâs not particularly in love with the taste of cum or anything, but he does like it. when he sees himself in the mirror afterwards and sees wherever you got some on him, he canât stop staring at it for a couple of minutes. it can be kind of annoying having to take a shower after if it gets in his fur, but that just means he can drag you into the shower with him and heâs more than alright with that.
on you, victor likes it when his cumâs visible. if he can see it around your mouth or dripping from your chin, it turns him on like crazy. he wants to please you, so if you like pushing your fingers, coated in his cum, into his mouth; he will suck them clean and will want to be praised for it.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
heâs kind of a voyeur. he wishes he had invisigalâs powers because his bat form doesnât exactly help with subtlety. in his days before working for the sdn, he got off on watching people fuck and doing coke off each otherâs stomachs or dicksâat least he didnât need to hide himself then, being free to sit at a club as people got hot and heavy with each other until heâd sneak into the bathrooms behind them and listen to them fuck in the next stall over. now, itâs a lot harder to do that when he needs to actually make a good impression of himself, but if you were okay with it, heâll totally settle for watching you touch yourself, whether itâs in a public setting where he can âsneakilyâ listen and watch you from above as you jerk off in an alley, or simply watching you at the end of your bed in the comfort of your bedroom.Â
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what theyâre doing?)
heâs good at hooking up and having quickies, but heâs not experienced when it comes to being in a relationship and actually having sex with someone who doesnât just see him as an exotic piece of meat to scratch off their bingo card. heâs not used to being gently caressed and kissed, or taking things slow; undressing for the sake of appreciating the othersâ body and less to just ogle. any way you fuck him, itâs going to feel different purely because youâre not just a quick fuck, youâre actually someone who loves and likes him. he knows how to give quick, mindless blow jobs and hand jobs, but heâs not so used to being eaten out slowly and methodically.Â
you have to kind of teach him, with time, to get used to being in a relationship. when heâs anxiously pacing his kitchen because heâs trying to prepare himself for you to leave after your night together, you have to be ready to cook him breakfast and send him off for work with a promise that youâll be waiting for him. heâs going to be someone who cums really early, because thatâs what heâs used toâitâs actually fun to train his stamina and prepare him for long, intimate nights. when he gets used to being in a committed relationship, his experience does shine through, it just has to be tweaked a little bit in order to break the habits heâs developed from years of hook-ups that more often than not happened while under the influence.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
victorâs cool with anything, and doesnât particularly have any favorites just because he likes it all, but he does really like being on his stomach. he likes switching positions mid-sex, usually anything where he starts on his back and then ends on his stomach. he just likes having his face stuffed into the pillows or sheets as you fuck him from behind, and he doesnât mind being bent over your couch or kitchen counters if you donât have the patience to drag him into your bed. sometimes if the sex is very intimate and sweet, heâll get a bit embarrassed, so he likes not having you see his face since itâs very obvious when heâs becoming bashful or shy. itâs not really a position, but he also really likes shower sexâit makes for an easy clean up and he really likes being pressed against the cool wall/glass of the shower as hot water runs down his body. he also really likes a position where he can lean back against you as you fuck up into himânot only does it let you deeply fuck him, but you can also easily keep his legs held open. heâll squirm a lot but only because it feels so good.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
victorâs humor is a little drier so heâs not exactly going to try to make jokes, but sometimes among his mindless yapping he might say something a little silly that could make you laugh. humor doesnât ruin the moment for victor, unless youâre like, constantly making jokes, then he wonât be bothered per se but heâs just not going to be listening if youâre fucking him well enough. if youâre poking fun at him he might get a little huffy but itâs not going to put him out of the mood too much. any jokes he makes will probably be saved for after youâre done. like maybe heâll point out that the cum stain you left on his stomach kinda looks like a dick or somethingâthose will be the kinda jokes he makes.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
he used to shave in the past but then found his hair tended to re-grow really quickly so he dropped it after he became too depressed to really keep up with it and now doesnât bother much with it. if you had a problem, heâd probably be motivated to do something about it. but for himself? he doesnât care much. heâs probably read a lot of those alpha male pick-up artists say that having more body hair makes you more desirable and used that to cope. getting in a relationship would be when he started to think about it; he wouldnât shave, but he would trim. thereâs not much he can do about his actual fur, but heâd definitely trim his bush up a little. heâd do like three snips and call it a day because heâs too attached to his body hair. he loves his happy trail and arm hair so heâd be quietly hoping to god that you arenât someone who dislikes that sort of thing.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
he tries to act really cool and suave but heâs honestly such a sap. he wonât try to be âromanticâ unless you take that first step because heâs actually kind of afraid of rejection, but if youâre all intimate and sweet, holding his face in your hands as you kiss him (especially paying extra attention to his bat features), he will absolutely melt. he might have been trying to lead you, talking like heâs got the whole night planned but the second you gently touch him, kissing up his body and whispering about how much you love him, he will be speechless and wonât know what to do with himself. especially if you give him a lot of aftercare and make sure heâs doing okay, offering to huddle up close or eat a meal together, itâs like an arrow through his heart. heâll have a difficult time doing it back because heâs kinda awkward about it, but in a relationship, victor falls really hard, so even though he may act a little weird itâs just because he wants to be all sweet and lovey-dovey with you back but itâs still something heâs learning to do. heâs better at going about it after sex, like cooking you a meal or getting you a dessert you like. but in the moment, heâs kinda freezing up and stumbling over himself because heâs not quite sure what to do. his constant eye-contact (of what you can tell) is his best way of trying to show you how smitten he is.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
he did it a lot before getting in a relationship with you, mostly when he was drunk or high, but as his sex drive slows down a little bit, the amount he jerks off kinda reduces. he becomes busy with work which causes him to just come home exhausted, but once getting with you, his sex drive does a little relapse and comes back somewhat full force. heâd prefer sex with you of course, but heâs also got no problem with handling his problems on his own. heâs easily motivated and could literally jerk off to a text message you send, so you shouldnât worry about leaving him to tend to himself even when heâs whining about it. heâs got no self-control about it and will make himself cum as soon as he needs to and if he needs to jerk off again, heâll just do it. he doesnât really do it for fun, but sometimes if heâs completely fucking bored and has nothing else to do, heâll jerk off lmao.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
