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divinehedons · 1 year ago

Text

godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it.

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death. It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down just to come close to the very presence of something so divine.

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pirate!joel miller x siren!reader #pirate!joel miller #pirate!au #siren!au #mermaid!au

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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months ago

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Hello! I’ve been back and forth on writing you this bc I’m nervous but eh fuck it, I have no shame. So first off, I just want to say that you, Salome, are an absolutely stunning and brilliant writer. As someone who majored in classical studies in college, I was completely blown away by Fatum Nos Iungebit. The world you built was so deeply immersive and characterization of König, in that story as well as your other headcanons, is perfect. For the past week or so, I’m going to be honest, I’ve been going through your blog because I’ve been so hungry for more and the only reason I haven’t interacted more is that 1. I don’t wanna feel like a creep and 2. I was so scared of you blocking me for ‘’spam-liking” or whatever. I can assure you that I am a real person and I’ve been enjoying everything I’ve seen. I came across one concept however, that definitely got my neurons firing and that’s the idea of belly dancer reader x könig and I have some thoughts I wanted to share with you if that’s okay. :)

So I’ve been a belly dancer for almost a decade (I actually celebrate my ten year anniversary next year!). I was part of a belly dance performance troupe at my old university and I currently dance with a studio in my new city. It’s genuinely one of the great passions of my life. I’ve performed at all kinds of venues and for all different occasions from festivals to galas to charity events to hookah bars, so I definitely have some performing experience under my belt, well as what audiences are like. So when I saw the idea of König being mesmerized by a dancer at a wedding, I went !!!

I want to add the caveat that this is based on my experience as a dancer living in the US, and while I’ve performed for SWANA audiences (which is always an amazing experience 🥰) and non-SWANA audiences, I can’t speak for what it’s like in other countries. So, in my ✨personal✨ experience as a belly dancer going on a decade, it’s pretty rare that men will approach dancers during or after a performance—especially to actively hit on her. And believe it or not, it’s because many of them are actually intimidated! I have seen the most seemingly cockiest, proudest men just stare blankly and stand back while we do our thing. If anything, it’s usually women who approach us, gushing about our performances or asking where they can take classes and stuff. Women tend to be the first ones to get up and dance with us, shower us with tips, etc. (again, very much my personal experience as someone living in the US). When it comes to more family-friendly events like weddings and stuff, we also get a lot of kids approaching and that’s always so adorable and sweet—especially when the little babies think we’re princesses. 😭

So back to König, especially Y!König. 😈 he’s at the wedding. He’s mopey. He’s picking at his plate of chicken and rice. He’s happy for his friend and his bride, but a little bitter and jealous that he’ll never get to be that happy. Then, a mejance (essentially an entrance/overture piece of music) swells over the speakers and out comes the dancer, adorned in an Irina Sheyner number (she’s an absolutely STUNNING costume designer, plsplsplsPLS look her up 😭), veil flying behind her. She does her mejance, a drum solo, and at some point…she does a sword number. The level of control she has to be able to balance the sword on her head in impressive, but König can’t help but imagine what it would be like for to dance wielding his knives in hand. Finally, dancer opens up the floor and in typical faction brings out the bride and groom to dance with her, and then most of the other guests follow. Not König though. He hangs back and watches as this beautiful dancer holds the guests in the palm of her hand. Gone is the cocky, brutal soldier, and only the shy, anxious boy remains, the one who would always be left out of games at recess and who wasn’t invited to birthday parties. König has never been the dancing type, but he can’t even bring himself to offer her a few of the banknotes or dollars or whatever currency he’s using. He just stares, and she’s completely oblivious.

A while later, he’s getting ready to leave, when he spots Dancer. Her makeup and hair still done up, but she’s now fully cloaked and awkwardly lugging her suitcase and bags full of props and other equipment across the poorly paved parking lot. König zeroes in on her and before he knows it, he’s approaching her, asking her if she needs help carrying her stuff. Dancer, surprised but this gigantic man suddenly appearing before her, flashes a winning smile at him and says he can. König easily lugs the stuff to Dancer’s car. She thanks him profusely and just like that, she drives away.

It’s only a few hours later that the obsession starts to creep in. König, who’s ordinarily not a big social media user, is now checking the feeds and stories of his friends who attended the wedding. Finally, he comes across one friend who posted a video of themself with the dancer and tagged her Instagram. König can’t click on it fast enough and suddenly, he’s greeted by dozens of images and photos of Dancer. Some are adorably mundane. He finds out that Dancer teaches classes at a studio nearby, and some of the videos consist of dancer teaching basic moves to the camera. There are other videos of her at the local hookah bar, where she performs on a regular basis. König sees one particularly video of Dancer doing a piece of floor work, that same sword balanced proudly on her head as she’s propped back on her arms, her gorgeous hips undulating toward the sky. König feels a dark wave of heat wash over him. He jokingly thinks to himself that maybe he should take up hookah. But one thing is for certain, she’s going to be his one day. He’ll just have to be sneaky about it, subtle.

He clicks the follow button on Dancer’s instagram. She has a few thousand followers. Surely she can’t notice one faceless profile, right? 😈😈😈😈😈😈

Anyway, that’s all I have for now. I know you’re taking a break from fics but if you see this I want you to know you’re an amazing writer. Lots of love! 💖💖💖💖

Ughhh and another lovely soul 😭💗 I don't know what's going on in here this week but both you and anon have really made my heart swell!

And please please please, spam liking is never frowned upon here (I don't know why anyone would block someone who's clearly not a bot for loving your stuff?!) It's such a delight if I see that someone has liked a ton of things instead of just one. It's the highest compliment and praise! ❤️🥺

And your bellydancer prompt/drabble is so mouthwatering, god. If I'm being honest, I'd read whatever you wrote for this thing in a hot minute because you have the skill and you've done the research (an actual bellydancer in my inbox?! Ok Salome try not to be a creep) and the premise is just. GAH. So good, especially with yandere König! ❤️❤️❤️

I have to reveal I wrote like 8 chapters of a story relatively close to this in the fall: Stalker!König obsessing about reader, invading her DMs on Instagram and literally stalking her. She's not a bellydancer, but damn if I didn't think about changing her into one... :) The story is on hold for now, but here is a little snippet as a thank you gift!

CW: Yandere/Stalker!König, harassing, obsessive behavior

I’m sorry, Liebling. You were too beautiful yesterday. I got carried away.

You wake up just to see that your phone is full of messages. From him, of course. He’s created another account on Instagram.

I’m just a man.

You ignore it altogether, even if there’s messages and emails from other people too. You simply go to brush your teeth, hearing how the phone buzzes on your desk.

I know it was disrespectful. I could never call my wife that. Will you forgive me?

You sigh and finish with your morning routine, but the phone buzzes again.

I sent you flowers. Did you get them?

It’s like he knows when you’re awake, because you can see the messages from your screen without having to unlock it. Even if he refreshed your conversation every minute, every second, he can’t possibly see that you’ve seen them yet.

It bugs you to no end, this feeling that he somehow knows that you’re awake. It’s like he knows your every move. It’s the most unnerving thing, and makes you think about horrible scenarios where he has broken into your house while you’re at work, to install cameras or microphones or something. You feel like you’re about to go mad if this nightmare goes on.

You go to the front door, but hesitate a while before you turn the knob.

What if it’s a trap?

What if he wants to kill you because you yelled at him last night at the pub...? What if there’s a bomb or something that goes off when you open the door, what if he aims at you with a gun from across the street and kills you on your doorstep this morning?

Just what the actual fuck does this guy even want with you...

You sigh with a broken heart and some broken nerves, deciding it’s as good a way to go as any. You turn the knob and open the door, only to find the usual porch, and a large bouquet of dark red roses planted there.

More ice sinks into your stomach as you witness the evidence of him knowing where you live. But the fact that he chose to send red roses… Ugh, this guy is so old-fashioned and so unimpressive that it’s somewhat a dull surprise to actually see flowers on that porch.

Who buys red roses these days?

Couldn’t he have picked peonies or something, something to go with your other decor… Red roses are so eighties, so funeral-like, so boring.

You sigh and go and take the flowers to the trash. Then you walk back to your house, make sure the door is locked tight, and go back to your phone to type a message.

