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Azog's Fan Fiction Frightmares: "Dream Catchers"



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Post Sat May 19, 2012 11:10 pm

Azog's Fan Fiction Frightmares: "Dream Catchers"

A/N: This is a quick Francis/Timmy fic I made right before going to bed. I hope you all like it. :)

A 4922 word fanfic about Timmy and Francis fucking is not quick.

I'll admit that it's definitely not one of my best work, but I consider it at least decent.

I don’t know whether or not I should be scared that this author admits it isn’t “one of their best works.”

I was just dying to write a Francis/Timmy fic. It's my favorite Fairly OddParent's pairing and I think it's very, very, very underestimated. I mean... Can't anyone see their major Love Potential? We all know that Francis likes Timmy deep, deep, very deep down inside. :3

Yes, and since he shows that affection by punching Timmy with a fist twice the size of Timmy’s torso, that clearly means Timmy would be able to return said affection.

Francis shuffles down the street on his way back from school, rubbing at his bruised knuckles. They're slightly skinned and they ache, although not as much as Timmy Turner probably aches right now, considering the knuckles went right under the edge of his ribs.

As Pepé Le Pew would’ve put it “Romance is in the air”

Francis hadn't really meant to beat up Timmy again. He's been sort of trying to stop beating people up, and mostly he has, but every time he sees Timmy's stupid little face, with his stupid silly little pink hat and his- well, he just can't help himself. It's like a compulsion. He doesn't even have a good reason for it at this point - beating up Timmy is just what he does.

You can truly tell that what he really wants to do is take Timmy to the movies to see The Hunger Games

Francis looks up only to find with mild surprise that he has been so caught up in his musings that he's missed his street. His feet have carried him onward of their own accord, and it takes him a second to re-orient himself in his surroundings and realize where he's walked off to. Not too far - only two blocks past his house.

Can we just get to the fucking? Reading about Francis walking past himself is terribly droll.

Normally he'd recognize this block immediately, but he was disoriented by a new shop in the center of the block that he's fairly sure he's never seen before. Fairly sure - but the shop looks somehow like it's been there for ages, its faded red sign - "Solution Shop" - sitting comfortably between the two adjacent buildings. Taking a few steps closer to see into its dim windows, Francis notices that underneath the large letters of the shop's name on the sign is the slogan, "Problems Solved."

Let me guess, love potion? Voodoo doll that works all too well? Ancient magical bondage mask?

That's vague enough, for sure. But something called a "solution" shop sounds like it might have some salve or ointment or something, or at least some disinfectant, and his knuckles are really stinging at this point.

You would think after years of destroying things with his hands, they would stop hurting after he punches a kid with the waist of baby kitten.

He shoulders the door open, causing a little bell to tinkle faintly in an announcement of his presence amidst a small rain of dust.

We. Don’t. Care. Just buy the thing that leads to you fucking Timmy and get on with it.

The shop looks old - way old; on the shelves sit all sorts of boxes and bottles with fading, barely-legible labels and murky contents. But despite this, he does actually manage to find a bottle of disinfectant-slash-painkiller in one of the bottom rows on a shelf in the corner. It looks old, but the sell-by date claims that it's still good. It's not a brand he recognizes, either, but then, nothing in here is.

For fuck’s sake. You wrote a 4922 word sex fic about Timmy and Francis, and you’re spending all this irrelevant time on Francis’ stinging hand!

Francis stands up from where he was stopped by the shelf examining the jar and glances around the shop for the checkout. When his eyes land on the cash register, he starts - a tall, spindly white-haired man stands behind it, eyes focused intently on Francis as though he's been staring at him since he came in. Francis hadn't noticed that there was anyone else in the room.

Behold! It’s Mr Creepy Old Guy Who Runs A Weird Shop That Has Exactly What You Need #812!!

Giving himself a small mental shake, Francis takes his disinfectant up to the counter. "Just this, please," he says. The man continues to stare at him with dark, piercing eyes behind his small, square spectacles.

He stares at you until you give in and buy the Magical MacGuffin of Terrible Sex Fics.

"My my," he says after a second, glancing down at Francis's hand around the bottle, "what happened to your poor hand?" His voice is deep and melodic, almost hypnotizing in its smooth rhythm.

By the time Francis leaves this store, Timmy will be a College student so blackout drunk he’ll think Francis is Trixie and willingly have sex with him. PICK UP THE PACE.

Francis shrugs. "I was in a fight. No big deal."

