amalthea9

[amalthea9]

Beautiful 💜

Found in a forgotten temple beneath ruins, a testament to a martyr who once blessed the lands by walking upon the ground, golden his hands who brought life to the desert, who sainted the serpents so they may never reap another soul, eternal love be bestowed upon you forgotten sweethearts, oh you weary souls, fear not for you shall be heard.

[amalthea9]

I am proud and happy to continue to contribute to this amazing wall! 🥰🥰🥰💜💜💜

Nothing but love and respect to the wonderful @amalthea9 my wonderful child who keeps blessing me with artwork to make this wall more beautiful!!!

(some of it is my artwork and my boyfriends)

Also feast your eyes on the clusterfuck of what's going on here Lee? Bear in mind this is next to a huge Welsh flag 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

The empty space might become part of a conclave art wall (the wall next to it is my Hornblower/ Schiller/ The Terror wall) or I'll continue with my Mithras theme.

Or a full on art my loved ones and me made wall

[amalthea9]

Omg I love this 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Going through my Ibispaint for back up and delete and I just found this unfinished Archie Kennedy artwork (from like 3 years ago) and I can't remember why Pellew was in the corner probably as a uniform reference but he just looks like he's feeling a disturbance in the force cause Archie is relaxing 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[amalthea9]

Damn, that was quite the ride 💀

Ya'll know I'm living above a pub right?

Genuine conversation happening outside my window rn

Guy one: why do you pray bro ?

Guy two: *no answer*

Guy one: you know I'm gay

Guy two : bro

Guy one: I'm only telling you bro cause you smoke weed and you'll forget in the morning

Guy two: no I won't, we should go home

Guy one: if I die will you put a rose on my grave, that would be really important to me, like get a nice rose for me

Guy two : shhh we should be quiet people are trying to sleep

Guy one: no really please think about that

Random guy from inside the pub closing the window: TZZZZUEEEESSSSSSSS

Guy one : wallah think about it you're my life

Guy three : speak [language they are both speaking rn] bro

Guy two: did you know [guy one] is gay?

Guy three : *kissing noises* bye

You know that murmur when two guy's are very very close together and talking? Not sure what they are saying. More kissing noises. Probably guy one and guy two? Giggling. Well that escalated quickly

[amalthea9]

Ooo I loved the premise of this! What a great idea and as always, wonderfully written! Left me very : 🥵🥵🥵🫠🫠🫠

Amazing work as always! 🥰😊

HI!!! from the prompt list, i feel like #12 would go well with zach, but sex mushroom stuff? sex mist? sex something freaky in the woods that maybe infects him and reader who’s travelling through the forest?

Oooo I love this concept! Thank you so much for requesting, I hope you like this! 😁☺️💛

Masterlist

Warnings: smut, nsfw, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, semi public sex, sex under the influence (of fog), slightly dubious consent i guess?

Tag list: @pleione-sketch , @fandomsmeantheworldtome ☺️💛

Like this? Feel free to send me a request! 😁

At first, there had been fog.

Thick, viscous, impenetrable fog. The kind you can't see through, that seeps into your clothes and mind unrelentingly until it's too late to realise it's gotten to you. At the time I first noticed it, I hadn't paid any real attention to it, chalking it up to the damp weather in the forest. Now, with a cock sloppily rutting into my ruined cunt, I realise I should've been a little more cautious with my protective gear.

Zach crushes me against the tree behind me, his thighs tensing rhythmically underneath mine as he fucks himself into me, raggedly thrusting through our combined oversensitivity. The wild man had barely managed to mutter his name as he'd pushed me up against the trunk, grinding brutally against me until we both succumbed to the maddening, carnal lust running rampant through us. I've barely known him a day, the man simply my guide through the forest, anonymous though he was, and yet now I can't think of anything other than the man pinning me to the tree.

I'm sat awkwardly in his lap, back pressed into the tree, his knees spread wide with mine hooked over them to hold me open, my cunt exposed and being ravaged. We started upright, gradually sinking to the grassy floor after the second orgasms, overcome with mind-numbing pleasure. His face is buried in the crook of my neck, panting roughly against me as he bites and licks my skin. His hands hold my bare arse tightly, helping me move in time with his uncontrolled thrusting, shoving my cunt down over and over again onto his sensitive but rock-hard length. I grip uselessly at his scarred chest, barely registering the shifting of his muscles under his marred skin.

A syrupy mix of cum and arousal spills out of me and onto him, creating obscenely wet sounds with every desperate thrust into my fluttering hole. Physically, I'm not sure how much more I can take, my body burning with sensitivity, but something deep inside me craves the messy, animalistic way he's fucking as many loads as possible into me. I rock with every primal stroke into me, my back scraping a little on the rough bark of the tree, but I don't register it properly, only thinking of the in want that wars within me.