Did you see that?

The answer arrives immediately.

What? ❤️

I threw your flowers in the trash.

There’s bit of a pause after that. Your wannabe boyfriend clearly hasn’t got his eye on you at every given moment. That’s a bit of a surprise, almost a disappointment, actually. But only if you were any more crazy.

The reply comes after about 30 seconds, after a series of Typing… bumping up and down on the screen.

I’m sad.

You get some satisfaction from that, but the first reaction is a tiny, tiny dagger to the heart. You sigh – you do nothing but sigh these days – not only because of his message, but also because you can’t seriously be having a moment of compassion for your stalker, for god's sake.

You make me sad, Liebling 💔 Are you still angry with me?

You throw the phone away and go to make yourself some breakfast, only to stop and turn when you hear the phone buzz again.

I’ll send you more flowers.

Jesus…

You unlock the screen in a frenzy and type a reply in mere seconds.

Don’t bother. I’ll throw them in the bin too.

Typing…

You have to keep them at some point. Trash bins get full so soon.

STOP HARASSING ME.

You throw the phone away for good this time, and don’t come back to it for another hour. You eat your breakfast with squirming insides and a rattled heart, waiting for someone to come bring you flowers at any given moment.

But no one ever comes.

You check your phone before going to work, but there’s nothing from him there. You go and block his new profile, unsurprised to see that there are no pictures this time, not even a profile picture (well, there is one, but it’s only a black circle), just in case. You don’t know why you didn’t block him in the first place.

There’s a radio silence for a few days. You spend them at the edge of your seat, with lots of trouble sleeping, but soon start to ease into the fact that maybe he finally had enough. Maybe you were not as interesting or attractive as he thought when he met you in person…

Wait, what?

Gosh, you can’t be this desperate... You simply can’t. This has to end.

You don’t talk about him in therapy, mainly to convince yourself that you’re not thinking about him at all. You’re not missing him harassing and stalking you, and you’re not disappointed that he didn’t send you enough flowers to fill your entire bin.

You know you should address this: this crazy need to be something groundbreaking to someone. To want someone to be this obsessed with you, no matter how sick that someone was. You know you would have gone to the police if your stalker was the sleazy, weak-wristed man from the pub. You would’ve packed your bags and moved houses already, changed your name and closed your social media accounts, quit everything if your stalker was small and ugly and weak.

But now that you know he’s relatively good-looking, does something dangerous and has a lot of money, and looks like he could fuck and fight half the city by himself, you’re not in that much of a hurry to go to the authorities.

You’re even a bit sad that your stalker hasn’t given you any fevered attention these past few days... He hasn’t even asked you how you’ve been.

No one has asked you how you’ve been: no one ever does. You have to wade through this life all by yourself: depressed and anxious and crazy. Lonely… And horny.

Gods, you just want someone to hold you at night… Someone strong, and big, someone who would pay a few bills for you, take care of you and give you a round of good sex…

Your phone buzzes from time to time, but there’s no message from him. One night before going to sleep, relatively early, so early that it could be called the bedtime for old spinsters, you break down and cry a little. It’s not a wail: only a soft little sob, a few sniffles and a couple of tears until your nose gets clogged and the pillow is wet.

Your phone buzzes, and you reach for it, feeling so, so pathetic when you hope it would be him.

And the message is from him.

You’re the most beautiful woman on this earth. I know I fucked up. I’m just a horny dog and I don’t deserve you.

You sniffle and rise to sit, your whole system fully awake now. Oh god... You’re so fucked.

The message makes you feel incredibly good and sweet, almost giddy. It feels like he’s kneeled right there in front of you, like a knight who has misbehaved in the throes of his lust. You know it’s ridiculous, but you start to smile a little, and the tears dry on their own. The merry feeling is followed by righteous rage, a little fit, because he’s made you wait for days, he’s tortured you in every way possible, and he does absolutely nothing right.

You unlock the screen and start to type, not thinking it through at all before hitting send.

That’s right.

Fuck… Shit. That was a mistake. No, a huge error.

Why did you have to send that? Stooping to his level, sending stupid things like that…

You put the phone away quickly, then reach for it again to delete what you just send. But it’s too late.

I can be a good dog if you forgive me.

The message is waiting for you already, and when you don’t reply, the oppressive, ominous Typing… hits on the screen once more. God, how could you be so stupid…

I’ll kill anyone you need me to kill. I'll give you money, whatever you need. A new kitchen so you can cook me something nice? I’ll be a good dog, I promise.

What did you even expect?

Everything always blows up when you give him attention: any dumb person knows better than to give this hungry dog a bone. You’re just too fond of digging your own grave, it seems.

There’s no end to the messages: this guy starts typing a new one every time he has sent the last.

I’ll fuck you like a good dog too….

You lean your forehead to your palm, trying to figure out a way to stop this.

And then–

Fuck, now I’m hard

You take a quick breath of air and put the phone away.

Please don’t send a dick pic, please don’t send a dick pic…

The phone buzzes.

Look how hard you make me

There’s a picture attached, but you can’t see it when the screen is locked.

This is what I have to live with, day and night…

Message after message, your phone buzzes, and you check them quickly from your screen, swearing to yourself that you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of opening the conversation and checking the image he sent you. You know perfectly well what you will find if you do that.

But after only a minute or two, you unlock the phone, and open the conversation with your heart ramming in your chest.

Just one quick look...

#upcoming works #my wips #cw: stalking #tw: stalking #yandere könig

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myfandomrealitea · 11 months ago

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I wish I had a place to post my fucked up arts without being cancelled 😭

Honestly I think the drawn arts have suffered perhaps the most out of modern censorship. Especially the communities, too, because when sites ban things to please advertisers, investors and the handful of people squawking about protecting the children, it creates this mentality of; 'if its been banned its bad, so whoever makes it or enjoys it is bad too.'

There will literally always be at least one person who comes after you for what you create. Lord knows I enough enough angry anons in my inbox on a daily basis and all I do is rant about antis and occasionally knock my braincells together with enough force to say something vaguely helpful.

My best advice for avoiding being 'cancelled' is to heavily, heavily curate your online space and the people you aim to include within it. This could be by:

Following specifically other blogs who post similar content or express interest in similar content to what you produce or your interests.

Pre-emptively blocking blogs who express disgust or hatred for the content you produce or like, blogs who express moral stances conflicting to yours, ect. This is expressly helpful on sites like Twitter where options to limit engagement are limited.

Tagging properly, and including trigger and warnings tags whom others are likely to have blocked. This prevents people from seeing something they don't want to, and also gives you coverage if they try to accuse you of 'spreading it around.'

In cases of art that may have more extreme content, try using spoiler flags or any filtration option that requires viewers to actively consent to viewing it. Relevant to above, nobody can cry wolf about 'being exposed' because they would've had to physically reveal the work to themselves.

DeviantArt unfortunately recently changed its policies to a frankly ridiculously constrictive degree, so while I previously would've recommended that as a place to host your artwork and find a safer community, I can no longer. Hopefully someone is successful in pushing for the site to reform to its previous rules soon.

ArtStation is an option. The site is not eligible to anyone under 18 and sexual, gore, fetish, and 'mature' content is allowed provided the usual stipulation that you aren't using it in order to cause, infer or threaten harm against someone. A lot of the site is geared toward marketing artwork, though, so you might be hard pressed to find more of a community aspect to it.

Rule 34.com is... Objectively one of the best places you can host your artwork if you create content that is based on sexual themes. The protective rights aren't the greatest, but anyone who uses Rule 34 has no leg to stand on regarding morality and censorship.

Reddit has a lot of subreddits for sharing art, and a bonus is you can find subreddits specifically geared toward artwork based on things like gore, violence, sexual content, ect. Filtering options and monitoring are basically non-existent, however. Also, Reddit sometimes spontaneously decides a specific post is against its TOS and yeets it.

There's also the option of building a Discord server based around sharing artwork of certain themes, which is objectively the format that allows you the most control over who views it, but it also means your art has a limited presence. (Can't be reblogged, ect.)

If you do check out any of the websites, always be thorough in reading the Terms of Service and the Community Guidelines.