“In fact, I’ve taken so long that the pain from that fight has subsided and I’ve missed three days of school.”

"A fight?" The man stares off into the distance over Francis's shoulder, and his lips curve into a small, not altogether pleasant smile. A small shudder runs up Francis's spine. "Not, perhaps, a fair fight, I think?"

What do you care? You won’t exist anymore because all COGWRAWSTHEWYN’s disappear along with their shops once the item is obtained.

Francis feels himself blushing, and feels hostility rising in him towards the old man. Who is this stranger to judge him? "None of your business," he huffs. "Not like I wanted to fight anyway."

“Yeah, I actually want to fuck the person I beat up, but can only show affection through violence. It’s why my parents abandoned me.”

"Ah, but I have a solution for you!" the man says, abrupt and strangely clipped. He stoops down behind the counter in a swift movement like a diving hawk. Moments later he is back again and handing Francis a small package, clear plastic and sealed with a stapled piece of cardboard at the top, like the sort of small novelty items you might get out of a 25-cent vending machine at a supermarket. Inside the plastic bag is a curling snake of rope. The man drops it on the counter beside the antiseptic.

Behold! The 25-Cent Vending Machine Magical MacGuffin of Terrible Sex Fics!

"This is what you should use," says the man. "Yes. This is the perfect solution for your troubles."

"What is it?" Francis asks. He picks it up, skeptical, and turns it over in his hands.

"It's something... hmm." The man pauses for a moment. "It's something like a dream catcher. If you want to stop fighting, it will help you."

Oh. I get it. It’s called a dream catcher because Timmy is the object of Francis’ dreams. When was that established? Oh right, never.

"Yeah, thanks," says Francis, "but I don't need to buy some stupid little useless trinket. I'll just take the stuff for my knuckles."

And here’s the part where the Creepy Old Guy gives him the item for free, because it’ll “help”

"Oh, no need, no need!" cries the man. He places the "dream catcher" next to Francis's other purchase. "I will include it for free! No charge necessary! It will help you, I promise."

Called it.

Francis shrugs, finding himself more and more creeped out by the guy every second, and quickly pays for the antiseptic, wanting to get out of the shop as soon as possible. The man places the small bottle and the plastic package into a brown paper bag and hands them to Francis, who nods his thanks and darts out of the store as quickly as he can.

“Wait! Are you sure you don’t want a Monkey King puppet? Or a strange book that erases from existance anything written in it? Ooh, wait, what about an oven mitt that bitch slaps everyone who wears green shirts and tan pants? No? Okay...”

When he returns home he drops the bag on his bedside table and takes out the solution for his knuckles. Despite how old it probably is, it works well and the pain numbs immediately. Francis's never used an antiseptic before that didn't make the sting worse, and so he's kind of impressed. He seals the bottle again and leaves it next to the paper bag, forgetting about it until later that night when he's readying himself for bed.


As he pulls on the boxer shorts he sleeps in, Francis's knuckles give a twinge, and he looks over to the night stand for the antiseptic. He reaches for it and spots the paper bag, crumpled and forgotten, next to it. With a feeling of condescension and a hint of self mockery, he pulls out the plastic bag that the man gave him and looks at it once more.

Looking at dream catchers is not fucking Timmy, Francis.

The directions on the back of the cardboard label say to take the rope out of the package and to tie each end of the rope to one of the posts on the headboard of his bed.

...... I have a baaaaaaaaaaaad feeling about this

Francis shrugs and pulls the package open with a pop. The cord did not look particularly long in the package, but he finds that it stretches easily between the bedposts with even a little slack between. He ties the knots around each post securely, as the package indicates, and lets the slack hang down in the middle.

That’s not what most dream catchers look like. So if what I think is gonna happen actually happens, I will learn to hate my ability to predict terrible sex fic plots.

Francis stares at it when he's done, thinking it looks pretty stupid and nothing like a dream catcher, and throws the empty packaging into a trash bin next to his door. He slips out into the hall and goes down to the bathroom to brush his teeth in preparation for bed.

By all means, proceed to write 1500 words about Francis taking a shit.

He returns from these ablutions shortly and re-enters his bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft snick. Then he stops short, staring in disbelief.

Oh no. No no no. Please no.

In the center of his bed, crouched on his knees, is none other than Timmy Turner - completely nude. He is facing the wall at the head of the bed, and his wrists are tied up in the length of rope that spans the bedposts. In his current position, Timmy would be on all fours were it not for his suspended arms; his naked rear end squirms invitingly in the middle of the bed.