Zach seems to be in the same boat, whimpers cutting the edge of every grunt he lets out, guttural growls escaping him as he bites at me. His fingers dig bruisingly into my skin, the barriers between pain and pleasure blurring as he bites me hard enough to break the skin. It just makes me moan, my cunt clenching around him ravenously, swallowing him deeper and deeper. I can feel another knot building within me, my third orgasm nearing faster than the last even without any stimulation to my throbbing clit. Every ounce of my being craves the punishing pace of the man fucking me like he owns me, crying out for him to make me cum.

Expletives tear from his open mouth as he twitches inside me and spills yet another load, the man practically howling as his cock turns sensitive inside me. Ropes of his cum join the mess already drenching ny cunt, my own climax soon joining as I spasm and writhe in his hold, screaming out the pleasured agony. Zach moans weakly as I cum around him, collapsing forwards to pin me against the tree with his body weight.

It's comforting for a long while, his strong body warm and somehow soft against me despite all his musculature from living out in the wild. His arms wrap around me, gathering me closer to his chest despite the uncomfortable shift of his cock inside me. He huffs against my neck, almost affectionately nuzzling the skin as he presses soft kisses to my pulse and the bites he's left there. It feels like a silent apology.

Then his hips shift.

He doesn't pull back, but he doesn't need to. My own body is reacting again, my cunt clenching around him, my blood boiling with insatiable want. It's agonising this time as he rolls his hips into me, his cock driving up right against my cervix. Cries, mine or his I'm not sure, echo around us, ragged and torn apart by painful pleasure.

'F-fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, can't help it...need more, fuck I need you and your cunt...fuck, sorry,' Zach babbles in my ear, licking along my jaw, 'Hurts but feels so fucking good...'

I can only whine and nod, squeezing my eyes shut. In my head, roiling lust swirls and rises, threatening to overwhelm me further, destroying every coherent thought left in my mind. I clench around his cock, weakly grinding down against him, encouraging him to continue wrecking my body the way he is. His hips snap up, fingers clawing my skin at the sharp wave of pleasure that washes over us.

Around us, the fog envelopes our intertwined bodies, trapping us in its hold. It seems to watch, as if the forest is trying to keep us rutting into each other as we are. Maybe it is.

[amalthea9]

King of the issues

[amalthea9]

Grief is weird. Either I feel nothing, or I feel something quiet, or I feel everything.

With Ozzy Osbourne's passing, I have cried a little, but not wept as it feels too deep, so it is a quiet grief. And it's not because he himself and his music didn't mean anything to me. I just feel like, I wasn't a true fan because I only owned like 2 albums on CD , before they got stolen from my car years ago.

But his music was connected to my failed marriage, and so I distanced myself for some time from his music because of the pain.

But the night of learning of his passing, I listened to the albums I had owned, through YouTube, those many years ago.

And I felt a warmth and love from him, like it was okay to be away for so many years.

Grief is strange. It is quiet this time and I quietly cry listening to his music, wishing he didn't leave. But happy that he lived til 76. I didn't follow his life religiously, but his music just spoke to me.

In this time of his passing, his music encourages me in my depression.

So, Ozzy has always been my friend, even though he never knew I existed.

Maybe that's what being a fan is at it's core. You have a friend that doesn't know you exist, and that okay.

I will miss you dearly, Ozzy Osbourne. Thank you, Sir.

[amalthea9]

Ozzy 🤭🤭🤭

[amalthea9]

Oh my god I LOVE these aaahhhh!! Thank you sm!! 🥹🥰💖 so many of these are how I already imagined my husband to be like heheheh

Hello hello! 🥰 I wasn't sure if requests were open, but in case they are, may I request Realistic Relationship Headcannons for Geoff Tipps? 💖🥹

I LOVE your headcannons for Mr. Jelly, Alan Curtis, and Henry the most, would love to see some for Geoff!💖

Thank you so much! 💜

Heyyy! My requests are open, just going a little slower to add to my bigger projects! To everyone reading this tho, if u want something quicker I’d recommend asking for one of these headcanons bc they take me a lot less time to write 🫶 Hope u enjoyyyy :)

Realistic Relationship Headcanons

Geoff Tipps (The League of Gentlemen) x f!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of smut

- Would wake u up in the middle of the night stumbling about coming back from the pub w a kebab

- Only ever watches army documentaries and dad comedy and doesn’t stfu the whole time 😫

- “I’ve got a new joke for ya” oh boy (pls still laugh tho)

- ALWAYS down for a takeaway u don’t gotta worry about dat

- 90% of ur sex life is u on top (he gets out of breath xx)

- Is that a gun in ur pocket or are u just happy to see me? it’s the gun

- Is 100% down to throw hands for u at any given time

- Has beef w ur ex on principle even tho they’ve never met

- Was SO lonely before u :(

- “Just leave me then” after every minor argument like babe I just asked u to put the toilet seat down 💔

- God FORBID u have male friends bro would lose sleep

- Thinks “what’s for tea?” is an acceptable greeting

- Typa bloke go get kicked out of a family BBQ for getting “too rowdy”