bondage is something he probably joked about being into at first and then actually got really turned on by it and is now proudly into it. he specifically really likes having his wrists bound, either with handcuffs, rope, zip ties, silk, duct tape, whatever, but heâs also alright with having his ankles bound like, to the end of your bed or something. heâs also cool with being blindfolded or gagged, but those can sometimes get him way too overstimulated.Â
heâd also like sex after/while smoking pot, even better if you smoke with him. it makes him all sensitive and makes everything feel ten times better, though it usually only results in one round of sex before heâs either getting up to go eat because heâs fucking starving or heâs accidentally passing out asleep right then and there.Â
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
thereâs not a lot of places he wouldnât have sex, and again, doesnât particularly have any favorites. heâs fine if itâs somewhere cozy, in your bed or on your couch, and he doesnât mind being pressed against hard concrete or dirt and grass (though heâll be kind of annoyed if it gets his clothes dirty). if he had to choose a favorite, itâd probably be anywhere in your home because he likes your scent and likes being around you, and heâs not going to say no to being fucked against warm blankets and clean sheets. also likes fucking in the shower, and kind of has a soft spot for having sex in water, like in a bathtub or even out in the rainâit feels good against his skin and fur and he likes seeing your wet clothes or hair sticking to your body. he also, like.. enjoys having sex in other peopleâs places lol? hotel rooms are fun, but if he had the opportunity to fuck in robertâs bathroom or in flambaeâs bed, heâd do it. he finds it funny to piss them off and he doesnât have to be the one to clean up the mess.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
anything about you gets him going, really. showing interest in him is good motivation. feel him up a little, dance your fingers along his fur and up behind his ears and tease his mouth with your thumb; pull him into you when he starts straying, pretty much just manhandle him and heâs head over heels. heâs also very motivated by words, but honestly it doesnât matter what you say, just you talking is enough to turn him on. you could literally be reading off a grocery list and heâll be on the verge of shoving his hand down his pants. itâs like that one scene in sex education with the two teachers learning âdirtyâ talk after realizing that you didnât have to say anything actually sexy, it just had to be said in a sexy way; sound, look, or act like you wanna fuck and victor will be under you in a heartbeat. heâs also just very receptive to praise and will absolutely hang on to your every word once you start talking about how good heâs doing.Â
N = No (something they wouldnât do, turn offs)
thereâs not a whole lot he wouldnât do honestly. i think one thing he wouldnât be okay with would be anything that eventually makes him feel small and worthless. in a trusted relationship with him, if you bring up wanting to have a threesome or something, heâll probably be down for itâbut if it gets to a point where you begin pushing him away for other people, trying to stretch his boundaries and seeing how far heâll go in a way that is just manipulating his trust, heâll begin to question himself and will revert back to being that young, depressed victor that only knew how to cope with his worries by getting completely plastered. and he probably wonât even be strong enough to put his foot down or lay out his boundaries either. and similar thing, if you start talking about someone else during sex, more especially someone he feels inferior to in any way, it seriously makes him shrink up and gets him pretty depressed and upset.Â
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
he loves receiving it. he doesnât care where he is, if you offer it, heâs gonna try his absolute best to be available to take it. heâs more than happy to sit back and relax as you eat him out for however long you fucking want. heâs great at receiving it; heâs a little whiny and heâll buck his hips up every now and then, but heâll stay still if you really want him to and only wraps his legs around your head when heâs getting overstimulated. you can sit him on your face but he honestly does better laying back.Â
he loves giving it too, but he can get a bit ahead of himself. he takes more of your cock than he can handle at once and his teeth sometimes get in the way but he does genuinely really like sucking you off. he loves pleasuring you and he really gets off on praise so all you have to do is guide him a little and heâs golden. he likes the weight of you on his tongue and could literally have you in his mouth for hours if you let him. blow jobs get him horny so unless you expect to get him off afterwards, youâll have to pull him away from between your legs, which will lead to him trying really hard to convince you otherwise (and he is very persuasive).Â
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
it can really depend. since he naturally leans into a submissive role, youâll probably be controlling the pace. if heâs trying to dominate, or heâs the one that initiated sex, at first heâs going to be a lot quicker (and honestly sloppier), riding you and really just trying to make you and him cum as soon as possible because heâs too horny to care, but you can slow him down and encourage him to take his time. he can get whiny because heâs impatient, but heâll listen to you. heâs not really rough, he just naturally takes things faster. he thinks he prefers it fast and hard, and will try to encourage you to take him like that, wanting you to relentlessly fuck him into the bed until he canât think, but he actually really enjoys it when you take your time and fuck him with slow, deep thrusts. sensual sex ends up becoming his favorite even when he likes to say he prefers it hard and fast. heâs a bit embarrassed by how much he likes it but it really does soften him up and make him all mushy and vulnerable afterwards.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
heâs more than alright with them. itâs what heâs used to anyway, he doesnât mind being pulled into storage closets as you race to make each other cum before he has to go into a meeting. with how high his sex drive can be, quickies would be common depending on your schedule. victor likes getting what he wants, especially if he gets it fast, but if you liked making him wait so you could have a long, drawn out night, heâs cool with that too. heâll get really antsy and worked up but heâs completely on board. sometimes he just needs a long, good night with you. he loves the attention you give him so itâs a win-win either way. thereâs a good chance that most of your quickies are you eating him out before he has to go into work since he sometimes wakes up really horny.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
heâs sorta a âiâll do anything onceâ kinda guy, though, with some hesitancy. pre-sdn victorâs jumping in there with no question, but new and improved hero vic has finally developed a bit of common sense which at least kind of helps him make better choices. still, if you offer to drag him into the nearest public restroom for a quick fuck heâs not gonna say no. heâll happily have sex in the showers at the sdn building, maybe even get a little handsy in the breakroom (though nothing too crazy, he doesnât wanna lose his job). heâll fuck in alley ways and let you grope him in clubs and bars. heâll wear a collar in public with your name on it, heâs totally cool with like, all of it. he finds it hard to say no to you, so more likely than not, whatever you wanna do? heâs doing it.Â
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
victor tries to brag like, i can go all day and night, baby but honestly he starts feeling it just after one round. being sober makes him a lot more sensitive so itâs really something he has to get used to. he can cum very quickly, but heâs not opposed to being overstimulated so heâs alright with back-to-back rounds so long as you give him a little bit of time between them. heâs very interested in you, so he really doesnât want to stop at just one or two⊠but heâs getting older, yâknow? cut him some slack. heâs happy to jerk you off or go down on you to let his pussy rest at least. heâs got the stamina to let you fuck his cunt for how ever many rounds you need, but so long as you donât touch his clit, all is wellâonce you start stimulating his clit, thatâs when his stamina begins to teeter. not only will he not last long, but heâs gotta tap out for a bit. heâll be begging you to touch him only for him to start backing out once he realizes heâs not going to be able to hold out. he tries to be like nooo no itâs fine i can totally go again, but you can just see it in the way heâs breathing and the way heâs trying to close his legs that heâs kind of out of commission. poor thing wonât last long unless you edge him, but thatâll get him really vocal and whiny so youâll have to be prepared to say no to him even when he looks so pathetic begging.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