I feel a visual reminder is in order. This:
is about to fuck this:
It’s understandable if you all decide to never read these again.

"Francis?" Timmy squeaks, catching sight of the still dumbfounded boy standing by the door. "What's- what's going on? Let me go! Untie me!"

Please untie him Francis. Forced-Timmy-Turner-Bondage sex is not something I want to read about.

Francis steps forward, intending to do so, but suddenly the old hot feeling of anger towards Timmy rises in his chest. Stupid Turner. Stupid, perfect little Timmy, with his perfect little body that Francis isn't allowed to touch, isn't supposed to want to touch, and so he wants to destroy it instead, to feel it break underneath him, if that's all that he can get.

Jesus this got dark fast. Francis is want to feel Timmy break underneath him.

Francis kneels on the back of the bed, but doesn't move to untie the smaller boy. Timmy cranes his neck around, attempting to see Francis behind him. Not fully understanding himself, Francis takes a hand and places it firmly on Timmy's right buttock, squeezing it roughly.

And so the decent into madness truly begins.

Timmy yelps. "Hey, stop!"

Francis doesn't stop. He puts his other hand on the other buttock, squeezing that one as well, and spreads them apart with his palms. The tight, pink pucker of Timmy's anus stares up at him from between the spread cheeks, as though daring or perhaps inviting him.

Francis, no matter how long you stare, Timmy’s asshole won’t blink.

Francis moves his hands more towards the inside of the cheeks, still clutching and spreading them with his fingers, so that he can press his thumbs against that little opening. Timmy murmurs and tries to squirm, but Francis holds him steady. He pushes against the pucker with his right thumb, pressing hard, massaging it.

Okay, since the author hasn’t mentioned if they’re older in this then they are in the show, that means that Timmy is ten, and Francis is like, 15. Let that sink in for a minute. A ten year-old Timmy Turner is about to raped by Francis, the guy who bullies and beats him up constantly.

"No! Not there!" Timmy protests, squirming. "Don't! It'll go in! Stop it!"

Timmy seems oddly aware of what’s about to happen. This only makes things worse.

Francis has never listened to Turner's pleas for mercy before, and he doesn't start now. He continues to press with his thumb, feeling the tight resistance of Turner's anal muscles. The boy seems to be deliberately clenching them as tightly as he can, trying to shut Francis out. 'Well,' Francis thinks, 'can't have that.'

Oh no, heaven forbid the person about to be forcibly sexually penetrated attempt to stop it.

With a harsh shove, he plunges the end of his thumb into Timmy's ass. The friction is heavy on his dry digit, and it doesn't go in far - even Francis can feel the harshness of its scraping. Timmy mewls at the penetration, still murmuring protests.

Where are Cosmo and Wanda? Why are they letting this happen to Timmy?

Francis releases Turner with his other hand, just long enough to stick his thumb in his mouth and give it a perfunctory lathing with his tongue. He returns the hand to Turner's buttock and removes his dry thumb from the boy's anus. He hears Turner give a small sigh of relief and feels the tension in his hips lessen somewhat.

Timmy, don’t sigh in relief, this means he’ll be able to fuck you successfully

This changes abruptly to a squeal and a tight clench of anal muscles, but it is too late - Francis has forced his wet thumb inside in one long, squelching push.

Azog FFF Band Name #25: One Long Squelching Push

Turner's initial clench changes to a writhing motion as Francis begins a small pumping motion with the thumb, turned on by the obscene wet noises Turner's ass makes as it spasms around the digit, clenching and unclenching and sucking the thumb inside greedily.

Never describe the ass of a 10 year-old boy being molested by his bully as “greedy” again.

Timmy tries to lower his hips, but Francis won't let him. He fucks the boy's ass with his thumb, pushing it in as deep as he can, listening to the boy's whimpers every time the ball of the thumb forces his anus wide.

Again, where are Cosmo and Wanda and why aren’t they helping Timmy

Knowing where this is going - where it must go - Francis grabs the edge of his boxers with one hand, still thrusting into the boy with his other thumb, and pulls them down past his quickly hardening cock. He spits into the palm of his hand and rubs himself, coating his dick in a thin sheen of saliva. With a sick grin he lines himself up with Turner's anus - thrusts particularly hard with his thumb so that Turner whimpers again - and then yanks the thumb all the way out, replacing it on his next thrust with his cock.