- #1 witness to his rants

- Would acc stop immediately mid-tantrum if u said you’d give him a blowie tho, it’s like saying walkies to a dog

- Snores like a fuckin GRANDAD like actually get a grip

- I feel like he’d try so hard at first then like a month into being wifed up you’d be doing all the cooking and cleaning

- Thinks taking you for a pint and a pack of pork scratchings at the pub round the corner is a date

- Calls u Mrs. Tipps any time u make him food

- Makes u watch the footy w him and says shit like “I could’ve done that in me prime”

- Sit on his face to shut him up tbh, he seems the type to enjoy it

- Ok wait yeah he would SO be a munch like this man is so desperate to please, he would absolutely get off on getting u off

- Proper reckons he’s Tom Selleck cos of the moustache

- Pls reassure him constantly he deffo doesn’t think he’s good enough for u

- Every single one of his joints cracks when he gets up in a morning

- U have to sit thru stories about the TAs all the goddamn time 😔

- Tries to act hard in front of Brian and Mike but the second u baby talk him he melts like a twix on a radiator

- Says he’s off for one pint then 4 hours later he’s on the karaoke giving it “now den mardy bum”

- Deffo gives the best cuddles ever like bro is so soft and squishy

- I just knowwwwww this man is warm 24/7

- Doesn’t know how to take compliments at all so if u called him handsome he’d probs get a boner

- Goes full toddler mode when u go out without him like “who u with?” “how long u gonna be?” “I miss u” ☹️

- Will drive u anywhere at any time!!!! u want a maccies in the middle of the night? the keys are already in his hand babes

- Deffo gets insane road rage tho, yells at middle lane hoggers as if they can hear him

- Would probs try to teach u how to drive but get too angry and end up banning u from the car for a month

- SO whiny, put that in any context u want ;)

- World’s most obvious praise kink

- I just know this mf is forklift certified

- Probs likes his women a bit rough around the edges, like he’d see u absolutely twatted eating cheesy chips and doner meat off the floor at 3 a.m. and think “I want to marry her”

- Ur not allowed to walk past him without him slapping u on the arse it’s against the law actually

- If this man knew how to work a phone he would absolutely send u pics of his knob 24/7 and be like “did u like it xx”

- Begs to push the trolley in the shop then 5 seconds later he’s ramming ur ankles

- Says “babe, look at this” and then shows u a video of someone falling down the stairs and he cries laughing

- Dropping him off at the pub like a mum dropping her kid off at school

- Saves random videos of u doing absolutely nothing and watches them when he misses u (but would never tell u that)

- Sobs if u tell him u need space

- Will be like “I’m a grown man” while sitting and screaming at 14 year olds on Call of Duty

- Deffo banned from the local facebook group for starting arguments in the comments

- Thinks motorboating u is foreplay

- Would 100% propose with a ring from Argos and cry his eyes out while doing it

Also these:

[amalthea9]

[amalthea9]

Good bye, dear friend 💜 you opened a whole new world of music to me, since I was a Christian and wasn't allowed to listen to your music til my mid 20s. Thank you for introducing me to rock, to introducing me to 'the darkness' 🤭💜

Goodnight, sweet Prince of Darkness.

Thank you for everything 💜

Ozzy Osbourne 1948 - 2025

Rest in peace, Prince of Darkness.

📸 Photo taken by Ross Halfin

[amalthea9]

🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

Another amazing fic, my friend! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼🤝

I hope it's not too much to ask for 2. I love how you write for Mr Warren too and do feel he is a little overlooked for these sorts of things. Looking at the prompt list I thought number 8) sex in exchange for a favour. Would be a fitting one for him and would be interested to see where you'd take that. No rush or pressure to do this ofc. Thank you again 🖤❤️

Thank you so much for the Warren request! I've been so desperate to write more for him but I never have the time😭 and thank you for your kind words🥹 i hope you enjoy this!☺️💛

Masterlist

Warnings: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, dirty talking, slight choking, implied virgin reader

Tag list: @pleione-sketch , @justanothercomedynerd ☺️💛

Like this? Feel free to send me a request! 😁

I should have known. The moment the witchfinder's piercing blue gaze had turned conspiratorial, I should have known.

It's been days since I made my proposal and he'd looked at me with such arrogant triumph that my heart had contorted itself into a grotesque manifestation of itself. My body for my sister's life. An attractive deal for a man such as Matthew Warren, celibate though he claims to be. He'd betrayed his true nature in the first instance I'd caught him unashamedly tracing the neckline of my bodice with his gaze alone, a sly smirk on his face as he'd noticed me watching. When we'd struck our deal, I'd thought he'd take me there and then.

But no, only now has he come to me, a shadow in the night, a weight in my bed behind me. His hands tease along my waist, his mouth a mere breath away from the skin on my neck, his chest only inches from my back. Something inside me stirs, awakening some innate need I've not encountered before, desperation running wild within me as I find myself begging internally for his touch. Still, I can't bring myself to admit this to him.

