Hello, you may call me Cat. I write - slowly - about the characters I simp for. Hopeless romantic and horny!
English is not my first language. It's Portuguese.
You can find my fanfiction at #parttimesimper is writing.
If you want to see me answering a ask or just babbling about stuff, you can find me at #parttimesimper is yapping.
Otherwise, I'll be at #parttimesimper is simping.
You may not see me for months on end, but you are always welcome to send me a ask - as long as you read this first.
You can buy me a drip coffee with two sugars!
You can also find me on AO3!
And my Masterlist is here!
If you are a minor, get out of here. I will block you.
Do you take requests?
No. As you'll see across my blog mutiple time and, certainly, notice, I write slowly. Very slowly. 6 months to a year slowly. I'm busy most of the time, but my brain produces content like I have all the time in the world. There's a lot drafts and ideas and just mindless thoughts noted to be worked on before I run out of ideas.
I did take requests in a blog I no longer participate in, but it did not go well because, as you can guess, I did take a lot of time working on them. I rather have not that kind of pressure on my shoulders. Read what I write and hope it's a character you like too.
You can send me your simping thoughts to my inbox, tho.
Do you know when your next fanfic will be published?
No!
Can we know what character will it be about?
¯_(ツ)_/¯
Is it smut?
Most likely!
Will that oneshot you published have a second part?
Probably not!
Will you ever do a multichapter fanfic?
Yes? I don't know.
Do you have a fandom list?
I do not, I just write about the characters I simp for.
Do you do taglists?
No.
Where do you find the banners?
I made them. ^^ The dividers always have credits, tho.
The fanfic you published 9 years ago has a typo.
Sigh, I know.
Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated!
Don't repost my work, you can translate it and give it proper credit if you do, though. <3
Of course darlin! Let's torment these boys more with our goods! I'm going to toss Doctor in here too so he can get some well deserved tit time!
Tags: Implied NSFW with a NSFW blurb, breast having reader, reader who lives for the thrill of a good tease, reader is actually just me, Blue Balled Ticket Taker
One extra shot of teasing coming up!
The Freak Circus is an 18+ Visual novel Themes include but are not limited to: dark elements, strong language, sensitive graphic content. My works can depict similar themes and are not intended for minors.
Jester
Absolutely refuses to fall for your charms, he knows humans can and will use their attractive features to their advantage, you're not any different. He eventually lowers his guard once he realizes that you're not using your cleavage as a tool for anything malicious. He'll sneak a few glances at your breasts when you're oblivious, making mental notes.
Some of these mental notes of his catch you by surprise, however. "We are not leaving with you wearing... that." He huffs out in annoyance, gesturing to your chest, before you could protest the low-cut shirt you picked out, he sighs. "I absolutely detest that bra you have on right now. Here, pet, wear this one instead, it'll provide more support for your back. I really don't wish to hear your complaining later tonight."
If you were prideful of your chest before, your ego will absolutely become iconic when you allow him to curate your wardrobe. It's no surprise Jester knows a thing or two about fashion, but he knows exactly what types of bras compliment your figure best without sacrificing comfort. Replacing your underwire push-ups with new lace minimizers that just happen to be in his signature purple, pure coincidence of course.
He views your appearance as an extension of himself, his pet should be something beautiful to showcase to onlookers. Gawking passerby's just stroking his prideful ego, the thought of them lusting after what is rightfully and fully his brings a level of thrill to a simple outing. Anyone foolish enough to try their luck with you however are met with a swift interjection from your silver tongued stylist, often ending in a gifted pink ticket. The circus is always short staffed and in need of hard dedicated workers.
Hands tenderly hooked your bra band together, claws ghosted over your fragile skin before he released your hair causing you to shiver slightly. Jester stepped away from you and made his way to his vanity chair, sitting down elegantly.
"How does it feel, my pet? Not too tight?" His eyes like amethyst celestial bodies burning holes into your very being, but not giving you the satisfaction of glancing at your half dressed body.
The bra he picked out for you was breathtaking, a deep purple with intricate lace, mesh for breathability and some elastic bands to frame the swell of your cleavage. The shoulder straps were comfortable to boot too, it hardly even felt like you were wearing a bra at all.