oh yeah he likes toys for sure. heâs definitely gotten sex toys as gag gifts over the years, mostly from malevola who really liked getting him absurdly large dildos that he absolutely tried telling himself he was trying out as a joke only to actually really enjoy them (and is in total denial of the fact that he uses them somewhat frequently). definitely has like, some sort of blonde blazer-themed dildo or something (and if you were a hero, heâs getting aaalll the toys they have designed after your persona). he really likes vibrators too, and isnât afraid to double up on toys with a dildo inside him and a vibrator on his clit. heâll use a vibrator on your dick too, if you want. heâs not afraid of a little experimenting, so if you had any toys you wanted to bring in, heâd be totally on board, like literally knock yourself out. he will gladly let you test out new toys on him. heâs the type of guy to get whatever dumb sex toy is trending and pretend like heâs just in on the joke even when heâs unironically cumming and shaking from a rose toy on his clit.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
victor canât tease you because heâs way too impatient for it. heâll throw in the towel so fast. he just canât willingly deprive himself of pleasure when he can just.. choose not to do that. he probably brags about being able to hold out, and if you were just starting out your relationship, heâd try to tell you made-up stories of how he could go for hours but heâs all bark and no bite. heâs not even very good at teasing honestly, but he is very fun to tease. itâs definitely something that gets him goingâif you tie his hands up and donât allow him to touch himself, he gets very worked up and will go from âi am not beggingâ to absolutely pleading for you and trying to bargain his way out. he claims to hate it but heâs honestly so submissive at heart that he canât help but love it. he can sometimes accidentally tease you like if youâre fucking him and he gets a phone call, even though vic is pretty horny, heâll probably stop you so he can answer the call and sometimes the calls can go on for a whileâwhile you do easily grab his attention, his attention can also be stolen very quickly. itâs ironic because if you were to do the same to him, heâd be near tears trying to get you off the phone.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
he sure talks an awful lot if you let him. he moans more when you go down on him or finger him, but he talks a lot when youâre actually fucking him. a lot of it is nonsense, just him rambling and trying to ground himself, and sometimes heâs trying to very sloppily convey what he wants, whether heâs asking you to fuck him harder or asking you to touch him another way. in actual volume heâs not very loud when he moans, but when heâs rambling itâs either at a normal talking volume (when it can actually be kind of awkward if youâre fucking somewhere less private and donât want any heads turning your way) or itâs at that âwhen people who canât whisper try to whisperâ kinda volume. he canât be completely quiet but heâs not that loud either. you can maybe get him to shut up if you fuck him hard enough, but you shouldnât bet on it.Â
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
heâs fantasized about fucking every member of the z-team at least onceâif any of them offered to fuck, he would not have turned them down. coupe, prism, flambae, and robert were his most notorious victims of his fantasies because theyâre the ones he could find himself easily submitting to the most. sometimes when theyâd talk, victor would slip something into the conversation that just slightly hinted at his interest and he found it very entertaining to see their faces morph into either complete disgust or genuine confusion (and he might later have gotten off to the memory of it when he got home from work).Â
X = X-ray (letâs see whatâs going on under those clothes)
lots of his gray fur coming down from his neck to just above his pecs before it thins out and trickles down to his stomach and ending at a fluffy bush, leaving a nice happy trail just above it. he has straight top surgery scars beneath his nipples that he got when he was much younger, so he'd accidentally reopened them quite a few times causing them to heal a little jaggedly. heâs got some muscles from working out, but heâs bad at not snacking throughout the week so heâs developed a little bit of thickness to his thighs which makes up for the fact his ass is kinda flat. heâs got very nice hands and definitely gets manicures every now and then to keep them in shape. he used to be self-conscious of the hair on his arms but he later ended up believing it helped get him laid and now he likes to show them off, even with some of the track marks he still has from his drug abuse. also, he bruises pretty easily, and even though the places you can suck hickies on to his skin most likely arenât going to be seen by others, he still likes seeing his stomach and chest littered with them even if he canât show them off. for some reason i feel like heâd have gotten some kind of tramp stamp at some point too lol, and if he had the necessary qualifications, would absolutely have gotten a fourchette piercing for his pussy.Â
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
as long as you exist, all he thinks about is you. he honestly probably suffered from hypersexuality that he may or may not have gotten some kind of support for after getting in with the sdn. horniness is sort of in his nature regardless, but his sex drive is definitely fueled by yours. if you show sexual interest in him, whatever little spark of arousal he had is getting boosted by a thousand. heâs very easily influenced by you; send him pictures of yourself or send him messages with even the littlest bit of sexual undertone and heâs rushing to the sdn restroom and desperately asking for more. whenever youâre down to fuck, he is too. thereâs a phase he gets into at some point in your relationship where heâs worried about scaring you off and doesnât initiate sex whatsoever, so the second you give him the go ahead he is so ready. he often wakes up horny, so morning sex would be commonly asked for by him. his drive also spikes in the middle of the night, so unless youâre still awake with him, you might be getting woken up by a âdistressedâ victor who claims he just seriously needs your help with a huge, real problemâthat problem being that he really wants to get fucked.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
it depends sometimes. if you have sex early in the morning, even if he has work heâs probably going to go back to sleep right after. having sex at night or after work really only energizes him more and gets him pumped with adrenaline. heâs a heavy sleeper at times so unless you want him to miss work, itâs best to leave sex for after work or on the weekends, or just have him cum via your mouth or fingers, which in that case heâs gonna use that as motivation to wake up and start his day. after he has coffee, you can fuck.
Pennywise x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader although they do have "toys that buzz") spiritual successor to Heat. NSFW. MDNI. Clussy fingering, vague mentions of clussy eating and non-specific fucking. Pennywise is still in heat and cums for days. Soft-dom coded reader but the dynamic is not the focus. One instance of biting (reader receiving.) Pennywise being petulant. Inspired by this art by @minisculemars and requests from @hisokamywaifu and anon!
The ache lingers.
Long after you fall asleep, content to slumber with Pennywiseâs scent still clinging to your flesh, the entityâs heat rages on.
"This is your doing!" it snarls, towering above you the morning after. It practically spits the words at you. "What have you done to me?"
"Wait, you're still in heat?"