'M-Mr Warren-' I try to speak, only to find his free hand cupped over my mouth.

'We mustn't alert your neighbours now, must we?' He purrs in my ear, that same slow, deceptively threatening tone worming it's way into my head as I shudder beneath him, 'You'll have to do your best to remain quiet.'

I nod in his grip, resolving to keep myself from releasing any noise at all.

My composure does not last. As much as he pretends otherwise, the man has clearly had practice in this art, and is fully aware of his talent. It's written across his face as he opens me on his fingers, etched into his indulgent touch as his hands roam and grope over my body, and laced in the confidence with which he buries himself within me. Something switches inside me as he does, and he can see it on my countenance, his hold on my hips becoming possessive.

He claims me from the inside out, fucking into my soaked cunt deeply, lavishly, relishing every glide of his cock into my body. Each stroke draws ragged pants from my parted lips, whimpers catching the end of each as I clench around him and writhe under his touch. It's like nothing I've ever felt, the pleasure so intense it blurrs the edges of my vision, my mind a tangle of half-formed thoughts and desire. His eyes bore into me, watching as my bare body is defiled by him, the rich blue of his irises steadily darkening as he admires the myriad of marks he has left in his wake along my breasts and stomach. One of his hands moves to skim a finger over those circling my nipple, goosebumps rising along my flesh under his touch. Warren brushes a nail over the sensitive bud itself, his lips pulling into a smirk as I keen beneath him, my back arching up towards him.

The witchfinder's pace quickens, allowing his cock to plunder my cunt more thoroughly. He slides deeper, harder into me, his balls pressing up against my rear with each indulgent thrust. One particular stroke has him knocking directly against a spot inside me that has my mind reeling, a flurry of embers breaking out over my skin as he continues to aim for it, wrenching cries of need from me before I have the common sense to quieten myself. His hand presses over my body, slipping up until his palm is wrapped around my neck. My eyes go wide even as my cunt clenches; his warm grip is firm, authoritative, sending a delicious mix of lust and fear racing through me. Naturally, he can read my conflicted desperation as easily as he might read a book.

'I do believe I told you to stay quiet, did I not?' He waits for my answering nod, his smile slow and calculating as he stares down at me.

'Y-yes, Mr Warren,' I reply softly, fighting back a mewl as he tightens his hold on me.

'Do not speak unless I say,' He growls, snapping his hips harder against me, 'You belong to me, now. Your cunt, your body, your innocence are all mine. And next time, I will have you screaming for more.'

He punctuates his point by leaning down to bite at my collarbone, adding to his collection of claiming marks. An almost imperceptible whimper escapes me as I realise he is right: by rights, my body is his now. It should concern me that I do not find any issue with this.

'For now, though, you must do as I say and silence those pretty little sounds you make. As much as they are music to my ears, I would rather not find you being accused of sorcery because you have been caught moaning out for a man's cock before marriage.' There's an edge to his voice this time, as if trying to hide a softer note.

I am not given time to dwell on it as he returns to a more upright position, taking hold of my thighs. I barely have time to react before he is fucking into me harder and faster than before, his cock throbbing inside me.

It becomes near impossible to remain quiet.

[amalthea9]

oh, Captain, my Captian 🫠🫠🥰🥰😍😍😍 I love him sm 😭😭😭

Anson Mount in STAR TREK: STRANGE NEW WORLDS 3x02 "Wedding Bell Blues"

[amalthea9]

[amalthea9]

Omg these are amazing aaahhh Mr. Jelly my beloved clown bf 😭🥹💖💖💖💖

Realistic Relationship Headcanons

Mr. Jelly (Psychoville) x f!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of smut

- Emotional intelligence of a shoe

- Probs says something along the lines of “fuck sake, what now?” when ur upset

- Begs for anal as a treat when he’s “been good” (done the hoovering) or it’s his birthday

- Thinks he deserves a blowie every time he takes the bins out

- Uses his prosthetic attachments on u when u fuck

- Refuses to watch a film w u unless it’s a horror cos he thinks he’s hard

- Lowkey pretends u piss him off but we all know he’s so soft for u

- Canonically loud in bed 🤭

- Will steal flowers off a fresh grave for u instead of buying them <3

- Smokers cough 24/7 and absolutely wakes u up in the middle of the night with it

- Snores like a fucking LAWNMOWER

- Maybe don’t introduce this one to ur parents

- Spends 50% of his time staring at ur tits and the other 50% trying to grab them

- Gives u free lifts everywhere yay :)

- Exclusively listens to divorced dad rock u can’t tell me otherwise

- When he realises u genuinely dgaf about his missing hand and love him anyway he’s like ??????