And with the ferocity of Francis raping Timmy, our childhoods were ruined.

Turner's ass is incredibly tight - much tighter than he imagined - and the spit is only the barest lubrication. He manages to thrust the head inside on his first go, but not much more. Nevertheless, Timmy squeals like a stuck pig as the tip of Francis' penis enters him, and shouts, "No! Take it out! Take it out! It's going in! Stop it!"

I take back what I said earlier about Timmy being aware of what’s happening to him. He’s totally and completely unaware that Francis is hellbent on fucking him whether he wants it or not. And that makes this whole thing a lot worse

And it is going in. Fraction of an inch by tiny fraction of an inch, the forward pressure of Francis' hips force his cock deeper into Turner's ass. It's blissfully tight. Francis squeezes his eyes shut, stilling, his cock only halfway in, and feels the tight pleasure and heat of it, the softness of the inner walls. He's not much further in now than his thumb was earlier, but Turner's whole body is shaking around him.

Yes, by all means, describe the anal cavity of the boy being raped by his bully as “soft”

He begins to thrust, using the momentum of his motion to work himself a little deeper inside with every thrust. Turner makes an interesting little choking sound every time he thrusts in and each time it only makes Francis harder.

I hate to say it, but Timmy’s lack of a breakdown is pretty incredible.

Finally he can't take it anymore and grabs Turner's hips roughly in his hands, slamming them backward as hard as he can as he slams his own hips forward. His cock sinks, heavy with pressure, almost reluctantly, into the depths of Turner's ass and Timmy lets out a high, breathy moan.

Oh god, is Timmy going to start enjoying this?

Francis thrusts in earnest now, feeling the glorious tight friction of Timmy's ass still clenching on him spasmodically. He tries to time his thrusts to the spasms, so that he is deepest inside when the clenching is tightest. It feels amazing, and he finds himself reaching across Turner's back and grabbing his hair, wrenching his head back as he pumps in and out, in and out, tightness and heat all around him. Turner groans, moans, and clenches, enveloping him almost like an embrace, and something in his little whimper or perhaps the heat, or the softness, sends Francis over the edge and his hips buck wildly, spurts of cum shooting into Turner's ass, more heat inside the already burning tightness.

WHY IS TIMMY ENJOYING THIS. I know the author said they had “Love Potential” but Rape. Isn’t. Love.

Francis slips out of Timmy with a gasp, trying desperately to get his breath back. Almost immediately, cum begins to drip out of Timmy's flush and open anus, even as sweat drips into it from above, down off the curve of his spine.

I did not need the visual of Timmy’s cum-leaking “open anus”

Timmy is still writhing and groaning, and as Francis falls down to his elbow on one side, he sees that the boy is hard - very hard. He grins.

Oh god no

"Look who got turned on from having his ass fucked, huh? I knew you were a little slut."


"Please," Timmy mutters, his eyes screwed shut. "Please, I want to... please, can I- let me touch it, please-"

Timmy, instead of focusing on your dick, you should be focusing on the fact that your magical fairy godparents are nowhere to be found

"Nope," says Francis cheerfully, feeling powerful and vindictive. "If you want to come, you're gonna have to do it with me fucking you."

And now we’ve reached a whole new level of sadistic madness.

Even from his angle, Francis can see the blush that blossoms across the bridge of Timmy's nose and tints his ears. "Then, please-" he mutters quietly. "Please, I need..."

"Need what?" Francis asks. His cock twitches in pleasure from Timmy's obvious torment. "You're gonna have to say it. What do you want?"

“I need my magical fairy godparents that make this awful thing have never happened.”

"P-please," groans Timmy, "do it."

"Do what?" Francis insists. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"P-please f-fuck me," says Timmy.

I don’t know what’s worse, the idea that Timmy is enjoying having his bully rape him, or the idea that Francis is forcing Timmy to tell him to fuck him again.

"Better than that," says Francis. "Tell me what you want. Details. What do you want me to put where?"

I think a blender would do nicely. Or in a three-mile radius of Vicky.

He can hear the gulp of Timmy's harsh swallow. The boy's voice is nearly a whisper. "Please, f-fuck my ass with your c-cock."


Francis's cock is already stiffening again, and he's amazed - he's never gotten hard again so quickly after coming. "Louder," he demands, thrilling in the power - cute, polite, shy little Timmy Turner, entirely at his mercy. "I can't hear you."