You're amused, and Pennywise has half a mind to eat you there and then, even as its aching, weeping sex craves yours.
But if it killed you, thereâd be no hope of satiating that ache, or of ending the merciless heat. Because no matter what Pennywise does, what it rubs against or stuffs inside itself, your touch seems to be the only thing that comes even close to quelling the incessant throb.
And yet it knows. It knows no matter what you do to it, the relief can only ever be superficial because the body you touch isnât real. Its true form is beyond your comprehensionâyou'd lose your sanity if it ever revealed itself to you and then you'd be completely useless.
So it must make do. You are the poison and a temporarily soothing balm, if not the cure. And so it suffers and begs, it yearns and despises.
It answers you with a plastered-on grin. "I need more. Touch me... Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me..." it sings, "I wanna be dirty..."
You do what you can. Again and again. You give it what it desires. Yet even with your help, Pennywise's heat, and its climaxes, last for days.
Days of torment, of feeling the very essence of itself turned over and over, inside out, and burning beneath your touch.
It waits impatiently for you to come home, desperately seeking a moment of relief with anything it can find.
It plays with your toys that buzz and tickle until the batteries run flat, your hairbrush where your scent lingers, a wadded up shirt from the laundry hamper, the food in your fridge, the deodorant that masks your stink. It claims it all. And none of it helps. It tosses them aside with a frustrated growl and a curl of its lip.
It doesn't feel anything close to relief until you come home and catch it frantically humping your pillow.
"You're home..." it sighs, pitifully, reaching out a trembling clawed hand. It tries to stand, but its legs give way beneath it. "Help poor Pennywise out again, woncha?"
It passes another evening rutting and sobbing against you, dragged through wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy. Greedy, insatiable.
"Mine, oh-ho, mine, mmmmine," it babbles with slick and sweat and spital dripping from every orifice.
It brings you to oblivion with it, but you pass through all too soon with a maddening look of satisfaction. Never before has it craved the fleeting nature of humanity so desperately. Lucky lucky thing.
You lick and touch and fuck it until you're spent. But it still isn't enough. It cannot be enough.
The brief stillness of relief only heightens the torment when the next wave of need floods through it.
âEnd it!â Pennywise demands on the fourth day of choking on its own arousal. âMake it stop.â
There's little you can do but hold the eater of worlds in your arms and cradle it against you, stroking its sex as it comes apart endlessly.
It trembles, drenched and weak. Your touch is maddeningly gentle and more than it can stand.
âThere⊠yes, just like that,â you whisper, your breath on its skin making its spine bristle. âDoes that help?â
Among its strangled cries and frantic whimpers, you discern the words, "yes... mm- m-or- ohho."
"More?"
"Yes! Yes!"
So you push deeper, and finger it harder; down to your knuckles, then your wrist, deeper, deeper, until your arm is buried inside. And there, oh there, you come so desperately close to its core.
"You're so hot," you whisper, breathless from awe and exertion. "Burning. Like sunlight."
It comes apart a moment later with the steady curl of your fingers, climaxing so hard its voice breaks and teeth gnash. It isn't even conscious of biting into your flesh, not until the sweet tang of your blood trickles down its throat. Bliss.
"Oh yes, yesyesyes..."
And finally, it knows peace. Stillness. Its limbs are heavy and eyes barely open. But the heat fades.
"You did so very well..." it murmurs, it's voice rough and faint. "I must rest."
"You must be exhausted," you say, fetching a cloth to clean away the rivers of slick pouring from its pulsing core. âYou poor old thing.â
âDon't you dare pity me,â it snarls, teeth bared despite the fact it can't open its eyes, "I have laid waste to countless worl-huh... hoh...."
Your gentle, caring caress and the warm, wet washcloth between its thighs is more than it can bear. It lays, whimpering, mouth slack and drooling against the palm of its hand.
"What a lovely thing you are," you coo, your voice, and praise, at once reigniting that terrible fire.
"Oh no..." Pennywise sobs, helplessly clutching it's burning face. Its thighs begin to quiver.
And within moments it's sex is throbbing, weeping, as though it has never once been touched. Desperate and ruined entirely for you.
"Oh no no no no..."
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated (reblogs especially help writers share their stories and help new readers find them!) You may also like my other Pennywise stories
Pennywise x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader although they do have "toys that buzz") spiritual successor to Heat. NSFW. MDNI. Clussy fingering, vague mentions of clussy eating and non-specific fucking. Pennywise is still in heat and cums for days. Soft-dom coded reader but the dynamic is not the focus. One instance of biting (reader receiving.) Pennywise being petulant. Inspired by this art by @minisculemars and requests from @hisokamywaifu and anon!
The ache lingers.
Long after you fall asleep, content to slumber with Pennywiseâs scent still clinging to your flesh, the entityâs heat rages on.
"This is your doing!" it snarls, towering above you the morning after. It practically spits the words at you. "What have you done to me?"
"Wait, you're still in heat?"
You're amused, and Pennywise has half a mind to eat you there and then, even as its aching, weeping sex craves yours.
But if it killed you, thereâd be no hope of satiating that ache, or of ending the merciless heat. Because no matter what Pennywise does, what it rubs against or stuffs inside itself, your touch seems to be the only thing that comes even close to quelling the incessant throb.
And yet it knows. It knows no matter what you do to it, the relief can only ever be superficial because the body you touch isnât real. Its true form is beyond your comprehensionâyou'd lose your sanity if it ever revealed itself to you and then you'd be completely useless.
So it must make do. You are the poison and a temporarily soothing balm, if not the cure. And so it suffers and begs, it yearns and despises.
It answers you with a plastered-on grin. "I need more. Touch me... Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me..." it sings, "I wanna be dirty..."
You do what you can. Again and again. You give it what it desires. Yet even with your help, Pennywise's heat, and its climaxes, last for days.
Days of torment, of feeling the very essence of itself turned over and over, inside out, and burning beneath your touch.
It waits impatiently for you to come home, desperately seeking a moment of relief with anything it can find.
It plays with your toys that buzz and tickle until the batteries run flat, your hairbrush where your scent lingers, a wadded up shirt from the laundry hamper, the food in your fridge, the deodorant that masks your stink. It claims it all. And none of it helps. It tosses them aside with a frustrated growl and a curl of its lip.
It doesn't feel anything close to relief until you come home and catch it frantically humping your pillow.
"You're home..." it sighs, pitifully, reaching out a trembling clawed hand. It tries to stand, but its legs give way beneath it. "Help poor Pennywise out again, woncha?"