- U immediately become Claudia Wren’s adopted daughter

- He would SO try (and fail) to impress u w shitty magic tricks

- Groping u at all times is his love language

- You’ve probably consumed a concerning amount of face paint since getting w him

- U would absolutely have to do all the cooking and cleaning 😔

- If u agreed to day drink w him he’d think it was the most romantic thing ever

- Only ever watches shows on UK TV Gold or Dave

- Would probs be mentally preparing for u to leave him at any given time

- Will give u his last cig :,)

- Typa bloke to pop a kids football if it gets knocked over the fence instead of giving it back

- U help him w his makeup awwww

- Asks for nudes constantly like u could be at a funeral and he’d be like “show us yer tits xx”

- Takes pics of u sleeping not in a creepy way but in like a “u look like a twat and I’m gonna take the piss when u wake up” way

- Oh my god this cunt would absolutely be the type of bf to take an atrocious pic of u and refuse to delete it and be like no it’s my fav pic of u 😘

- Falls asleep so fast after a shag that it’s lowkey concerning bro is just out like a light

- Flat pillows and navy bed sheets typa guy

- Will sometimes just stroke ur cheek and stare at u w the softest look on his face ever but god forbid u say anything he’s immediately pulling away and calling u a knob

- Starts arguments over the dumbest shit and then acts innocent when u react

- Clings to u in his sleep like an absolute FREAKKKKK like it could be 35 degrees and he’s still spooning u

- I js know this man has like one takeaway with a 2 star hygiene rating that he’s been loyal to since the 90s and refuses to order from anywhere else

- Loves to lay on ur boobies

- Half his responses to u are deffo just grunts and mumbles

- 100% has a dodgy firestick

- PLS give this man sm praise and reassurance he needs it like he needs mf oxygen

- He is not perfect but he tries so hard !!!

Also these:

[amalthea9]

Thank you for the tag @haras24 ! 💜 I love the necklace you chose!🍄

Here's my picrew (link below)! and the last song I listened to!💜

Link to the song💜 Ghost is a favorite band of mine. 💜

Thanks for tagging me, @ktsphere! I love the shirt you chose! Here's mine 😊

This picrew + the last song you listened to

I went back to London to see Phantom of the Opera last week and my obsession has been re-ignited - I love this musical just as much as 10 year-old me did :)

I'm going to tag (only if you want to, no pressure at all!): @gavetheflamingswordaway @amalthea9 @xnumb-little-bugx and anybody else who fancies it!

[amalthea9]

Jesus H Christ this was amazing 🫠🫠🫠

Could you write some Mr Jelly smut please 🫣💕

He’s in my brain!

Idk what scenario! You pick! Just, ah!

Omg you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to write for Mr. Jelly I need that man diabolically 🤭 Enjoyyy ;p

Behind Closed Doors

Mr. Jelly (Psychoville) x f!Reader

AO3 link here

Summary: You get locked in a storage closet with Mr. Jelly after a gig - and neither of you are mad about it.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, swearing

The party is winding down - thank Christ. Streamers hang like corpses from the ceiling tiles. Half the kids have gone home with sugar headaches and a newfound phobia of clowns. The other half are busy fighting with balloon swords.

Mr. Jelly is already packing up, eager to leave. He stalks toward you, duffel in hand. “Tell me you didn’t leave your bloody bag in the storage room.”

“I didn’t leave it,” you say, eyes narrowing. “Someone shoved it back there after I set it down. It’s got my makeup and my house keys in it.”

He grunts, already trudging off down the corridor. “Well, come on then. We’re not paid by the hour.”

He grumbles as you follow him down the back corridor, into the guts of the community centre. It’s always cold back here - broken radiators, buzzing overhead lights, scratchy carpets. You swiftly reach the tarnished metal door. Faint letters read, ‘STORAGE - DO NOT BLOCK.’

“I’ll just quickly grab it,” you offer, already pulling the door open. “You wait there, I’ll-“

He’a already pushing past you with a grunt. You roll your eyes but follow him in. A dim, white light flickers overhead. The small room smells like dust and chemicals - and has all the ambience of a neglected morgue.

He sets his duffel down - eyes shifting across cluttered shelves to look for your bag. You turn to pull the door shut behind you - instinct, really. There’s a click. It resounds with finality. You freeze, immediately trying the handle.

“Shit.”

He turns to you. “What?”

“It just locked.”

Jelly stands straight, blinking at you under his smudged greasepaint. He steps forward, jiggles the handle, then kicks the bottom of the door for good measure.

“Well isn’t that just bloody perfect. You absolute tit.”

He gives you a look - the one he usually reserves for heckling children and their parents. His makeup has partially melted off from the afternoon’s party - glimpses of humanity emerging through fragments. His prosthetic hand clicks faintly as he adjusts it, sighing.

He drops onto the floor with a grunt and a muttered, “bollocks,” delving in his gaudy trousers for a cigarette. He lights it with a battered Clipper that’s seen better days, then pulls his wig off, scratching at the messy brown locks underneath.