#sephiroth speaks #myfandomrealitea #fandom #proship #proshipping #art #fanart #art platforms #artists #discord #deviantart #reddit

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pluralprompts · 5 months ago

Text

[Had an error when trying to post an ask. This is our attempt at a work-around.]

Anonymous asked: Could you please put that your pro-endo in your bio? Considering the main difference between antis and pros is that we define "all plurals" differently, it's not very clear what you meant, and I thought you were anti-endo until I went through every single one of your side blogs mentioned in your pinned post

-an anti-endo who loves your prompts, the newest prompts tags just took me off guard <3

As you have noted, We use the term "plural" in our posts and blog name, which is inherently inclusive/pro-endo and has been since its coining decades ago, so I am not going to honor this unnecessary request. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you're using "plural" in any sort of anti-endo or generally exclusionist way, you are using it incorrectly, since it originated as an inclusive alternative to terms that had more medical associations. I'm honestly offended that you thought I was part of the same group of exclusionists that has openly and repeatedly told me they want me dead, have sent me gore in response to a positivity post, recently invaded inclusive tags to spread hate, and regularly tell me to kill myself – hell, you yourself are admitting that you are against my right to self-determination if not my very existence, alongside my religious and spiritual beliefs (I don't have to tell you how this in particular is an asshole move, do I?), and believe that you somehow know what's going on inside my head better than I or even – at the very least, if you won't listen to me and the thousands of other endogenic systems about our own lives – the doctors actually studying endogenic plurality do, considering our endogenic origins. I will not block you so that you can see this response, but you are not welcome here. Here is a document full of sources about endogenic plurality existing and being recognized as a real and valid scientific phenomenon, not to mention how it is a cultural, spiritual, and religious practice found around the world; I hope you educate yourself and grow as a person. You seem to be trying to be polite, so I can only hope that you are just someone who has been horribly misinformed about pro-endos and endogenic systems.

However, at the same time, please understand that you are asking a blog with an inherently inclusive term in the title and all their posts, and a pinned post that clarifies yes, they do mean they support all systems (and advise those who don't support all systems not to interact), to put a separate warning in their bio that yes, they actually really do mean it when they say they support all systems. The thing is, I wouldn't have a problem with this request if it wasn't under this context. You yourself have admitted that you read my pinned post; how did you take the section that says all systems/plurals are welcome (and exclusionists like you are not) and somehow think it meant we didn't actually mean all? If you're excluding anyone from your definition of "all plurals" by adding little rules like "must be traumagenic", you don't mean all. You mean some. You, as an anti-endo, as an anti- certain plurals, only support some plurals. Someone who is against part of a community does not support all of a community; they only support the part of the community they are not against, which is only some of the community. This is how quantitative words work. Just because you have decided that the part of the community you personally choose to support and give basic respect to is the only "real" or "valid" part of the community doesn't mean the part you don't support stops existing or stops using the label you claim to support fully and without any restrictions or rules (since that is what supporting all of a community means); you don't actually support all plurals, and I'm concerned that you ever thought you did. I could break out a Euler diagram if it would make it clearer that only supporting some does not mean supporting all, and that supporting all does not mean supporting only a particular group. That's like saying you support all animals while being anti mammals and, at best, believing they're all actually confused and misguided birds – or, as I'll elaborate on in a moment, saying you support all queer people while being an aphobe who, at best, thinks aspecs are all just confused and misguided gays. That is not support, and you are certainly not giving your actual respect to all plurals. I say this delicately, but I don't think you should be participating in syscourse if you have trouble with the concept that excluding people from a label means not being inclusive of all people who use that label.

If a comparison will help you understand our response, especially the passive aggressiveness that I can admit is fully leaking through – this ask is essentially the same as how aphobes, during the years of "ace discourse", would occasionally react with surprise that queer blogs supported aspecs, despite aspecs being documented parts of and contributors to the queer community for decades, and queer being an inclusive term. In essence, "I know you're using an inclusive term that both historically and in the modern day includes people I hate, but I really thought you would agree with me that said marginalized group that I hate shouldn't exist, and that this community would be better off if they were all gone!" Meanwhile, aphobes were posting gore in the aspec tags, making fun of the murder of an asexual girl, spreading lies of pedophilia about anyone who showed support for aspecs, and telling aspecs that they were lying about the discrimination they've faced, that their sexualities were just trauma responses or mental illnesses, that they were broken and needed to be "fixed", that they were "stealing terms" and "making the community look bad", that they were making it all up for attention, or just straight-up to kill themselves. None of these examples are all too dissimilar from what I regularly see anti-endos saying and doing – some of them are the exact same save some of the specific words used by these bigots swapped out for more system specific ones. Just today I saw an anti-endo claim that pro-endos are "grooming children" just by being inclusive, like how aphobes claim aspec people are "grooming children".

Yes, I am aware this is harsh to hear. No, I am not going to apologize – your community and hatred is part of the reason we have traumagenic origins (hello, the one writing this is a protector who split specifically due to the trauma you anti-endos inflicted on us!! In other words, your community is directly responsible for my traumagenic existence!! Should I be thanking you for allowing me a chance to experience the better parts of life? Hm, nah.) and are scared to interact with others who share our own damn disorder. You claim the "main difference" between us and you is that we define "all plurals" differently, but from where we're standing, the "main difference" is that pro-endos aren't regularly traumatizing, harassing, suicide baiting, mocking and insulting, spreading misinformation about, using slurs against, wishing harm on, and fakeclaiming the other side, often for merely disagreeing with them. We just came out of a harassment campaign in which anti-endos spread hate in our inclusive tags and spaces for weeks. I'm fucking sick of syscourse and being told I should kill myself for the "crime" of being inclusive of endogenic systems like the ones that helped me accept my plurality in the first place, or the pro-endos that create resources that help me manage my DID and not be a dissociative wreck all the time. To say the main difference between our communities is "how we define 'all plurals'" is a spit in the face of all the shit I and many, many others have faced from anti-endos like you over the years.

If you change your stance and learn not to hate others for their religions, cultures, traits they can't control, and personal beliefs and choices about their own body and mind, we will be happy to welcome you to our community and this blog. But until then, you need to re-evaluate your priorities and morals in life. Are you fine with being part of a community that twists others' words on the regular to make it seem like they're promoting child abuse? Are you chill with the fact that I exist as a protector to defend my system from people like you, the same way many others in my system exist to protect us from other abusers and threats to our safety and health? Are you okay with telling a living, breathing person you admire and enjoy the work of that you disagree with their identity and existence, and that you ally yourself with those who want them dead just for existing, have even personally threatened their life and well-being, as you have just done with this ask?

What took me off-guard was this ask and just how horribly you seem to be unaware of basic concepts like "plural is an inclusive term signaling someone is pro-endo" and "'all systems' does not mean 'only traumagenic systems'." But I guess in a way, it's only fair; you mistook me for one of those who hate my guts – while I can't tell even as I type this if you are a troll or not.

TLDR: No, we will not clarify in our bio that we are pro-endo, because there is no need to do so when we already use terms that signal that everywhere on our blog, and our pinned post even clarifies our stance in the rare case someone doesn't know the signal. You have been horribly misinformed; you cannot support "all plurals" while being against certain plurals, and "plural" is an inclusive term anyway even without that clarification. Again, you have misunderstood our pinned post which tells anti-endos like you to fuck off, which is almost funny considering we put that section in the post due to the horrendous amounts of harassment we and other pro-endos (not even just endogenic systems; a lot of anti-endos group all of us together as "fakers spreading misinformation") have faced from anti-endos like you. Please go think about the kind of people you're spending time with, and ask yourself if you're okay with being part of the same group of people that wants those like me dead for the crime of existing in a way that doesn't adhere to one specific medical model whose authors acknowledge isn't the only way to be more-than-one, anyway.

Have the day you deserve! <3

#syscourse #not a prompt #asks #pluralphobia #long post

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ashyyslashy · 2 years ago

Text

Call Me: Renfield x GN!Reader

You work at a hotline for people suffering with codependence. You find yourself attracted to an odd guy who frequents the line, and one night, you both let down your guards.

word count: 2,039

warnings: sexual content (orgasm denial, phone sex, praise kink, m! masturbation), language

tags: @kpopgirlbtssvt @karmakaoskk-blog @wrldsapart

You were deeply intrigued the first time you heard his voice. Unmistakably kind yet nervous. Soft, subdued, as if he was making himself smaller even over the phone. You surmised that he was used to being unseen, to shrinking away from others' gaze.