It passes another evening rutting and sobbing against you, dragged through wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy. Greedy, insatiable.
"Mine, oh-ho, mine, mmmmine," it babbles with slick and sweat and spital dripping from every orifice.
It brings you to oblivion with it, but you pass through all too soon with a maddening look of satisfaction. Never before has it craved the fleeting nature of humanity so desperately. Lucky lucky thing.
You lick and touch and fuck it until you're spent. But it still isn't enough. It cannot be enough.
The brief stillness of relief only heightens the torment when the next wave of need floods through it.
âEnd it!â Pennywise demands on the fourth day of choking on its own arousal. âMake it stop.â
There's little you can do but hold the eater of worlds in your arms and cradle it against you, stroking its sex as it comes apart endlessly.
It trembles, drenched and weak. Your touch is maddeningly gentle and more than it can stand.
âThere⊠yes, just like that,â you whisper, your breath on its skin making its spine bristle. âDoes that help?â
Among its strangled cries and frantic whimpers, you discern the words, "yes... mm- m-or- ohho."
"More?"
"Yes! Yes!"
So you push deeper, and finger it harder; down to your knuckles, then your wrist, deeper, deeper, until your arm is buried inside. And there, oh there, you come so desperately close to its core.
"You're so hot," you whisper, breathless from awe and exertion. "Burning. Like sunlight."
It comes apart a moment later with the steady curl of your fingers, climaxing so hard its voice breaks and teeth gnash. It isn't even conscious of biting into your flesh, not until the sweet tang of your blood trickles down its throat. Bliss.
"Oh yes, yesyesyes..."
And finally, it knows peace. Stillness. Its limbs are heavy and eyes barely open. But the heat fades.
"You did so very well..." it murmurs, it's voice rough and faint. "I must rest."
"You must be exhausted," you say, fetching a cloth to clean away the rivers of slick pouring from its pulsing core. âYou poor old thing.â
âDon't you dare pity me,â it snarls, teeth bared despite the fact it can't open its eyes, "I have laid waste to countless worl-huh... hoh...."
Your gentle, caring caress and the warm, wet washcloth between its thighs is more than it can bear. It lays, whimpering, mouth slack and drooling against the palm of its hand.
"What a lovely thing you are," you coo, your voice, and praise, at once reigniting that terrible fire.
"Oh no..." Pennywise sobs, helplessly clutching it's burning face. Its thighs begin to quiver.
And within moments it's sex is throbbing, weeping, as though it has never once been touched. Desperate and ruined entirely for you.
"Oh no no no no..."
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated (reblogs especially help writers share their stories and help new readers find them!) You may also like my other Pennywise stories
Pennywise x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader although they do have "toys that buzz") spiritual successor to Heat. NSFW. MDNI. Clussy fingering, vague mentions of clussy eating and non-specific fucking. Pennywise is still in heat and cums for days. Soft-dom coded reader but the dynamic is not the focus. One instance of biting (reader receiving.) Pennywise being petulant. Inspired by this art by @minisculemars and requests from @hisokamywaifu and anon!
The ache lingers.
Long after you fall asleep, content to slumber with Pennywiseâs scent still clinging to your flesh, the entityâs heat rages on.
"This is your doing!" it snarls, towering above you the morning after. It practically spits the words at you. "What have you done to me?"
"Wait, you're still in heat?"
You're amused, and Pennywise has half a mind to eat you there and then, even as its aching, weeping sex craves yours.
But if it killed you, thereâd be no hope of satiating that ache, or of ending the merciless heat. Because no matter what Pennywise does, what it rubs against or stuffs inside itself, your touch seems to be the only thing that comes even close to quelling the incessant throb.
And yet it knows. It knows no matter what you do to it, the relief can only ever be superficial because the body you touch isnât real. Its true form is beyond your comprehensionâyou'd lose your sanity if it ever revealed itself to you and then you'd be completely useless.
So it must make do. You are the poison and a temporarily soothing balm, if not the cure. And so it suffers and begs, it yearns and despises.
It answers you with a plastered-on grin. "I need more. Touch me... Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me..." it sings, "I wanna be dirty..."
You do what you can. Again and again. You give it what it desires. Yet even with your help, Pennywise's heat, and its climaxes, last for days.
Days of torment, of feeling the very essence of itself turned over and over, inside out, and burning beneath your touch.
It waits impatiently for you to come home, desperately seeking a moment of relief with anything it can find.
It plays with your toys that buzz and tickle until the batteries run flat, your hairbrush where your scent lingers, a wadded up shirt from the laundry hamper, the food in your fridge, the deodorant that masks your stink. It claims it all. And none of it helps. It tosses them aside with a frustrated growl and a curl of its lip.
It doesn't feel anything close to relief until you come home and catch it frantically humping your pillow.
"You're home..." it sighs, pitifully, reaching out a trembling clawed hand. It tries to stand, but its legs give way beneath it. "Help poor Pennywise out again, woncha?"
It passes another evening rutting and sobbing against you, dragged through wave after wave of tortuous ecstasy. Greedy, insatiable.
"Mine, oh-ho, mine, mmmmine," it babbles with slick and sweat and spital dripping from every orifice.
It brings you to oblivion with it, but you pass through all too soon with a maddening look of satisfaction. Never before has it craved the fleeting nature of humanity so desperately. Lucky lucky thing.
You lick and touch and fuck it until you're spent. But it still isn't enough. It cannot be enough.
The brief stillness of relief only heightens the torment when the next wave of need floods through it.
âEnd it!â Pennywise demands on the fourth day of choking on its own arousal. âMake it stop.â
There's little you can do but hold the eater of worlds in your arms and cradle it against you, stroking its sex as it comes apart endlessly.
It trembles, drenched and weak. Your touch is maddeningly gentle and more than it can stand.
âThere⊠yes, just like that,â you whisper, your breath on its skin making its spine bristle. âDoes that help?â
Among its strangled cries and frantic whimpers, you discern the words, "yes... mm- m-or- ohho."
"More?"
"Yes! Yes!"
So you push deeper, and finger it harder; down to your knuckles, then your wrist, deeper, deeper, until your arm is buried inside. And there, oh there, you come so desperately close to its core.
"You're so hot," you whisper, breathless from awe and exertion. "Burning. Like sunlight."
It comes apart a moment later with the steady curl of your fingers, climaxing so hard its voice breaks and teeth gnash. It isn't even conscious of biting into your flesh, not until the sweet tang of your blood trickles down its throat. Bliss.
"Oh yes, yesyesyes..."
And finally, it knows peace. Stillness. Its limbs are heavy and eyes barely open. But the heat fades.