Again, this is a fic coming from someone who believes Francis and Timmy have love potential.

"Please," Timmy says again, his voice strained but louder. "Please stick your penis up my asshole!"


"That's right," says Francis. "Since you asked so nice." And he slides his cock back into Timmy's anus, easier this time as Timmy's sweat and his own cum provide additional lubrication.


Timmy lets out a yelp that becomes a moan as Francis buries his member to the hilt inside him. Francis fucks him rough and uneven this time - it takes him a few thrusts before he's even fully hard again, stiffening inside Turner, feeling Turner's tension increase as his cock goes deeper and deeper as it hardens. Timmy is moaning now, wanton, canting his hips backwards to meet Francis's thrusts, trying desperately to pleasure himself. Francis watches the cords around Turner's wrists bite into the skin as his fingers clasp and unclasp, twitching at each thrust. Eventually Timmy grabs onto the headboard and uses the leverage to slam himself back against Francis's cock, impaling himself harder and deeper than before.

Allow me to recap: Timmy Turner is being raped by the person who beats him up regularly and is now starting to like it and is actively trying to seek more pleasure from it

Francis tries to drag it out, but his cock is over-sensitive from having come once already. He manages a number of violent, vicious thrusts, but sooner than he'd like he's burying himself deep in Turner's ass and coming for the second time, feeling the soft walls squeeze him, pouring himself out into Turner's insides.

When he disengages, Timmy whimpers. "No, please, more!" he insists. Francis glances around the side to Turner's cock, and finds it so hard it is weeping, precum leaking from the tip and dripping down the length of his cock to join the mixture of sweat and Francis's cum soaking the boy's balls. The spending of Francis's own testes drip liberally from Timmy's anus now, a rivulet that snakes down out of his ass, over the dangling sack of his balls and down the inside of his right thigh.

Because we needed more descriptions of the things leaking out of Timmy’s ass.

Timmy tries to lower his hips, thrust against the sheets to get some friction against his desperate cock, but Francis won't allow it. He lifts up Timmy's hips, confining the member to the still air once more. "Ah-ah," he chides. "What I said before still goes."


"Please," Timmy begs, "please, please, it hurts! It hurts so much! If you won't let me touch it, then please fuck me again! Please - ram your cock up my ass! I need to come! I need to come so bad!"



"Well, I don't know if I can get another one up quite that fast," says Francis truthfully. "How about you help me out?"

And now comes the obligatory mouth-rape.

He maneuvers his way around Timmy and over one of his bound arms and sits on the headboard, where his spent cock dangles right in front of Timmy's nose. "I might be convinced to fuck you again if you give me a little... encouragement."

I hope Francis forgot about Timmy’s giant teeth and he bites it right off.

Despite his wanton words and aching body, Timmy hesitates at the approach of Francis's cock. Francis takes Timmy's head in his hands and directs him, holding his face over the flaccid member and keeping it there when Timmy tries to balk.

At least Timmy’s wary of sucking the dick of the bully who raped him twice.

Tentatively, Timmy sticks out his tongue and leans forward, sliding it up the side of Francis's cock. It shudders and twitches, and Timmy, encouraged, licks it in a greater swath. He makes a face, then, and wretches slightly. Francis continues to hold his head firmly in place. "You like the taste of your own ass on my cock?" he asks, grinning.


Francis holds still as Timmy licks up and down his shaft and laps down at his balls. The boy is unquestionably skittish about it, and finally Francis loses patience and says, "Take it in your mouth. Suck it."

Timmy hesitates, and Francis reaches down with one hand and lays a harsh smack across the boy's buttocks. Timmy cries out, his teeth clenched, but at the second such smack he complies, opening his lips and lowering them down onto the head of Francis's now half-hard cock.

Cue the guillotine-teeth in 3, 2, 1...

The warmth and wetness of Turner's mouth is new, and Francis finds himself hardening quickly now, in the moist cavern. He can tell Turner is struggling now not to gag - probably from the taste, since little more than Francis's head is actually inside his mouth. Francis takes Turner's head in his hands again and abruptly drags him down at the same time as he slams his hips upward, forcing his dick as far as he can into Turner's mouth. Timmy does gag then, but Francis forces him to keep his head in place and not to draw back, enjoying the way Turner's gagging makes his throat twitch around Francis's cock.

Goddammit Timmy, just bite his dick off, call Cosmo and Wanda, and send Francis to a realm populated with PMS’ing Vickys.