He introduced himself as Robert Montague Renfield, in a British accent permeating with gentle formality. He was instinctively charming, yet there was a certain sorrow you caught lurking in his voice.

He was tight-lipped about his codependent situation for the first few calls, only telling you vague details about his boss' narcissism. Whenever you brought up the subject of what exactly he did for work, however, he was decidedly evasive in his responses. The most you could glean was that he was some sort of assistant, but you couldn't say what for.

You could say that his life revolved around his job. Every time he called you - after the first time you talked he'd always ask to speak to you whenever he called the hotline - he seemed fearful he could be pulled away at any moment. Guilty about taking time to himself.

You tried not to pressure him, allowed him time to become more comfortable. After several calls, he was still secretive about his work, but he slowly started confiding in you. He struggled to develop his own identity under the shadow of his boss. He felt deeply alone, unable to connect with others. He often felt controlled by feelings of hatred and discontent towards himself.

When your shift ended one night, you acted on impulse - you gave him your personal number, telling him to call you any time. You wouldn't normally do something that forward, but you were drawn to him. Your conversations at work never felt long enough. He was hesitant at first, anxious about taking up your free time. But you assured him it was what you wanted.

The two of you exchanged photos, and your attraction multiplied. The selfies he had sent you were hilariously awkward, the angle unflattering and the lighting reminding you of the harsh fluorescents of a hospital room.

But you didn't care. Despite his inability to work a cell phone camera, he was otherworldly. Piercing blue eyes, dark hair against pale skin; exactly how you'd imagine the love interest in a gothic novel. Something inside you craved him with a fervor that you believed had been long dulled by monotony and routine.

This night, you'd brought up the topic of romance. You couldn't let the curiosity eat away at you any longer of whether or not you had any chance with him. He had laughed nervously, before telling you he hadn't pursued someone in years. You knew you shouldn't, but you pressed the subject.

"Well, any short-term relationships, flings?"

"No, no one."

"Not even a one-night stand?" You paused. "I'm not passing any judgement, by the way. Romance in the 21st-century is so shitty, if you can even call it that sometimes."

He laughed again, the uncomfortable edge in his voice increasing.

"Yeah, it's.. strange. But to answer your question, no. Um, I haven't done anything like that in a while."

"I mean, I think hook-up culture is kind of fucked. You're better off."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. Uh, I haven't done anything sexual."

You hesitated. "Like.. ever?"

"No, no, no, I've done it. Just not for a long time. I- I kind of have a mental block."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how I said it kind of feels like my boss is always in my head?"

"Yeah, I remember. Do you want to talk about it more now?"

"No, no, I just don't know how to explain what I'm trying to say. I feel like.. I can't do anything.. like that. Like, uh, sexual. Even if it's just alone. I don't know. I feel like he's there watching me or something, and then that kind of just makes me want to.. you know, stop."

You took a beat, processing his words.

"Are you referring to, uh, pleasuring yourself?"

He swallowed audibly. "Yeah. Sorry, that was.. I shouldn't have brought that up."

"No, that's okay. If this unhealthy relationship with your boss is an issue that's affecting your sense of privacy, and interrupting personal rituals such as, um, masturbation, I think we need to discuss it."

This conversation had certainly not gone where you expected it to, but you attempted to remain somewhat professional as you felt the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Your work is only part of you," you steamrolled on, taking advantage of his embarrassed silence. "We've talked about this - how it, how he, doesn't define your entire identity. This is an example of something in your life that has been deterred by your codependence: your inability to fulfill your own sexual needs."

"Oh. I didn't even think of it that way, but you're completely right. Shit."

"I usually am."

"So, uh, what do you think I should do about it?" he said.

You were completely unable to read his tone. He sounded so utterly earnest despite the fact that he was asking you how he should comfortably fulfill his sexual needs. You decided to test the waters.

"Um, where are you right now?"

"I'm in the apartment I rent. I was scared my boss would overhear our calls if I stayed there."

Your eyebrows shot up involuntarily. "...So you went and rented an apartment?"

"Uh, he has a lot of money."

"Yeah, I guess he does." You cleared your throat. You were trying desperately not to lose your nerve. "You're alone, right?"

"Yes."

"And you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to only say yes if it's what you want. Okay?"

Fuck, you were really doing this.

"Okay," he replied.

"Um, well... How would you feel if you.. did it? On call with me? I could guide you, make sure you feel comfortable." You held your breath as you heard only silence from the other end.

"Er.. do what, exactly?"

"Um. Touch.. yourself. Shit. I'm sorry. I realize I should not be asking this-"

"Yes. I want to," he cut you off, his words so rapid they blurred together.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I really like you. And like I said, I trust you. I'm also, uh, very, very attracted to you."

"I feel the same about you," you said softly.

"Tell me what to do," he responded breathlessly. You could hear him shifting around on the other end of the line.

"I've never done this, before, uh.. are you hard?" You cringed. "I really hated how that sounded. Fuck."

He laughed, quiet and musical. "Yes. I was almost as soon as you brought this up."

"Okay, we should probably, um, establish some ground rules. If you want to tap out, just tell me you're done. We can never speak of it again. And tell me if anything I tell you to do makes you uncomfortable. But, uh, there is one thing I want to do, if you're okay with everything else."

"Yes?"

"I want to be the one who controls when you cum."

"I'm at your service," he breathed.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Don't make me sound like your boss."

"I'm not gonna be hard for much longer now that you brought him up."

"Shit. I'm really bad at this, Renfield," you laughed.

"No, no. Just give me your instructions, please."

It was hard to ignore your own arousal pooling in your stomach, the wetness that was rubbing against you when you moved. "Okay. Uh, remove your clothes."

You heard shuffling for a minute as he complied. "Done."

You braced yourself for the next sentence. "Alright. I want you to start stroking yourself, gently."

"Am I allowed to use some kind of lubricant?" he asked.

You tried to stifle a laugh. "Yes, whatever works. You don't have to ask permission for that."

You heard squelching sounds on the other line, and then the unmistakable sound of him slowly stroking his cock.

"Hey, uh, I have something to ask you," he said softly, stopping.

"What is it?"

"Could you, um.. praise me? You know, tell me I'm doing a good job, and everything? Comfort me, I guess." His voice swelled with hope and maybe something like shame.

You hated that he probably never heard anything like this, that he was looked down upon and berated daily. You desired so strongly to be there with him, to show him how perfect he was with your touch and not simply your words.

"Yeah, of course." You waited a moment until you heard him resume.

"You're so eager to please me, huh? I bet you look so fucking hot right now, stroking yourself to the sound of my voice. You're so good for me, aren't you?" you drawled.

"Yes," he murmured. "I think I should let you pick up the pace, since you're doing so well. What do you think?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay. Faster."

You heard him comply on the other line, the sounds of slapping against skin increasing in intensity and his stifled groans amplified.

"Do you have a TV?"

"What? Oh- u-uh, yeah."

"Stop for a moment. Turn it on and turn up the volume loud enough that anyone walking by can hear."

"Al-alright."

You waited.

"Okay, I did. Can I keep going now, please?"

"Yes, but I don't want you to muffle yourself. I want you to be loud for me. I wanna hear you."

"O- okay." He allowed the moans and grunts to leave his mouth freely, the droning of some news program playing in the background.

"Shit, you sound so beautiful. Don't stop, okay?"

"Mhm," he murmured through the noises of pleasure. You shut your eyes and allowed his exclamations to fill your ears.

"I-I'm close. Can I cum?" His voice was pleading, desperate.

"Not yet. Keep going. Just a little longer, okay, keep being good. You can do that, right? And then I'll let you cum."

"Y-yes," he sputtered, a hungry edge in his voice.

"So fucking good for me. Do you wish it was me getting you off instead of your hand?"

"Yes, s-so badly," he forced out through sighs of pleasure. "I think about you all the time. I-I'm so glad I met you. I didn't think you'd- like me too."