"You did so very well..." it murmurs, it's voice rough and faint. "I must rest."
"You must be exhausted," you say, fetching a cloth to clean away the rivers of slick pouring from its pulsing core. âYou poor old thing.â
âDon't you dare pity me,â it snarls, teeth bared despite the fact it can't open its eyes, "I have laid waste to countless worl-huh... hoh...."
Your gentle, caring caress and the warm, wet washcloth between its thighs is more than it can bear. It lays, whimpering, mouth slack and drooling against the palm of its hand.
"What a lovely thing you are," you coo, your voice, and praise, at once reigniting that terrible fire.
"Oh no..." Pennywise sobs, helplessly clutching it's burning face. Its thighs begin to quiver.
And within moments it's sex is throbbing, weeping, as though it has never once been touched. Desperate and ruined entirely for you.
"Oh no no no no..."
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it I'd love to hear from you! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated (reblogs especially help writers share their stories and help new readers find them!) You may also like my other Pennywise stories
(Warning: its a little gross and if youâre not truly a freak, maybe sit this one out)
Summary: you havenât seen your mate in a while. It couldnât have abandoned you, right? You go and look for it and what you find is worse than you imagined.
Tags/warnings: SFW (as in no smut), it/its pronouns for pennywise, gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, horror, blood and gore, injury, this oneâs a bit gross, canon typical violence, hurt/comfort, penny loves you, animalistic pennywise, reader has abandonment issues, patheticwise đ
Word count: 2411
A/N: This oneâs for everyone saying they wanna kiss its wounds under my fanart post. I really liked writing this, itâs a bit more horror and darkness but I think it ended up being cute in a twisted way. Hope you enjoy!
It had been a few days since youâve seen your âmate.â
5 to be exact.
It wasnât unusual for your paths not to cross a while, but never more than a day or so.
You wouldnât say you were worried. You couldnât imagine something happening to the clown, what could possibly be out there to endanger an otherworldly god, one that prides itself in its invincibility, in itâs untouchability.
You thought about it quite a lot these past days. What could possibly have happened.
After the second day, you started calling out to the entity. Calling its name, usually that was enough for it to appear right in front of you, or hop out of a shadow. Sometimes it dashed right into your arms, sometimes there was a trace of annoyance, as well as a trace of blood around its mouth, when your call had interrupted its feeding.
Even then, it didnât stay mad for long, sticking around because apparently your company was just that pleasant.
Maybe you were worried just a little bit.
Less about its well being, you suppose. You mightâve been worried that it didnât want to show up for you anymore. That it got tired of you, that it hears you calling but ignores it deliberately.
Because it doesnât like you anymore.
Not even enough to show up and eat you.
Today isnât different.
You sit in your kitchen, an untouched cup of coffee in front of you. Itâs late, sun having set long ago. The kitchen is cold, empty. Pennywises presence wouldnât necessarily make it warmer, you yearn for it anyway.
Your head is filled with thoughts, so many, they keep you awake agonizingly.
Itâs ridiculous, you think, to grow so attached to a monster like this. So attached, that you develop abandonment issues over its absence.
Wouldnât it be best if it didnât show up anymore? If it left your life and you could be normal?
Not to you, no way.
Youâve grown accustomed to it the past months. A part of you would dare to say, you fell in love.
How could you not, when itâs so nice to you, so affectionate and sweet and passionate and protective, when you KNOW what itâs capable of, know what itâs nature tells it to do, when you know itâs actively contradicting its instincts and youre the only soul getting this treatment.
That might be even worse than mere abandonment issues, but here you are.
You tell yourself to go to sleep, to wait maybe a few days longer before coming to your senses and move on.
This isnât like a normal relationship, whatever you want to call it. Itâs not like it could have had a family incident, or be in the hospital unable to reach out. If itâs ignoring you, itâs on purpose, surely.
You grow frustrated, deciding to pathetically try it once more. You stand up, look around, call out its name.
A pause, you listen. Nothing.
Again, you call it. Your home gets colder, a chill runs over you, tho the windows arenât open.
Your nerves, you rationalize, you must be going crazy.
This wonât do, you admit to yourself.
As much as you know this is a bad idea, you make a decision and follow through anyway.
If this leads to your death, so be it.
You grab your necessities, keys and a flashlight, then pull on rain boots.
You walk out the door and head towards the sewers.
The town is dead, not a single other person out. No lights in windows either, you feel an ache of loneliness.
The way to the sewers isnât long, you pass the woods, a creak, you're almost there.
Once youâve been down there before, after insisting on seeing its âhome.â
It really didnât want to take you, you remember. Incredibly reluctant, almost angry at your persistence. Eventually it gave in and you were allowed to follow it inside.
There was no regret on your side, no judgement either. But you did understand why it preferred spending time in your home.
You remember the way, mostly.
The entrance stinks already. The water reaches past your ankles, boots barely high enough to keep it out. Your flashlight works, tho it flickers sometimes.
Inside the tunnels, youâre facing a labyrinthine.
Many turns, some you recognize, some you guess. Then, you're face to face with a gate
The other way, okay. No need to worry. Aside from the incomprehensible horror clown, there isnât anything down here, nothing to be scared of.
Everything looks the same, but you canât get lost, not if you canât call for help.
A few frantic turns later, youâre stopped in your tracks. Ahead, a tunnel. You hear noises, bone chilling.
Theres growling, Deep and dark and quiet. And⊠something that sounds like weeping.
It takes you a moment to snap out of it and focus on what youâre hearing.
What if itâs feeding again? What if youâll run into something you wonât be able to unsee, something it doesnât want you to witness.
The quiet sobs, they sound strange. Maybe theyâre not human. Surely, it canât be pennywise crying though, no, it probably isnât capable of such thing.
Slowly, you take a step forward, proceeding down the frightening tunnel. Your heart pumps rapidly, your forehead is damp, your fingers tremble.
At the end of the tunnel, you're relieved to finally reach your destination.
The huge, hollow cave youâve spent one evening in, looked the same, as expected. Dark, dirty, damp. The noises are louder, echoing off the rocky walls. So is the sound of water rushing, droplets falling. Itâs cold.
You recognize the wooden circus trailer in the center of the space, surrounded by endless clutter.
Taking a deep breath, you force your legs to carry you onward. The closer you get, the more clear it becomes that the weeping, one, in fact is not human, and two, emerges from somewhere by that trailer.
Just now, as you get closer, you notice a figure sunken to the ground by the wooden wheels. The weeping comes from there.
