Tawns of Fun

Imagine being a horror author and asking the Collector where he got the name.

He proceeds to show you his fanboy shrine, complete with official and bootleg merch. You feel a tail thump against your leg. 

A German Shepherd is shaking to death a chew toy of your latest protagonist.

Imagine finding yourself unexpectedly alone for the night. Or so it seems.

The Collector wasn’t expecting you to be by yourself, either. But, he thought as he peeked through the shower window, maybe it was for the best. It’d be easy to just subdue you, set up his traps, and give you a preview to what pleasures awaited you at his lair. 

Sighing, the Collector wondered whether to spurt on your pane or not. He didn’t want to leave DNA, but it was going to rain later. No, no, no. That’d still leave evidence, but it’s not like anybody’d check...? It was hard to focus on anything but you. 

Your ogler’s lips parted when you stepped out and began drying yourself off.

Imagine the Collector having you act as a honey trap.

You hadn’t expected him to show up in the middle of your all night* sessions. While letting the household’s dad have his way with you, your husband already started his killing spree, almost done booby trapping this home. Now his cat-like gaze has been trapped by your breasts. You want to make shooing gestures, but your self-proclaimed lover’s member is squelching between your mounds, helped by a heaping of lube. Also booby trapped, he wasn’t going to help clean you up afterwards. Because the Collector would no doubt want a turn next.

*Or however long until your “paramour” passed out.

Imagine the Collector watching you and your boyfriend going at it. And deciding you’re such a cute couple, he’ll go against modus operandi and kidnap both of you.

Imagine being the Collector’s spouse and him bringing Arkin back to you to use as a plaything.