"It's beautiful, I don't think I've had a bra more comfortable than this in my life," you admire the patterns and how supportive the bra holds your tits, even going as far to give a little test jiggle.
Jester leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees uncharacteristically donning a more dominate pose. His grin subtly changing to something more predatory.
"Come here," he commands as he extends his hand out towards you.
You subconsciously walk over to your siren of a lover, his hand grazes your shoulder before trailing down your arm, the sensation causing your nipples to pebble.
"My pet should wear only the best," his hand floats from your arm to the curve of the side of your breast, fingertips tracing the lace embroidery. "I will gladly spoil you," his hand suddenly gropes your entire breast, claws threatening your sensitive nipple, the thin mesh doing nothing to dull the sensation of his fondling.
"If you can prove to me that you deserve being spoiled, that is?"
Ticket Taker
The first few times you wore revealing shirts around Ticket Taker he had to find nearby objects suddenly interesting. He's not new to seeing cleavage with some of the visitors, especially around the hotter climates, but it's different when it comes to you. It's not respectful to look at something so... intimate. Once he gets used to you wearing revealing shirts he gets more comfortable holding a conversation with you, opting to just take the time to appreciate your face, although he'd be lying to himself if he didn't sneak a few peeks when you weren't paying attention. Shaming himself on lonely nights by seeing your assets through various reflections.
Some late nights with him often end with him giving you his coat, not only to shield you from the night's chill but also to cover yourself from his waning self control. A few of the shirts you wear around him have an exhausting habit of slipping even lower, occasionally causing him to muster enough courage to pull the sinister fabric back up, which only fuels your teasing nature.
It pains him to admit however, that when you assist him in the circus sales tend to increase. At first he assumed it was because of your welcoming demeanor or your efficiency in getting visitors through the gates, but he eventually figures out it's because of your charms. He often finds himself torn between refusing to allow your help and letting you dress more provocatively to boost sales. Either way, he keeps a close eye on you regardless, he knows how he struggles with his composure but also how humans have a bad habit of not retaining their own.
If you get a particularly rowdy visitor however, his hand is immediately on your waist, in an uncommonly assertive display of possessiveness. He hijacks your sale and either persuades them to visit another time or offer employment, his hand occasionally tightening around you. Once the visitor takes the hint or the ticket, he guides you to somewhere away from prying eyes.
"Are you trying to test my patience, dear one?" He borderline growls through his question, his hand rubbing what is probably furrowed brows under his mask.
"I'm not sure what you mean," you feign innocence as you adjust your shirt, causing your bra to peek out from the seam of your v-neck dress.
He finally caves, his impulse breaking free like a dam releasing any semblance of his gentlemanly persona. His eyes land at your cleavage, pupils dilating as they attempt to drink in the vision before him.
Hook, line, and sinker. You have him right where you want him.
"I just thought I'd wear this nice dress and help you with your work so we could maybe do something tonight. Just the two of us," you fuss over your hair moving your arms in a way that compresses your tits more, the dress threatening to reveal more of your bra.
"What,"he clears his throat before correcting his gaze, "what did you have in mind for tonight?" He mirrors you by adjusting his collar which suddenly felt snug against his neck.
You smirk before walking up to him. "I honestly haven't given it too much thought just yet, I do have a few ideas though," you adjust the lapels of his coat, once again pressing your breasts together, the scent of your perfume wafting up teasing him as bad as your figure.
The thrumming in his chest was nearly audible, he was in an internal battle between finishing his business at the circus or reverting back to a primal lustful beast. Any moment now could be detrimental to either side, the tension was palpable enough to nearly see.
You smirked and gave a teasing giggle before trailing your hands down his suit, feeling his body tense as he weighed all the pros and cons of entertaining a break in his shift. Your hands finally found it as you delicately grabbed the shaft. A sudden inhale snuck your perfume into his lungs.
You snatched his pen from his suit pocket and stepped away, clicking it a few times before nestling it between your breasts, clipping it to the thin fabric of your dress.
"Maybe after our shift I'll come up with something for tonight?" You give him a wink before turning on your heels back out to the entrance of the circus.