You donât dare shine your flashlight at that shadow yet, you feel frozen in place. Youâre scared.
Your mouth trembles when you open it slightly, the name barely making its way out, âpennywiseâŠ?â
The sobbing stutters, you hear a sharp inhale. The figure twitches, you hear shuffling.
Collecting all your courage, you finally let the beam of the flashlight meet the dark spot.
Immediately, your stomach drops.
It is, in fact pennywise. And the sight makes your blood run cold.
Itâs sitting, cowering on the ground. Thereâs blood, itâs shaking. Then, you see the pole, entering one side of its face and exiting the other. Its hair is tousled, falling over its big forehead.
You stare and blink, itâs looking at you with the only intact, fiercely glowing eye.
Quickly, you step closer, taking in the damage its form has taken.
Now you stand in front of the clown, it quickly averts its eye.
You see itâs teeth, rows upon rows of sharp daggers, seemingly ripping through its own skin.
âShit- Penny⊠heyâŠâ you whisper and crouch down to its level, setting the flashlight aside in an angle that illuminates the scene. Carefully you reach your hand out, intending to touch its shoulder.
Itâs eye falls to your hand, it scrunches its face up, it leans in quickly and snaps at your fingers, missing by an inch.
You gasp, pulling your hand back, wide eyed.
A grunt, it pulls back from you, pulling its knees up, shaking its head, angry, hurt, immediately remorseful.
You take a breath, a shaky one. Youâve dealt with anxious dogs before, this is different but maybe not by much.
Your hand stays put by your side, deciding not to try again so soon. âItâs okay,â you say quietly, âwhat happened? Why arenât you healing?â You ask the obvious.
It looks up, its hand weakly rises and gets a hold of the pole, it pulls. No use, it canât move it and by the looks of it that action was incredibly painful.
Slowly, you nod, you understand, âshould I try and pull it out, penny?â Youre being gentle, youre pushing your panic aside as to not make this worse for the clown.
Hesitantly, it nods. It doesnât look too confident in your ability to assist, you suppose it doesnât have many choices.
You bite your lip, wanting to reach out but pull your hand back once more. âYou canât bite me, that wonât help either of us.â
It huffs a moist breath, spitting in the act.
Other than that, you get no reaction.
That has to be enough, you think.
You rise to your feet again, taking a look at the pole, its size and shape.
Deciding on the approach, you reach and grab onto the pole, below the spike.
Pennywises eye is closed, itâs bracing, fists balled.
Sadness overcomes you, pity, maybe. Your heart breaks. This is a painful sight, never have you seen it anywhere close as pathetic as this. A part of you finds it endearing, but you donât want to entertain that sadistic thought right now.
You take a deep breath and pull at the metal, using all your strength.
Below, the clown yelps. Itâs loud, spine chilling. Nevertheless, you keep pulling and finally, the metal starts moving.
Slow, unsteady, it slides through its skull.
When itâs too much, it suddenly lifts its hands, claws ripping through the gloves, gripping onto your thighs, shredding your pants and skin beneath.
You scream, gritting your teeth. Itâs hold is relentless, the adrenaline fuels you and after a few agonizing seconds, the pole is freed and thrown aside with a loud clank.
Both your bodies crumble to the ground, both covered in blood in different areas.
You're barely able to take in air quick enough, your arms are sore from the strain, your legs hurt in pulsing waves.
But thatâs not important right now.
You quickly disregard the pain and crawl closer to pennywise, not thinking before placing your hands on its low hanging head.
âPenny- are you okay?â You whimper and try to lift its head.
Itâs head snaps up to face you, wounds gushing, somehow the blood is dripping upward.
It bares its many teeth at you, threatening. You realize, itâs in immense pain. This is an instinct. You wouldnât go as far as to say itâs scared, but something comparable to that.
You frown, debating wether or not you should pull your hands away.
Stubborn and worried, you keep them there, moving them down to hold its face gently, avoiding the wounds. âEverythingâs okay,â you whisper.
Youâre unsure how to help, you canât really get a first aid kit.
Still snarling and growling at you, at least it doesnât pull away. It seems just as torn as you.
Then, you remember something. How it helped you when you were injured, wether caused by itself or something else.
The thought sounds grotesque, it goes against your instincts. But out of guilt and pity, youre ready to do anything right now.
Slowly, you lean in, testing its reaction so you donât get your face bitten off.
Pennywise stares at you relentlessly, looking on edge, looking unpredictable.
Your lips hover by its cheek, above a hole filled with teeth.
Taking a breath, you place a small kiss on its flesh, then, your tongue darts out and licks over it.
The growling quiets immediately, its body tenses. Clearly, it didnât expect that.
You continue, pushing past the taste, past any nausea, you kiss and lick around the wound to clean and over it to heal.
The bleeding slows before eventually stopping. You pull off to observe, itâs starting to close already.
Relieved and satisfied, you move to the other side of its face, noticing itâs eyes are closed, a string of drool stretching from its lips.
You give the same treatment to this wound, keeping in mind that beneath it lies its eye.
A while later, this wound is also cleaned and beginning to heal.
You pull back with a sigh, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand.
The clown opens its eye, then slowly itâs injured one. Itâs still bloody, still messed up, but open now.
âThat better?â You ask quietly, voice hoarse and strained. The pain you were ignoring comes rushing back. Your hands stay on its cheeks, thumb grazing over itâs teeth tenderly, carefully. A little curiously, too.
It blinks, you hear it sniff the air.
Slowly, it moves toward you. Not snapping this time, not threatening you.
It tiredly crawls between your legs, pressing its body against you. Itâs face disappears into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin, pricking but not cutting.
Its body slumps into your hold when your arms wrap around it, it lies limp, heavy against your body.
Then, finally, to your utter delight, it begins purring.
You breathe out, running your hand up and down itâs back, the other hand in its hair, âIâm sorry for not coming down here sooner,â you whisper, tears welling in your eyes, âI thought⊠you didnât want to see me anymore.â
The confession doesnât come easy, there is also no real reason you're confessing at all. The injury and stress are making you woozy.
At your words, pennywise stiffens, purrs quieting. You hear it make noises that sound like words, but they're so weak and unintelligible, you canât make them out properly aside from what you think mightâve been a âneverâ and a âmine,â but that might just be wishful thinking.
It moves its hand, reaching to one of your thighs. It presses onto the wounds it caused, you wince.
Then, the pain dulls before leaving entirely. It does the same with your other thigh, then goes limp again, purring returning to full volume.
You stare down at it in disbelief.
Quietly, you start laughing, small tears falling from the corners of your eyes. You must look insane, even compared to what youâre holding.