"Of course I do. How could I not?" you whispered affectionately.

He hummed in appreciation. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous."

He grew louder, his noises more strained. You continued your soft words of encouragement, turned on by the effect they had on him.

"Can I cum now? P-please?" He begged.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Y-yes, I think so. But only if you do too."

"Okay. I think you do. Cum for me."

He let out a loud moan, pumping in rapid succession until he slowed and stopped, breathing heavy. The two of you sat in silence for a few seconds as he came down from his high, his panting slowing.

"You did so well, Robert. It felt good, didn't it?" you prompted.

"So good. And you- you were perfect."

"I wish I could see you right now."

"I want to see you too. I don't want this to only happen once. I loved it, doing this for you. Thank you." His voice was full of adoration.

"It was for yourself, too. But I can't pretend I wouldn't enjoy if you thought about me every time you jerked off."

"Who else would I want to think about? It's you, always."

You flushed, smiling at his words. You wanted to talk longer, but there was an urgent problem that you didn't think you could delay any further. "Hey, I'm really glad we did this. Are you good for the night? Do you need me to stay on the line while you clean yourself up?"

"No, it's alright. We'll talk soon, beautiful. I appreciate you so much. Good night."

"Good night, Robert. Sleep well."

You hung up the phone, finally free to attend to your own situation. You laid back on your bed with your hand working its way beneath your unzipped pants, Renfield's noises of pleasure playing over again in your head.

author's note: renfield is so baby girl <3 and thank you for the continued support my #1 fan (you know who you are)

#renfield movie #renfield 2023 #renfield x reader #nicholas hoult #rm renfield #renfield smut #renfield x reader smut #smut

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agentmarvel · 1 year ago

Note

angry sex with gaz AWOOGA

ohhhhhh my god let's fuckin' GO!

nsfw under the cut - gender unspecified

MDNI - 18+ (MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. PLS STOP TESTING ME, Y'ALL)

It is DIFFICULT to piss Gaz off. He's so chill about 90% of things when it comes to you. Forgot the dishes? No biggie, he'll dry if you wash. Dinner isn't quite ready? No sweat; hand him his apron, and he'll help cut veggies. Laundry is piling up? Don't worry, he'll throw a load in after his shower.

He does, however, have a possessive streak. The only time he really gets angry when it comes to you is when he takes you out for a nice evening and the local meatheads can't seem to take a fucking hint. You're not feeding into it, not egging anything on - hell, he isn't even sure if you're aware of it most of the time.

It starts with a hand on the back of your neck or an arm around your waist that sits a little lower than is decent, low, teasing murmurs, a hand inching beneath the hem of your shirt...

Then it morphs into kisses, far more than the usual sweet peck. Kyle makes direct eye contact with whoever is looking just a little too intently when he slips his tongue into your mouth.

You always know; he's shit at hiding it. But you'll play dumb because you know what happens the second you get home.

Speaking of, he's all too eager to get you outta there after he's had his fill of fun with it.

Hand on your thigh all the way home, grumbling about how the other guy is lucky Gaz didn't tear his throat out where he stood. He doesn't care what you wear when he takes you out - you look stunning in everything you wear, and he can fight if anyone has anything to say.

At home, all bets are off. You don't even get to lock the door behind you before he's crowding you up against the wall, leaving little love bites with a grunt of "mine" between each one.

Don't even make it to the bedroom. Living room floor is perfectly fine with him.

MATING PRESS. He wants to look at you the entire time he's rearranging your guts, appreciative of the fact that you chose him. Any person in the world, and you chose him.

Oh, he's definitely mouthy about it, too - "Just don't get it, do they? Maybe if I put a pretty rock on your finger, they'll take the fuckin' hint." - "Couldn't fuck you half as good, could they?" - "Fuckin' beauty, aren't ya?"

He'd outright admit that he wouldn't think twice about killing someone if they ever tried to touch you. There's no reason for it to sound as hot as it does, but everything sounds sexy coming from his mouth.

He's vicious with you. He leaves marks that your clothes can't quite cover, makes sure you'll be sore the next morning, has you nearly in tears with how hard he's fucking you (but it's so good, you're begging him not to stop).

It happens every time he takes you out, so who can fault you for putting in extra effort to make yourself look even hotter the next time?

#kyle gaz garrick headcanons #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cod x reader #cod writer #jj writes

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1800pain · 1 year ago

Text

PRIVATE SYSTEM SERVER.

Hello. As a show of my ability, I have created a private system server template for you to use. While "private" is in the name, I have included two access roles (Friend and Trusted Friend)—however I have not done any permissions for them. There is a Bot role that has permissions for them, like access to the System Setup category.

And, like the last template, only traumagenic systems can interact with this blog and use my templates. Endogenic systems and their supporters get blocked.

Note that not every single channel is in this gif, just the ones I deemed the most important to show.

Use the template here, however do note that the announcement channel and all of the forums channels will not copy over, and you will have to add them yourself: Private System Server Template

I am okay with you editing my template for your own use. Do not redistribute as your own.

If you need any help, you can leave an ask in my inbox.

Explanations for channels under the cut. LONG, BUT PRETTY DAMN IMPORTANT TO READ.

All forum channels are marked with a speech bubble emoji 💬 in front of them; those are channels that you will miss. The single announcement channel that also will be missing is marked with a mega emoji 📢.

#welcome - When someone joins the server, they will not see any channels, and you must give them a role so they can access this the server. You can see their welcome message here so you know someone's joined.

📢 update-status-fronting - If a switch happens, you put up a DNI, or want to otherwise warn people about your current state, you can update it here.

🔇 layout by 1 800 pain on tumblr - Feel free to delete this.

Text channels:

#bot - This is the only channel that has "Use application commands" permissions on it. If you would like to set it on other channels, you'd have to do it manually—or you can add it to the @everyone tag.

💬 dms - In the title, I put "[DM/GC] Channel name" under the post, then write the participants. I have a tag system for this channel (see below).

💬 thoughts - Headmates' thinking time. I also have a tag system for this channel (see below).

💬 mailbox - Essentially, I create a channel with a headmate's name and there are two tags: Read and Unread. Read means they've read the messages people leave for them, and Unread means they have yet to read them. It's a simple way to communicate with headmates who are not fronting.

System Setup:

All servers here are unable to be chatted in; only any member with the Bot role can do that. I enjoy setting up my PluralKit work into a few separate categories:

#resources - Easy access to Simply Plural, Notion, Evernote, or various places I get PNGs to set up PluralKit profiles—things of that nature and related to it.

#pk-setup - For descriptions and things.

#pk-pfps (not in gif) - To add profile pictures and banners. I put it in its own space because it's a different type of spam, image-based spam, than pk-setup, which is mostly text-based spam.

#new-arrivals - For showing people who made their PluralKit account, mainly for documentation.

#pk-spam - Just general things that don't quite relate to the ones above; typically things like pk;r.

💬 image-resources - If you change your icons or banners a lot, this can help. I put icons/banners here with credits to the original artist, the original art, and the edited version we use in our profiles. It's tagged by Icon, Faceclaim, Banners, etc.

#pk-log (hidden, not in gif) - To store PluralKit messages. If you also would like, you can add a more general moderation bot (such as Carl-bot) to also store non-PK messages.

System-centric:

#to-do: Self-explanatory; got any plans? Put them here.

#sys-chat: More general system chatter.

#sys-work: Talk about... system work.

#headmate-observations: If you notice something about your headmate—such as a positive/negative trigger, a various quirk they have, or any idea how their role works—share it here.

💬 headspace: A headspace forum to talk about headspace. More information in the image below.

The collection of the channels that you will miss, check the images above for extended information:

📢 update-status-fronting (uncategorized)

💬 dms (in general category)

💬 thoughts (in general category)

💬 mailbox (in general category)

💬 image-resources (in System Setup category)

💬 headspace (in System-centric category)

#system discord #discord server #actually did #did #did osdd #did system #did/osdd #dissociative system #osddid #traumagenic system #pluralkit #server template #endos do not interact #endos dni #pro endos dni #⚠ FLASH LIGHT

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simping-overload · 1 year ago

Text

sampos tango

commission for @pickingpixel

First time writing smut! I like how it turned out.

summary: sampo manages to drag you into a naked wrestling tournament.

tags: dom/sub understones, naked wrestling, gay, male reader, bottom reader, top sampo, reader is not trailblazer.

word count: 2,759 | ao3 link

ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem alligened, please do not follow or interact with my mlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛

You stare at the wrinkled flyer in your hand, rereading the headline for the 15th time. It an advertisement for a naked wrestling tournament? The contesents were allowed to do whatever they wanted with the opponent. Whoever wins gets a grand prize of 10,000 credits.