“You’re not meant to smoke in here,” you say, weakly.

“You’re not meant to lock people in pissin’ cupboards, but here we are.”

You sit opposite him - carefully - not too close. The floor is cold against your skin. Minutes pass. The silence thickens. You can feel his eyes raking your body - the gaze of a man who knows how to look with intention. Slow. Unapologetic. You shift slightly, feeling the heat rise up your neck.

His voice cuts through the air, low and hoarse. “You wore that skirt on purpose.”

You blink. “What?”

“Don’t play daft.” A lazy exhale of smoke and an eye roll. “You bent over the bloody table earlier and half the party saw your knickers. Not that I’m complainin’.”

You should snap back. Tell him to shut up. Instead, you catch your bottom lip between your teeth - a small, involuntary thing. You did wear the skirt on purpose. And the lipstick shade you know he notices even when he pretends not to.

He looks you over now with deliberate slowness, one leg stretched out, the other bent. Prosthetic hand resting on his knee like a bastardised sceptre. That lazy, unreadable scowl of his softens just enough to show hunger underneath. The kind that doesn’t need words.

“Stop staring at me,” you say, quiet.

“You like it.”

Maybe you do. Maybe being locked in a room with a grumpy, one-handed clown is exactly your idea of a perfect Wednesday.

Your legs bend, falling open just slightly. Just enough to trouble him. To drive him insane. To make his trousers tighten. Just enough for him to see the little wet spot of arousal appearing in your panties. You can’t help it - being trapped alone in a tiny room with him. Vulnerable. He could do anything to you and you know it. He knows it.

His eyes drag down, slow, landing at your clothed core. And they stay. Not subtle - not polite. Just blatant. Hungry. Like he's weighing up the decision to speak or do something. His cigarette burns down between his fingers, forgotten. He stubs it out lazily on the floor before speaking.

"You're not shy," he mutters, low. Not a question - more like an accusation. "Not even pretending, are you?"

You don't look away. You feel your heart thudding stupidly in your chest, cheeks hot. But you don't close your legs either - despite every nerve-ending burning, every fibre of your being urging you to snap them shut.

“W-what?” you breathe, trying and failing to gain composure.

His eyes flick back up to yours, and they're darker now. He shifts on the floor - legs stretched, shoulder rolled lazily against the shelving unit - but there's tension under the slouch. A tightness in his jaw. Like it's taking physical effort not to move toward you.

“Bloody knew you were trouble the second I met you," he says, voice broken with frustration. "Too pretty. Definitely too fuckin’ gobby."

You raise a brow. "And yet I still work with you."

"Yeah. Still sat there in that little fuckin’ skirt, lettin' me look."

Your breath hitches, just a little. He clocks it - grins - but it's sleazy and wicked. The kind that doesn't ask for permission because he already knows the answer.

He watches you like he's trying to memorise the shape of your arousal against the fabric of your panties - lips parted, tongue just touching his teeth. You shift again. It's obvious now - undeniable. The soft cotton of your underwear a little darker in the centre, sticking slightly where it's damp. His gaze doesn't move. It’s taking everything in him not to palm himself at the sight of you, dripping with arousal, legs open in front of him.

Then, rough as sandpaper, “I can help you with that."

Your mouth goes dry. "With what?"

He tilts his head. "Don’t act thick. You think I'm not gonna notice when you're soaking through your knickers like a broken tap?"

You should be offended. Or flustered. Maybe both. But all you feel is heat. Like your skin's been ignited from the inside.

"You offering, then?" you ask, voice quieter now. Breathier.

His prosthetic creaks softly as he leans forward, resting his weight on it. He's closer now. Not touching. Not even reaching. Just looking at you in that infuriating way - like he's already had you in every possible way in his mind - and is just deciding how to do it again.

"I'm sayin’,” he murmurs, "if that's what you're after, I can make it worse before I make it better."

You feel the pull low in your stomach. The ache. Your thighs twitch slightly and his eyes catch it - and fuck, he likes that. You can see it all over his face.

"Show me then," you say, mouth dry, heart thudding.

He lets out a low sound - part laugh, part groan - and finally shifts, dragging himself closer across the floor. He kneels in front of you, and his real hand - warm, and calloused - settles just above your knee.

"You sure?" he mutters, but there's no hesitation in the way his fingers slide higher. “Once I start, I’m not pissin’ about.”

Your breath catches, legs falling open further. His hand slides up your inner thigh, dragging over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He pauses at the fabric of your underwear, thumb pressing just above the damp patch. Not teasing - testing.

"You're soaked," he mutters dryly, almost to himself. "Christ.”

His thumb presses firmer, slow little circles over the fabric now, spreading the wetness beneath the material. You bite back a moan. You can feel the prosthetic braced against your leg - cool, rigid, unmoving - a strange but delicious contrast to the heat of his other hand. He leans in closer. You smell cigarettes, sweat, faint greasepaint. It's somehow intimate, despite the grime. Like you've both pulled the curtain from something heavy - restraint - whatever passed for professionalism between you.