You squeeze your arms around it, holding it securely, kissing the top of its head over and over again.
A monster, a god, whatever it is. You feel lucky, so fortunate to be able to sit in this dirty hole, hold this thing in your arms, fortunate to miss it, yearn for it, fortunate to be of help and at least for a while, feel certain it will return to you.
So, cable management Do you think it's like hair braiding, do you think it gives AM the full body shudders when Ted untangles his wires which causes an earthquake on the surface, do you think he's disgusted at himself for having such a 'human' reaction
cw: sub!orochimaru, dom reader, psychological domination, degradation, possession, erotic manipulation, dark tone.
a/n: thanks to @vampcubus for the idea <33 try my best! and it was fun to write about them.
orochimaru is the kind of sub who never gives himself all at once; he slides into surrender like a serpent through your fingers slow, intentional, tasting every second of your dominance as if he were studying it. his body shows hunger before his voice ever will: that pale, sensitive skin tightens under your touch, his breath pauses for a heartbeat, and every inch of him feels like itâs waiting for someone brave enough to handle him without fear. his submission is fluid, reptilian, but when he senses real authority over him, his breath stutters, his pupils widen, and his dangerous smile softens just enough to expose something darker, deeper, and undeniably submissive.
he looks at you like a confession he never meant to let slip. those golden, slit-pupiled eyes strip you open while pretending to stay calm. yet the moment you touch him where he doesnât expect along the jaw, down the neck, over the cold silk of his torso his breath catches. his body leans subtly into your hand, the smallest, quietest betrayal of desire blooming beneath the surface.
orochimaru yields in a silently devoted way. he doesnât beg; he shows you. he tilts his head, bares the length of his throat, spreads his stance without being told. you see his surrender in the tremble of his shoulders, the slow exhale he tries to hide, the way his lips part like heâs trying not to gasp. his body speaks for him soft, sinful, hungry.
beneath his constant control is a craving to be overpowered, not violently but deliberately. when you push him back against a wall, step into his space, or make him retreat with your body alone, something in him bends instantly. he stops evaluating you. he stops playing. he gives in. not completely just enough to make you addicted to the feeling of breaking him.
if you grab his chin firmly and make him look at you, the mask fractures. he wets his lips, his breathing grows uneven, and his pride drips away drop by drop. orochimaru loves being guided by the fingertips, arranged like something precious and dangerous that belongs under your hands.
his reactions are serpentine. touch his torso slowly and he arches into it; grip his hips and he releases a low, poisonous sound, half-moan, half-laugh, filled with wanting. drag your nails across his back and his entire spine shivers as if venom is spreading under his skin.
orochimaru gets off on being claimed with confidence. if you step into him without hesitation, pin his wrists, silence him with a finger against his lips, or press your body to his until he must yield, he melts. he wants someone who doesnât flinch from his intensity, someone who dominates because they can, not because theyâre trying to prove something.
his kink for degradation runs deep. he doesnât want insults he wants wounds to his pride said with velvet poison:
âwerenât you supposed to be so powerful? look at yourself now.â
âyou like being controlled a lot more than you pretend.â
âyouâre not as cold as you think.â
these lines make his breath hitch, his lips part, his tongue slip out just a bit, like pleasure is leaking through his teeth. he adores being stripped of his persona piece by piece.
he responds intensely to focused physical dominance. squeeze his hips hard, mark his thighs with your nails, bite into his neck, force his jaw still, spread his legs with your hands he will moan in that low, sinful tone that sounds like heâs enjoying something forbidden. orochimaru doesnât scream; he moans like heâs savoring corruption.
his kinks are decadent and specific: humiliation, possession, breath play, tongue use, psychological submission, restraint, and being positioned exactly where you want him. he has a fascination with having his wrists pinned above his head and feeling your body weight keep him still. the less control he has, the harder he gets.
he despises pointless cruelty. he doesnât want pain for painâs sake; he wants intention. he wants every touch to mean something, every order to cut through him, every bite to be a brand. what he truly hates is being ignored, dismissed, or treated as uninteresting. ignore him for one minute and heâll crawl back to you with a wicked smile, as if daring you to punish him.
his body reacts almost animalistically when turned on. his movements become fluid, sinuous; his back arches beautifully under your hands; his hips search for friction; his thighs tremble when you touch near the crease of his pelvis. his breathing goes from slow to ragged to almost trembling when heâs close to breaking.
emotionally, orochimaru sinks into a quiet, obsessive surrender. he doesnât fall for tenderness, he falls for power. if he dominates you, he wants your submission; if you dominate him, he wants your control. he watches you like youâre an exquisite experiment, but when you finally make him moan, the experiment collapses: what remains is a starving man aching for someone who sees through him and still chooses to break him. his vulnerability shows in his eyes, arkening, softening, tracking your every movement like prey that wants to be caught.
but what ruins him entirely is possessive tenderness. a hand cupping his face after youâve dominated him. a slow kiss after an order he obeyed. a quiet âgood.â whispered against his ear. thatâs when orochimaruâs entire body loosens, his shoulders drop, his head leans subtly toward you. for a brief moment, the serpent dissolves, and the man beneath becomes fully, devastatingly yours.
Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,
When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, weâve now reached $12,837âa milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.
From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.
đ A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength
As many of you know, Iâve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. Itâs in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.
But through your help, Iâve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.
â21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighborâs House Was Destroyedâ
A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.
â22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruinsâ
This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.
đż What Life Looks Like for Us Now
Despite everything, weâre still here.
Still surviving. Still hoping.
But things have only gotten harder.
The war has returned, more brutal than beforeâand for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.
Your support reminds us that weâre not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That weâre not completely alone in this.
Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us:
Youâre walking this road with us.
And that gives us the strength to keep going.
đ What You Can Do
If youâve already donatedâthank you beyond words.
If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.
Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.
My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Life as I knew it has been completely destroyed. I have lost my home, my
âš Why It All Matters
This isnât just about reaching a fundraising goal. Itâs about surviving war with dignity.
Itâs about believing in tomorrow. Itâs about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.
Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity.
Youâve helped me find my voiceâand I will use it to keep hope alive.
đ From the Heart: A Quiet Apology
Thereâs something I need to sayâsomething thatâs been on my heart for some time.
When I first began sharing our story, I didnât know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.
If that happened, I am truly sorry.
Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fearâfear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.
Iâm learning as I go. Iâve slowed down. Iâm more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.
If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came fromâand I hope you can forgive me.
Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.
Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )
With love and endless gratitude,
Mosab and family â„ïž