You look up at Sampo with a disgruntled look, "There is no way in hell I am doing this."

Sampo chuckles, slinging an arm around your shoulder, ignoring the way you sqirum under his touch. "Well, my dear, you don't have much of a choice. After all, you did lose the bet, and I have your agreement to it in writing." He says, wrapping himself further around you, pinning you to his chest. "We both know the things I can do to you if you try and back out."

He uses his other hand to tilt your head up towards him, the devious glint his eyes make the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. You simply nodded your head to the forced agreement. His signature grin returns, and he realses you from his death grip of a hold.

Sampo clasps his hands together, "Wonderfull, my dear! Just make sure to be early. We wouldn't want you to be late after all." He turns on his heel, slipping back into the shadows, disappearing from view.

You stood there for a few more moments thinking things over. You didn't think that single simple piece of paper would have such a control over you. However, it would've been far worse if Sampo wanted it to be. You really need to stop associating yourself with him, even your colleagues, disprove of him.

They say you shouldn't trust him. He's a con artist, and he has so many enemies that probably will become yours one day. Although there's just something about him... probably just the charm of a con artist. He just seems like someone you want to keep close for whatever reason that may be.

You turn on your heel, heading into the direction of your home. Preparing for whatever shit shows you just got yourself into.

The place was swarming with over and underworlders alike, some you even recognized, but thankfully, none has recognized you yet. You make your way through the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of the blue hair con. For such a tall man, he is difficult to spot.

You approach the check-in desk, and there are two identical looking workers who seem to be nothing but tight boxer briefs and a name tag stuck to their muscled chest. They greet you in synch.

"Hi, I think I'm supposed to check in here? My names (Y/N) and I'm supposed to be one of the uh contestants." You managed to stammer out, trying not to get caught having your eyes anywhere but theirs.

The one on the left, Jax, begins scanning through the list while the other, Max, eyes you up and down.

"So, who dragged you into this? You don't look like you'd sign up for yourself willingly."

You sigh, shifting your weight, "I lost a bet, and I was wondering if a man named Sampo checked in? He's tall with blue hair."

Max nods and points behind you, "I think that's your guy."

Jax holds out a pen and paper out towards you, "Before you run off, we need you to sign this. It's just a consent form of what could happen during the matches."

You sign the papers quickly, thanking both of them before going to Sampo, who is leaning against a pillar scrollling in his phone. He seemed to notice your approach, making his way to you.

"Good to see you, my friend! Hope you're ready. " He grins, grabbing your hand and tugging you along with him. He brings you to what looks like to be a dressing room that only has empty hanging racks and a few of body oils spread along the counter.

Sampo clasps hands together, sly grin etched onto his face, "Well, for the first order of business, Strip."

This makes you choke on your own spit in surprise, "Can we at least go over how these rounds are gonna go and general rules too before you see me naked?"

"It's simple. It's elimination based. You defeat your opponents and climb your way up to victory. The matches are timed, so whoever is on the ground at the end loses." Sampo starts to explain and gestures to you to start removing your clothing.

You start with your shirt, shivering when the cold hair hits your skin. You slip off your shoes and socks, shivering more as your feet touch the cold tiles. While you're undoing your pants, you ignore how Sampos gaze falls on your crotch.

"I won't be participating in these matches. I won't be able to stop anyone from doing certain... things to you. So you need to make sure you dont allow anyone to get the upper hand." He places your shirt and pants on the counter, sliding your shoes and socks under.

You stop on the waist band of your boxers, nervous. You've never been naked in front of someone you knew personally. The only people that'd seen you naked are random hook-ups.

Sampo notices your hesitation, "If you're worried about being judged. Don't be. I've seen my fare share of dicks. I highly doubt yours will disappoint."

The comment made the blush on your face grow brighter. With a shakey breath, you slip out of your boxers.

"Well, that wasn't so bad. Was it? You're pretty decant size, too...nothing to be ashamed about."

"It's more embarrassing than bad, honestly. This is the first time I'll be naked in front of such a large crowd."

Sampo turns for a moment, grabbing a random bottle of body oil. "You'll be fine~ Most of the contesents are new to this too. No ones gonna judge you."

"Now, we have to smother this all over you, aside from your hands and feet, of course. Do you want to do it or me?" Sampo asks, leaning back in his chair, his eyes not so stubly trailing up your body.

"I'll do it, thanks, but you'll have to get my back. Also... I saw on the waver that people would try and have sex with their opponents? How would that even work. I thought these matches were timed." You ask, taking the bottle from his hand as you turn away from him. You put the oil on your hand, giving it a sniff. It was a subtle semll of coconut. At least you'll smell good.

"Yes, though, that matches are timed, 3 minutes each. If the pair starts to do the deed, they'll extend it to 5 so the audience can have a good show. You might even be able to see the audience getting off to it themselves. But if you're not going to do it, the matches stay the same, and as long as you have the person pinned down for a few seconds, you'll win."

You hummed, listening to him talk as you spread the oils on you. You start with the legs, making your way to your dick, quickly going over before pulling away and grabbing more oil.

You move to your torso and sides, lathering them up generously. You reach your shoulders when you feel bare hands lay themselves on your hips.

You freeze up for a moment, leaving your hands to rest on your tense shoulders. You don't even try to look up at Sampo as he begins to run his hands on your sides.

He rubs the oils into the skin even more, moving to drag the access on your lower back, dangerously close to your rear. He pulls his hand away for a meer second before pouring the oil on his hand and spreading it along your back.

The way his hands glide along your back, spreading the oils into every nook and cranny it can reach. You resist the urge to fall putty under his skilled hands.

It's a few more seconds before his hands leave your back. You nearly whined at the loss of contact.

A voice suddenly came over the rooms speakers, "All contestants, please make your way to the rink. You have 5 minutes."

You look at Sampo, who's just finished drying off his hand with an old rag. He makes his way to the door and beckons you to follow.

You follow him silently, keeping your gaze to the ground as you walk by the other naked contesents. You'd rather not get a face full of someone's junk.

You narrowly miss bumping into Sampo when he stops. Peaking out behind his large frame, you set your eyes on the wrestling ring. Stars, it was huge. So was the crowd.

If they were closer, you could've sworn they'd blown out your eardrums.

"Well, it's game time. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good. Make sure to show them who they're dealing with. The most important thing to do is win. Just do that, and those credits are ours." Sampo grins, pushing your forward into the arena.

You go to stand next to the line of contesents. Head up tall, not letting your gaze leave the crowd.

With a few announcements from the host you couldn't bother focusing on, the matches has begun. You tap your foot in anticipation, snapping out of your trance when your name is called.

"(Y/N) and Kody, please come to the stage!"

You and a very burly man make your way up the ring. You shake hand before the match begins. He gets the first hit on you, making you quickly learn that he is top heavy. You dodge the next attempt to tackle you. Moving out of the way fats enough to grip the back of his neck and slam him on the ground, making sure to force your entire body weight onto him.

The referee calls it before you send off the ring, waiting for your turn again. Sampo was right about those who tried and sometimes succeeded in having sex. They even still had cum dripping out of their holes and dicks.

Your matches didn't last long, not long enough for someone to successfully grab your dick anyway.

You reach the end smoothly, standing on the back of your last opponent as the crowd chants your name.

The chant slowly dies down when a certain blue hair con artist makes his way to the rink, the spot light shining on his naked body.

The announcers cackle over the speakers, "You guys couldn't have thought that we weren't gonna end this without a bang. Now give it up for Sampo, one of our longest running contesents! Let's see if our new hotshot can win."

You step off of the man under you, staring at the blue-eyed bastard in front of you.