His voice goes lower - filthier. “You ever touched yourself thinking about this?”

You don't answer. You don't need to; your hips are bucking into his hand.

"That a yes?" he mutters.

You manage a nod, barely.

He smirks like sin personified, but with an underlying disbelief. "Fuckin’ hell. Didn’t think you would."

Finally, he tugs at your panties, sliding them past your slick folds and down your legs, pocketing them when they’re off. He lets out a low sound from the back of his throat when he sees you spread open for him.

"Fuckin' hell. Absolutely soaked.”

His fingers stroke through your velvety folds, slow and deliberate. Every drag sending sparks through your thighs. His eyes flick between your face and your cunt like he’s not sure what he wants to watch - eyes dark and sharp, tracking every twitch, every flutter. You clutch the edge of the shelf behind you like it's a lifeline.

He huffs a laugh. “You gone quiet now? That lip of yours disappears the second someone puts a hand on your cunt?"

You let out a shaky breath. "You talk too much."

"Yeah," he says. "But you're still spread out for me, aren't you?"

He pushes a thick finger inside. Then another. The stretch is perfect - filthy and slow, and just enough pressure to have you biting your lip. He curls them, rough pads dragging against the right spot on the way out. Then back in. Repeating his motions again and again. You gasp - too loud, too needy - and he grins, proud and smug.

"There she is," he mutters, thumb brushing your clit in idle circles now, the rhythm building.

"You're a pervert," you whisper.

He leans in until his breath is on your cheek. "And you're fuckin' loving it."

Your free hand grips him by the collar, pulling him into a harsh kiss, mouths hot and heavy against each other. He groans into your mouth at the sudden contact, pushing his tongue past your lips, licking at your mouth like he’s trying to memorise your taste. His fingers inadvertently speed up, the lewd, rhythmic sounds of your wetness filling the tiny storage room.

You're close already - embarrassingly so. Every twist of his fingers has you inching toward the edge, and that thumb - lazy, deliberate - has found the exact spot that makes your thighs twitch. He can tell. Of course he can. You're basically gasping into his mouth, trying to keep still on the cold storage floor while he fingers you like he's got all the time in the world.

"Gonna cum just from this?" he murmurs against your lips, voice thick, hoarse. "God, I think I could. How fuckin’ tragic is that?”

You whimper at his raw honesty. His grin sharpens, fingers pumping deeper now, more pressure, more intention in the way they curl. Your back arches, your hands scrambling uselessly at the floor for leverage that isn't there.

"Tell me you like it,” he breathes.

"I like it," you gasp, hips chasing his hand. "Fuck, I- don't stop."

"I'm not stopping,” he moans into your skin, like this is getting him off just as much as you.

His prosthetic hand braces against your knee, grounding him as he shifts closer, caging you in. You can feel the heat rolling off of him - the hard press of his cock through his trousers, grazing your thigh.

“Not 'til you've made a mess all over my fuckin' hand."

You cry out - completely unstifled - and your cunt clenches around his fingers. That coil low in your abdomen pulls tight, sharp and sudden. And then you're gone. It hits hard - overwhelming, loud, shuddering. Your hips buck into him pathetically, mouth open, voice caught in your throat. He doesn't stop - not for a second. He fucks you through it with those thick, slick fingers, dragging every last twitch and shake out of you until you're breathless and raw.

And in the comedown of your climax, you say it. Soft. Quiet. Barely a whisper - eyes clenched shut.

“Oh, Sean.”

Only then - only then - does he pull back. Slowly. His fingers glisten with your arousal. He looks down at them, then at you. Like you hung the stars in the sky. Like the way you said his name was the last fracture in the dam before it bursts. His icy eyes gaze into yours with something he doesn’t want to name as he looks at you - properly now. Eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling, his red and white greasepaint smudged across your mouth. In this moment - to him - you’ve never looked more beautiful.

Like he can’t possibly hold himself back anymore, he leans in. Slowly. Tentatively this time. He presses his lips to yours with all the reverence you’d give to a holy relic. It’s softer, but the heat hasn’t left. His mouth opens when your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently at the roots. A groan rumbles from deep in his throat. You’ve never seen him this placid before - as if he hadn’t just made you fall apart with one hand.

His kisses move down your jaw to your neck, open and wet against your racing pulse. Then he smirks against your skin, teeth grazing the flesh.

"Been wantin' this,” he rasps. “Too bloody long to admit."

Without warning, his arm reaches around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the hard press of his cock through his trousers, rough and unforgiving. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in as he pushes his hips forward, grinding himself against you.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice ragged. "Actually killin' me."

Your fingers trail lower, moving down his front until your palm rests over his bulge, teasing him through the thick fabric, rubbing in rhythmic motions that send shivers up his spine. He’s trembling, hungry - desperate to feel you properly. He growls, lifts you by your thighs, and you wrap your legs around his waist without thinking. He gently eases you onto your back, hovering above you. The cold floor presses into your skin, but all you can focus on is his weight - his warmth - on top of you.