The gagging causes saliva to drip from the corner of Timmy's mouth and down his chin, and the trickle of liquid makes Francis wonder what it would be like to get off on that sweet face - fuck his throat until he was right on the edge, then pull out and spray his juice all over Turner's face, the bridge of the nose, the cheeks, those now-swollen red lips. Maybe tangle his cock in the boy's soft hair and just rut, thrusting over and over until the soft hair is sticky and matted with his come.

Did Francis just think about fucking Timmy’s hair? Was that actually a thing that someone wrote with the intention of having others read about?

Francis is hard again, but loathe to leave Timmy's mouth. Still - he knows the boy's ass is even tighter, and he wants to go back. He gives a few more deep thrusts down the boy's throat for good measure, enjoying the spasmodic gagging, and then draws himself out abruptly, leaving Timmy coughing and retching slightly.

You can tell he really cares deeply about the boy he’s about to rape again.

Moving over Timmy's bound arm once more, Francis resumes his former place behind the boy. Without so much as a grunted warning, he slides inside once more. Timmy moans.

FFF Album name for One Long Squelching Push #12: Without A Grunted Warning

He slides in easily this time - the large deposit of cum combined with the liberal coating of Timmy's saliva means he glides slickly into the fucked-open hole, which seems to clench on him almost as an afterthought, as though it hadn't realized at first that he was there.

Oh, I see, Timmy’s ass didn’t seem aware of the erect bully-cock pushing into it

Francis can tell as soon as he starts that this fuck will last longer. His previous two orgasms mean that he doesn't feel the need as desperately, and the slick slide of his cock means that the friction isn't as heavy as it has been the last two times. He sets a slow, deep rhythm that seems to drive Turner mad - the boy grabs the headboard once more and begins to thrust backwards wildly onto Francis's cock, trying to get him to move faster, harder. He only stops when Francis slaps his ass again in warning, and even then he whimpers piteously.

What, were the first two fucks trying to get Timmy to comply with the idea of being fucked by you, and the third time was the charm?

Francis grabs one of Timmy's buttocks in each hand and presses them together, trying to increase the friction. The boy's ass is a mess - splashed, leaking, and sticky with cum and sweat.

NEVER describe Timmy Turner’s ass IN ANY WAY as “splashed.” It’s just wrong. Why it’s wrong I cannot say, but everytime I read that description, all I can picture is a sack of burning children.

He focuses on the point of penetration, watching the slick skin of his cock as it slides into Turner's anus, the muscles swallowing it hungrily, greedily, clenching on him as he tries to draw away for the next thrust.


Turner's anus is twitching, muscles completely out of his own control, and Francis can feel him straining for friction, trying to bring himself off.

I would be straining for the sweet release of death because I’m being continuously raped by my bully

On and on Francis goes, slow, steady, maddening thrusts that have Turner squirming and whimpering until he is literally weeping with desire, tears streaming down his face and clear, fluid precum streaming down his cock.

I’m pretty sure he’s crying because you kidnapped and have raped him thrice over

Finally, Francis feels himself closing in on his own orgasm and begins to thrust as before - shorter, harder jabs that rock them both forward on the bed. Timmy gives a shout and comes immediately with a high-pitched keening sound, his hips shaking and bucking wildly as his cum splashes out onto the bed.

Francis continues thrusting, feeling bright bliss as Turner's inner walls clench and unclench, spasming with his hips. A last particularly tight clench finally wrings out his own third orgasm, and he bites his lip as his cock deposits a third load of cum in Turner's ass, to join the previous two.

The idea of Timmy’s ass wringing out an orgasm of anyone is just... awful.

When he pulls out - cock sliding limp from Turner's wrecked and gushing hole - he collapses on the bed next to Timmy.

How do you keep finding awful ways of describing Timmy’s ass?How

Timmy himself collapses as soon as Francis's cock leaves him, as though the point of penetration was the only thing holding him up. Only his hands remain raised slightly where they are still tied to the headboard. For a moment, the two of them pant in silence.


Finally, Francis lifts himself onto his elbow with a groan. "Fuck," he mutters, "let me go get something to clean us up." He staggers out into the hall and down to the bathroom, supremely glad that his parents' bedroom is downstairs on the other side of the house and they probably didn't hear him.

I don’t know what upsets me more, Francis being considerate and getting something to clean Timmy, or him glad his parents couldn’t hear him raping a ten year-old. Actuall, I do know what upsets me, the fact I couldn’t decide.