He grins mischievously, "I knew you'd make it this far. Now, let's see if you can make it past me."

You don't know what to say, thoughts getting interrupted as the referee begins the match. Sampo is quick to advance, throwing you against the borders of the ring, nearly making you fall through the ropes. He grabs you in a choke hold, pressing himself against you.

You claw and scratch at his arm, freezing for a split second when he rubs himself against you. You lean forward before quickly reversing and slamming into Sampo.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

You managed to get Sampo off his feet and back on the ground. Slipping out of the hold, you move to pin his arms down and attempt to pin his long legs with yours.

"Just having a little fun, of course. Plus, it looks like I'm not the only one getting excited." Sampo chuckles, looking down at your harden dick.

Your head snaps down, checking to see if it was true. By the time you processed the truth, you were flipped over by Sampo.

He pins your arms with one hand, using his other to hold your hip down. He rubs himself against your, agonizingly slow.

"Sampo..." You whimper, already getting worked up. You internally curse yourself for becoming undone so quickly. You attempt to create more friction by rubbing yourself against him but fail as the hand on your hips doesn't allow you to move.

Sampo grin doesn't falter, if anything it judt grows. He leans towards you, noses almost touching.

"Yes, my dear?" Sampo asks with a teasing tone.

"Please..." You whimper out, desprate for his touch.

"Please, what? You'll have to use your words. C'mon now .." Sampo uses his thumb to rub at the dips of your hips. As if trying to be encouraging.

Sampo gazes down at you, his eyes feel like they can see your soul.

"Please fuck me, Sampo."

Sampo chuckles, taking his hand off your hip, not minding the way you start grinding your dick against his. He cups your face and gives you a soft pat before slipping two of his fingers into your mouth.

"Be a good boy and get those all nice and wet. Don't leave it dry."

You obliged, eagerly sucking off his fingers. Some of your saliva dripped its way out of your mouth and onto the floor. Sampo moves to rub himself against you again. Instead of your dick he chooses to run himself underneath your balls, having a hunch that's one of the places that you're sensitive.

Indeed, your were, the muffled moan around his fingers made it clear. This causes a tiny bit of your precum to start to drip out of your tip.

Sampo gives his hand a slight tug, a small warning before pulling his drenched fingers away from your mouth.

He moves his hand downward towards your hole. He lines his finger up with it, looking up at you for confirmation. You nod quickly.

Throwing your head back when he pushes inside, your walls tighten around him. He thrusts it in and out, letting you get used to the feeling before adding the other.

He adds the second in, despite the tightness he manages to scissor and curl his fingers. At this point, you're a drooling mess. Not at all used to his heavenly feeling. You can feel that certain knot in your stomach tighten.

You look up at Sampo, pleading eyes displaying how desprate you are for him. "Sampo, please... I need you in me so bad."

Sampo is glad he deemed you stretched out enough to take him and the way you say his name makes him want to pound you into the ground.

He slips his fingers out, admiring your the way your hole clenches around nothing. He lines his dick up, pushing in slowly. Enjoying the way you tighten around him.

You moan loudly, fuck... he felt huge, making you feel so full and good already.

He bottoms you out, balls slapping against your ass. He relases your wrists from his hold, placing his hands on either side of your head as he looks at the stomach bulge and back up at you.

You press one of your hands down on the bulge, liking the way it shapes into your skin. Sampo takes this as the queue to begin moving.

He starts out slow and hard before gradually going faster. Soon, the only thing you can focus on is the way he keeps hitting your prostate perfectly.

He moves your legs, putting them into a matting press as he thrusts deeper. He dives down, catching his lips with yours. Swallowing the sound of the beautiful sounds you let out.

His thrusts start to become erratic and sloppy as he fucks you, a sign that he's reaching his peak. You are as well.

You wrap your arms around Sampo, pressing your forehead against his, your last clouded eyes lock with his. "Fuck, Sampo I gotta cum so bad."

"Yeah I do too, let's cum together yeah?"

You nod eagerly.

"1,2,3...fuck. Baby, you feel so good." Sampo groans out, realsesing his load into you, pressing right against your protaste as he does so. You cum in long spurts, it landing mostly on your chest but some on his aswell.

He slowly takes his dick out of you once he's finished. Letting your shakey legs back onto the mat. He kisses you once more, mumbling sweet praises as he rubs your thigh.

He looks up at the referee proud and carefree look on his face.

"The winner is: Sampo!"

#x male reader #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #honkai x you #sampo koski #sampo koski x reader #sampo koski x male reader #sampo x reader #sampo x you #sampo x male reader #smut #hsr smut #sampo smut #dom/sub #dom sampo #sub reader #hsr x reader #hsr x male reader

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gallaghersgal · 3 months ago

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hello everyone! tysm for 1,500 followers, this means so much to me as someone who took almost a YEAR off of writing. the support i get and the friends i've made here mean so much to me! so LET'S CELEBTATE 🎉🎉

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this blog is NSFW, 18+ only, and so is this celebration! minors will be notified of this, then blocked if they don't unfollow. i'm not mean, i'm just not comfy with you reading my works underage.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months ago

Note

AITA for not telling someone I wasn't their bully 100% of the time

Hey so I was a shitty kid and i willbe TA for most of the story. However the ambiguous non-ending spins around my head nonstop

! In high-school I met a friend, Lacy (mtf) who had recently come out. We bonded over mutual Fandoms and shared classes and ended up pooling friends. I was already tight friends with one other girl we can call Sam. Sam went to another school but me and her had been best friends for many years and talked constantly online. After spending a lot of time with Lacy, and with L and S in a group, I started to get a little crush. Me and Lacy had this habit of passing comic notes to eachother between classes and they were just so fun. Anyways I ended up passing them one asking them out and she agreed. We talked about it casually after and I kept the note. In the background, me and Sam talk constantly about Lacy. Outside of school, online, Lacy often goes on long rants and tangents and caps it off being painfully self depreciating and insinuating self harm. I honestly don't hold that against her too much, given how young we were and how much stuff was going on. Very quickly I realize this tiny crush evaporates in the heat of her stomping rants. My gut sinks when Lacy mentions we are dating. It's been less than a day. Sam messages me immediately and I make the terrible snap decision to lie. I lie about it and I have the evidence so my version becomes correct. I tell Sam I didn't *really* ask Lacy out, blah blah. The lie doesn't end. Lacy has an explosive breakdown about it, well warranted, and I lie to adults and school administrators as well. We were friends, I guess she got too attached, we talk all the time but no. I never asked her to date. Papers signed, case closed. Lacy blocks me everywhere. The year ends. I resign to never speaking to her, as the unquestioned bully in this situation I wouldn't have the right to approach her about it. I think I send one anon ask completely unrelated to her or our lives, then block her back as is only fair.

Short hop forwards a month or two. Sam sends me a message about an update to Lacys blog. Lacy is otherkin and Sam is laughing at the kin list, sending anon messages mocking Lacy about the choices and identity. Very unfamiliar with otherkin but struggling with gender thoughts myself I don't respond much.

Fast forward a few years. Me and Sam don't talk much now. I got a boyfriend and couldn't help love how much he ignored me. Everything else fell through cracks. Working at my restaurant job one day, who else comes in but Lacy. We are very busy, I try to be quick, don't make eye contact. "Party of....for Lacy?" She nods. The lobby is full so they walk out the door and never come back. Later when my shift is over I unblock and check her blog. She's made a post saying I was her abuser and had sent her constant anon hate since bullying her in hs. Checking her ask tag I see Sam on anon sends 3-6 hate messages a year. I do nothing and leave everyone be and move on.

Another 3 years goes by. Sam reaches out. She's terminally ill, and we speak stiffly for a few IMs. I don't forgive myself for leaving her and decide it's best we don't keep talking. Another few years and Sam passes. Our old friends go through Sam's papers and pc files reminiscing and find pages and pages of shared chat logs between me L and S. It really was a harsh reminder of how cruel I had been, speaking behind Lacys back and lying. I don't doubt I caused her lasting trauma with my actions.

Part of me wanted to reach out to Lacy and apologize, explaining myself and the misunderstanding and clearing the lie not because I wanted to feel absolved I just that it's finally done now. But it feels so cruel to do it when 1. As the original bully it's still not my place to seek closure 2. I can't just toss my friends corpse under this bus for no reason.