Then he's sliding his trousers down just enough - full of desperation. Like he can’t possibly bring himself to waste any more time not being inside of you. His cock springs from the confines of his boxers, beads of precum already slicking his bright pink tip. You bite your lip at the sight of him, not failing to notice the dark hair that trails from his abdomen to his pubic bone. Your mouth practically waters at the clown’s newly exposed skin; the most flesh you’d ever seen of him was from the neck up. You never stopped to think that he’s all man under that costume - and he certainly is.

He leans in, impossibly close. "Can I?"

His breath is hot against your lips. You nod, heart pounding. With his prosthetic hand steadying your thighs at his waist, the other guiding his cock, he pushes inside you - slow, deep, and utterly consuming. You both gasp at the stretch, but he doesn't stop - not until he’s buried inside you completely. And when he is - when he feels your cunt greedily swallow every last inch until he’s pressed firmly into your cervix - he groans deep in his throat like he’s finally home. His head falls to the crook of your neck like it belongs there, uncaring about the paint transferring from his skin to yours. He picks his hips up almost immediately, moves with a relentless rhythm, each thrust dragging flames through your body.

His mouth finds yours like he’s magnetised to you - all teeth and tongue - rough and demanding. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on tight like he's the only thing keeping you tethered. His left hand reaches up, fingers curling at the neckline of your shirt, pulling it down along with your bra just enough to expose your chest to him. He pulls away from your mouth to look, hips unintentionally speeding up when he does, making your tits to bounce under him. He stares hungrily - the look in his eyes more animal than man. He’s rocking into you hard, every movement filling the air with rough slaps as his hip bones grind into you harshly.

Your fingers lace through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging at the strands, forcing him to look you in the eye. He stifles a growl, blue eyes blown wide with lust as he stares down at you. He looks completely wrecked like this. Undone in the best way. The eye contact doesn’t help; he practically collapses into you in seconds, rutting like a desperate animal, chasing his release. You whine at the friction of his pubic bone against your clit, locking your thighs around his waist like a vice. His elbows brace at either side of your head now, thrusts becoming ragged. You feel him pulse inside you, purposely clamping down on his cock to make him whimper.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasps. “Gonna. Fuckin’. Cum,” he whines, punctuating every word with a thrust.

You squeal as he bears down on you.

“Say my name again,” he murmurs into your skin.

“Sean,” you whine.

“Louder.”

“Sean!”

You practically scream it - like in that moment you’d completely forgotten where you are. He groans loudly, using every ounce of control he can muster to pull out. He hurriedly moves to hover above you, straddling you now, jerking his cock rapidly before cum spills on your tits in hot spurts. He moans without restraint at the feeling of his orgasm. At the sight of you. Biting your lip. Not breaking eye contact. The look in your eyes as his release paints your bare skin like a claim. Like an artist signing his signature to tell the world, “this is mine.”

You both stay in that moment for a while, panting, skin damp with sweat. You pull your shirt back up, lazily wiping at your chest with the neckline - but not before you swipe at your skin, gathering some of his release on your fingertip. You suck gently on the digit, moaning at the taste of him. Mr. Jelly swallows gravely, trying his best not to get hard again at your display. He tucks himself back into his trousers and collapses on the floor next to you. Most of his makeup has rubbed off now - almost revealing the man beneath the clown. And my god, is he beautiful.

He hesitates. Like he wants to talk - wants to reach out - but can’t. You break the silence for him.

“You okay?” you ask, softly, turning onto your side to face him.

“Was I crap?”

You stifle a laugh. “Sean, you were fucking amazing.”

He turns to look at you now - properly. His expression is unreadable, but the kiss he presses to your lips says everything he can’t. It’s soft. You know each other in new ways now, mouths moving in unison. Hands come up to stroke at each other’s jaws, you both smile into the kiss. You pull away first, resting your forehead against his.

Then, teasingly, “I’m on birth control, by the way. You didn’t have to pull out.”

He gives you a look of pure betrayal. “Fuckin’ hell, you could’ve told me that!”

“You can do it next time!”

“Next time?”

“Yeah,” you pause. “As soon as we manage to get out of this glorified cupboard.”

His eyes widen, and within seconds he’s on his feet, kicking the door like it owes him money. You sit up, giggling. The door doesn’t budge. Jelly grumbles, leaning dramatically against one of the shelves, forehead pressing against the cold metal. It jostles with his force, knocking an item to the floor with a jingling thud. You both freeze. Look down. On the floor sits two keys on a ring, labelled, ‘STORAGE ROOM’ in thick, black letters.

Your eyes flick back to his, and he’s already looking at you. There’s a beat of silence - then he dives for the keys like a man starved, knowing that once you step through that door, nothing between you will ever be the same.