From the bathroom, Francis grabs up a box of tissues and makes a U-turn back for the bedroom. When he arrives back however, he stops dumbfounded for the second time that evening.

Timmy’s been replaced by Chester or AJ, hasn’t he?

Timmy is gone. The rope is hanging loosely between the bedposts as before, and there is no sign of the boy that had been tied up with it. The only sign that Timmy was there at all is a large wet spot on the bed where he'd finally come. Francis rubs at his eyes, but the sight remains the same. It is still the same when he goes back to the bathroom once more and then returns. He is entirely unsure what has just happened, but there seems nothing he can do now except sleep. Perhaps it has all been a dream.

If only. But that soul-crushing feeling tells you it won’t make it better if it was a dream.

The next day in school, Francis has shoulder-checked Turner as he passed him in the hall even before he recognizes him. He intended to keep walking, content that Turner had dropped one of the books off of his always too-large pile, but he stops when he sees the sharp blush that blooms over Timmy's features, and the way Timmy averts his eyes.

I’m surprised he even went to school. Seeing as he most likely vomitted with the realization that he was raped by Francis. Multiple times. And liked it.

Grabbing the boy by the front of the shirt, Francis drags Timmy around the corner and into a stairwell, away from the throng of students that filters through the hallway between classes. "What the fuck was that?" he hisses.

"What?" Timmy squeaks. "What was what? I didn't do anything!"

"You did!" Francis insists. "You blushed! And what the hell was that look?"

That would be the look of someone who’s in the presence of the person who raped them.

"N-nothing!" says Timmy, voice rising in pitch. But the blush becomes even stronger now, his whole face an embarrassed red.

"Fuck nothing," says Francis. "Tell me." He shakes Timmy slightly to emphasize his words.

“Tell me or I’ll rape you again.”

"Nothing!" Timmy repeats. "Just a dream! I can't help what I dream!"

Francis stops still, disbelief filtering into his mind. "A dream..." he says hesitantly, "...involving being tied up?"

“And me raping you? Because that’s what happened.”

He hadn't thought Turner could get any redder, but he is definitively proven wrong. "I- wh-" stutters Timmy.


Francis reaches down and with a boldness that surprises even himself, grabs Turner's crotch through his pants. The boy is already half-hard from their encounter. Turner looks down and won't meet his eyes, but he doesn't struggle or try to escape.

Is this what the author meant by love potential? That Francis can rape Timmy and Timmy would be totally okay with it?

Francis takes a deep breath, weighing his options. Finally he gives the cock in his hand a quick squeeze - eliciting a whimper from Turner that he recognizes intimately - and lets the boy go. With a swift stoop he bends down and presses a quick kiss to Timmy's lips. Timmy's eyes open wide, and he stares at Francis in disbelief.

A rapist kissing his victim in public. That’s... disturbing.

"Go on," Francis mutters. "Get to class. I bet you've never been late to class in your life." Timmy nods with a dumbfounded expression, and moves to leave. As he reaches the edge of the stairwell however, Francis calls out to him. Timmy turns.

"Listen," Francis says, feeling sort of embarrassed, "if you want, you could come over to my house after school. I still have that rope tied to my headboard."

How... romantic?

Timmy stares at him, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. It makes Francis think of the fantasy he had last night, about coming on Turner's face.

"Sure," says Timmy quietly. "I- I'll meet you by your locker at three." And he turns and flees.

Francis grins to himself in the empty stairway.

Pepé would be proud.


Welp, if you’ll excuse me, I have to destroy every piece of Fairly OddParents merchandise within an eight-mile radius.
All I can remember after I closed my eyes, was that first, it got real loud; then, it got real hot; then it got real slimy; then it got quiet; then it got.... unspeakable. And when I opened my eyes, the pool was empty, and three days had passed.

The Slender Man

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Post Sun May 20, 2012 12:47 pm

Re: Azog's Fan Fiction Frightmares: "Dream Catchers"

What did i just read. WHAT WAS IT.


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Post Mon May 21, 2012 8:49 pm

Re: Azog's Fan Fiction Frightmares: "Dream Catchers"

An FFF, was that not obvious?
All I can remember after I closed my eyes, was that first, it got real loud; then, it got real hot; then it got real slimy; then it got quiet; then it got.... unspeakable. And when I opened my eyes, the pool was empty, and three days had passed.

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