It's soon a decade since we all left school so the time seems well past. I just can't stop thinking about all the mistakes. And there seems no reason to bring it all up after all Sam can't say anything about it anymore and nobody is hurt believing i said these things. So, AITA for not telling Lacy it wasn't me bullying her most of the time?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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itjazzbicch · 1 year ago

Text

Interesting Rivalry

Pairing: MK1!Reiko x Fem Reader

First time writing for Reiko, so I hope I did well and you all enjoy!

Summary: Being second in command under General Shao, the reader believes that Reiko is jealous of her and while handling duties during the Sun Do Festival, their “rivalry” takes an interesting turn…

(Also this does not take place during the MK1 Storyline. Just a random fic. I main Reiko, wanted some spiciness so here we are lol)

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!) (Swearing, mentions of previous wars, unprotected sex, soft choking)

Word Count: 1.5k

“Do you really think that’s appropriate to be wearing, Y/N? We may be at the festival, but we’re on duty.”

“Reiko,” I huffed, swatting my hand at him, “I understand you take your job beyond seriously, but I can still do mine while honoring the festival traditions with my costume.”

“Pfft,” He rolled his eyes, following alongside me as we were doing our patrol, not thinking that I heard the slick comment under his breath, “I still have no idea why General Shao made you second in command.”

“I’m convinced that you think that you’re the only person who has experienced war. You’re not. There are others who have lived through it, have fought through it. That’s why General Shao chose me,” I explained, darting an eye at him with my hand on the hilt of my sword, “Or you can see for yourself. It’ll explain it all much better.”

“Are you threatening me?” He growled, stopping in his tracks, and I finally had enough of him, getting right in his face:

“Next time, it’ll be a promise, if you keep it up with this jealously that you have towards me.”

“Jealous? You think-“

Mid-sentence, we both heard a scream, our little dispute being put on hold as I followed the scream.

Our only duty for the night was to make sure everyone was safe and enjoying the festival.

Ignoring Reiko behind me, I noticed some civilians who were visibly intoxicated were trying to set off fireworks.

It was knocked over and flying all over the place.

In a flash, my blade not visible to others naked eye, but I sliced it in two, my trajectory sending into the sky.

“Wow, Lieutenant Y/N! You’re amazing!” The civilians were impressed, returning their kind compliment with a smile:

“You’re too kind. I’ve noticed that you’ve been having a little too much fun. Let’s get you all home.”

I was scolded time to time by my fellow military comrades for being “too kind”, but Outworld was at peace and one way to make sure our people were happy and felt safe was by being kind and showing we cared.

“Sure you don’t want to stick around for a few drinks, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah! A beautiful thing like you deserves a nice drink after working as hard as you do.”

“A generous offer that I appreciate, but I am on duty. Maybe another time,” I laughed, getting them to their destination.

Still laughing, I returned to find Reiko waiting, a disgusted look on his face.

“What?” I scoffed, paying close attention as he went to speak, then started laughing, shaking his head:

“I’m not even going to waste my breath.”

“That’s it,” I huffed out with anger, taking stance in front of him, “General Shao can punish me however he pleases. I’m sick of you always treating me the way you do and being a wise crack.”

“So willing to lose your position?” He teased, also taking stance.

As I stayed still and thought about it, trying to fight him was stupid, fixing my posture and turning my back.

“Now that I think about it, you’re not worth it. Go patrol the third route. Not like you’d be a challenge, anyways.”

I was shaking as the temptation to fight was vigorous, but I decided to be mature and walk away.

Watching some fireworks for a moment eased that feeling, till I felt someone take my hand.

“Oh no. We’re settling this. One way or another,”

We were right by one of our patrol stations and before I could speak, he was taking me inside and I couldn’t understand what this overwhelming feeling was when his lips met mine.

“That’s if you can even handle it,” Winking at me made my heart race more, cocking my eyebrow at him.

“We’re on duty,” I said sternly, but his laugh sparked a wild fire within me:

“Buhaha! I thought I was the one who ‘took my job too seriously’.”

I don’t know what overtook me, suddenly grabbing his waistband, pulling so our hips together.

“Don’t think I’m so fragile and innocent,” I smirked, seeing the rush wave through his bright eyes with my next whisper, “Show me what you’re made of.”

Looking towards the window, we both listened to the booming fireworks, music, distant chatter, seeing some civilians pass by.

Kissing with a hand softly taking my throat, he moved us out of sight, throwing me back on the small desk in the tower, nearly tearing my skirt while snatching away my panties.

“Hasn’t anyone every taught you to treat a lady, you brute?” I scolded, fixing my skirt, being silenced by the strength he put into his hands, gripping my hips and pulling them off the edge of the desk.

“This isn’t exactly what you’d call a treat,” He smirked, watching between my legs, “I told you, we’re settling this. I’m settling this.”

“Actions speak louder than-“ My head dropped back hard along with my jaw at how his cock nearly tore me in two, balls deep with just one thrust, making my voice crack, “W-Wor-ah!”

“Just shut up and take me, huh?” He snickered, beginning to roll his hips with a quickening tempo.

“You shut up,” I whistled through my teeth, hard to believe how easily he had me crumbling beneath him, but enjoying every ounce of pleasure, having a war in my mind over it.

What little noise I was making was dying to be turned into screams. There was a pool of heat building up that I was already close to drowning in, hiding my face behind my hands, so desperate that I was biting the back of my hand.

“Oh c’mon, Y/N,” Slowing his thrusts, he fixed my legs against his chest and shoulders, then quickly snatched my wrists to keep them pinned and exposing my face, “You know you don’t want to be so quiet. I can see it all over your face.”

The vein in my neck was throbbing so hard that I was afraid it may explode, going to try and speak, but only hollow moans came out, a sting in my eyes as he pushed my legs towards me by leaning, his tip smacking so deep that my whole body jolted, making me scream out:

“Damn, Reiko!”

All I could hear were the explosions of fireworks and his damned laugh, putting my pride and ego to the side as the jolts in my hips became uncontrollable, walls pulsating and burning up so much that a tear rolled down my cheek.

“Reiko! Reiko! S-Shi-“

His weight on top of me had me panting as he leaned further to meet my nose with his, enjoying every second of me being submissive.

“Cum on my dick,” He smiled against my cheek, very much right with his next words, “You know you want to.”

“Shit, I’m cuming,” I said more so to myself, cracking like a stone, the orgasm running towards me was so powerfully, I needed something to hold onto, able to break his grip again and let my nails dig into his forearms, “Reiko, I-; Ngh! Damn it!”

“By the, ngh-“ My back arched with my walls having a death grip around his cock, making him groan and immediately have to pull out, holding himself tightly, “You said you weren’t so innocent, right?”

When I went to pick myself up and stand, my legs ached, not bothering to fight it and falling to my knees, pushing his hand away and taking his cock, pumping as my lips closed around his tip, looking up through my lashes as I felt his hand on my head.

“How obedient and sweet, you are,” He teased, eyes closing tight with a rumble as his hot seed shot into the back of my throat, slowly stroking out every drop.

Picking my head up with my jaw a bit hung, I showed that I swallowed every drop, breathing out:

“I just didn’t want you making a mess on one of my favorite festival costumes.”

“Right,” His eyes rolled with a laugh, looking towards the window and quickly fixing himself, instructing me, “Up. Now.”

“Who is it? I can’t thanks to you,” I tried to stand but couldn’t I was so worn down, but he picked me up gently, sitting me down in the chair in the corner.

“It’s General Shao,”

“Shit-“ Sore or not, I had to get up, but he sat me back down, assuring:

“Just sit. I’ll take care of it. I’m sure he only wants a report since you walked those civilians home.”

Staying put, I watched out the window as he went out to General Shao, listening as best I could, hearing him say at one point:

“Great Lieutenant Y/N is, General.”

That put a smile on my face because it sounded like he truly meant it, in that moment, seeing his gaze find mine through the window, flashing a smile and waving and the face he made in return made me burst out in laughter, watching and saying to myself:

“Oh, Reiko. Don’t you dare think this is over. This was only round one.”

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