A few moments of silence pass before he puts his hands over his face and exhales all of his sinful thoughts.
"I am far too old for this," he groans before regaining his composure.
Doctor
The unbothered King. No amount of flaunting shakes his resolve, much to your frustration. Little to do you know that his mask allows him a free pass to look at whatever part of your body that he wants to study, free of your notice. He does enjoy it when you wear low cut shirts and overly revealing clothes, not entirely for lustful reasons. Your body is a marvelous biological machine and he loves to see all the bells and whistles working so freely. The jiggle of your breasts, the flexing of your muscles in your legs, the straining of your biceps when you carry something moderately heavy, all of it is enchanting to him.
If you ask him one day if he enjoys your revealing clothing he'll give you the most deadpan, "yes," with little to no follow up. However, if you take this the wrong way and start to cover up or dress out of the norm prepare for a triage of questioning. Not once does he connect the dots to his seemingly lack of interest and instead asks health related questions as to your sudden change in attire. Once you cave and explain to him the situation he can't help but laugh it off. "If my sweetie wants to know my internal thought process, then so be it." This leads to him casually interrupting you mid conversation with the oddest remarks. "Your sternum is very proportional to your ribcage." "I wish to study the way your quadriceps flex later tonight." "Your racing heartbeat causes your breasts to recoil slightly, mesmerizing." Repetition refines results, right?
He's not oblivious to how other people stare at you like a slab of meat, and honestly it's one of the few things that gets under his thick skin. He makes sure to always be in close enough proximity to dissuade anyone from attempting to interact with you for that reason. He's not the jealous type but absolutely is the overly protective type. One of his biggest assets is being able to read a person's body language, meaning the second he senses someone gathering up enough courage to approach you causes him to crush their hopes, and sometimes their bones if they test his clear boundaries.
The one thing that drives him crazy is you in your most natural of states, whether that be fresh out of the shower, just waking up, or even just coming home after a long day and flopping onto the furniture. It's enough to put his racing thoughts on a screeching standstill, his own heartrate spiking, his hands turning clammy, the works. Sure you put effort in flaunting yourself in general and displaying your prized jewels, but nothing gets him more worked up than when you're in a "I literally look like shit" state.
You wrapped the towel around your body after lazily drying your hair off. You always forget to lay out your clothes before deciding to shower much to your annoyance. Stepping out of the bathroom you spot Doctor sitting on your bed, seemingly documenting every detail of your room in a notebook.
"I don't think I've seen you doing anything other than your work or taking notes," you lightly heckle him before making your way to your dresser, steam following you like an ethereal being in folktales.
For once Doctor loses his train of thought completely, completely enamored by the visage in front of him. His eyes scanning every inch of your skin and all of the muscles and tendons under it. You were digging through your dresser trying to find the comfiest nightwear and he was digging through his archive of anatomical diagrams replacing the generic figures with the sight before him.
Your wet hair catches his attention, a droplet traveling along the keratin fibers before free falling onto the supple skin of your chest, momentarily pausing along with his breath.
A shift of your arm causes it to fall in between the crevice of your cleavage before vanishing into its depths.
A sudden thud shakes him from his trance, he managed to drop his notebook.
"Everything alright?" You place your clothes on top of your dresser before making your way over to your stoically flustered plague doctor. "Here, I've got it," you bend down to grab the spine of the book, trying to save his spot in the pages, your other hand reinforcing the tuck of your towel.
His eyes struggle to focus on anything longer than half of a second, the way your legs muscle groups bend, no, the way you knelt down, the way your spine bent to support the movement of you assisting him, the way your, everything..
"Sweetie..." he sighs out almost like a prayer.
You lose the momentum and slump back down on your knees at the sudden change of his usual tone. "Y-yes?"
"I need to study you," he reaches out to the towel, using surgical precision to untuck the fold in record time, your hands instinctually bracing it before it fully fell, only to be met with his other hand firmly moving them away.
Knowing that fictional man’s hands are just such a good size for soooo many things. Gripping my waist, holding my hands, wrapping nice and snug around my throat like a necklace, curling those long fingers juuuust right inside me, letting me suck on them after…. Possibilities :)
