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shady-tavern · 2 years ago

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Deals and Revelry, Quin's Backstory

The lovely @fyrenwater requested some more pieces for Deals and Revelry and I started with Quin's backstory. Hopefully it's a fun read! With Quin there is of course a warning ahead for implied murder.

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The temple was old and not in the broken, long abandoned kind of way, overgrown and damp and too dangerous to enter. Quin had seen plenty of old places, had walked through plenty of runes. He lived for the danger, made a living out of going where no one else wanted to thread.

The upper temple had looked like one would expect, half swallowed by the swamp, covered with plants and little pieces of walls and fallen pillars stuck out of the knee-deep water and morass.

He had even found the remains of a statue's face, nearly whittled to be unrecognizable by time and the environment.

The place clearly had been looted to hell and back, but something had felt different. Something had compelled him to stay. So he had looked around, using every single ounce of his talent and bullheaded tenacity until he had found it three days later. A hidden entrance.

The temple that laid below the broken skeleton husk above ground was not destroyed or crumbling. It was perfectly preserved, even if water had clearly found its way in. Nothing had grown, however. There was no slick algae, no signs at all that nature and the elements had wriggled through the cracks.

A few roots dangled from the ceiling, but they were all dead, crumbling when he reached up to touch them.

The temple was old, old in a way that told Quin it had withstood the tooth of time without a single scar for centuries. Something was still alive in these halls, even as everything that touched it died.

For just a brief moment he felt like he inhaled something otherworldly, a strange kind of power permeating the air. Whatever was down here wasn't even hiding that it existed, even if its presence had barely made it above ground.

This was what he had felt, what had made him trudge through mud and water and get bitten relentlessly by mosquitos for days.

His steps echoed as he walked, a heavy presence to the silence around him. The sort of presence that only came with something ancient that refused to disappear. That refused to die even after it had been forgotten.

Quin wasn't a fool, however. He took his time, carefully examining his surroundings, disarming traps and escaping the few he didn't notice in time by the skin of his teeth.

The first time his blood spilled he felt the entire temple around him sigh and tremble. As if a great beast had tried to move in its cage.

And this temple was a cage, he realized as he walked and considered the ancient writing on the walls, his rations dwindling by the day. But he couldn't leave, it was almost feverish how he kept looking and searching, being drawn ever deeper into the temple.

Or rather, the tomb. This was meant to be a final resting place for something too powerful and ancient to comprehend.

A part of him knew he was pulled along by whatever was entombed here, but he allowed it to happen. He wanted to know what was down here.

He found his answer in a comparatively small, circular room. Paintings glittered on the wall as through freshly finished, the paint still wet.

Plaques with text were left below the artworks, as well as big words pressed into the floor. A strange kind of metal had been used to form the letters of a civilization long gone.

The presence was strongest here and Quin set up his camp, studying the ancient texts. A warning was on one part of the wall, showing two giant beings battle it out. The next text was easier to guess, if only because of the depiction of one giant being slain and the people at its feet using its blood and bones to seal the other.

Just as his last crumb of food was devoured and his last sip of water swallowed, Quin figured out the ritual. He still didn't understand too much about what exactly was down here and what exactly had been done to it to put it there, but he knew how to at least...wriggle loose the bars of its prison a bit, so to speak.

He used his blood to write, each ancient letter precisely placed between the metal writing on the floor. The moment he finished, his blood glowed a dark and deep red and he heard a sigh in the very air itself.

The being's presence became cloying and overpowering and while he couldn't quite make out words or any kind of spoken language, he could make out intent. A pact. A promise of power and wealth and everything he could possibly ever want, so long as he carried it out into the world.

Quin didn't hesitate so much as he turned the offer over in his head. He knew the stories of deals made with devils, with sealed away entities and rumored demi-gods and of course with very human monsters. He knew they were always a bad idea.

One could not trick or out-deal creatures that lived and thrived on such things.

But this deal was the very thing he had been searching for when he had first started dungeon delving. Power. Purpose. To be more than he was now, to no longer walk with blunt teeth and hidden daggers.

He wanted to be sharp and dangerous and deadly and powerful.

So he reached out with all that he desired and the being accepted. His world turned dark and black as, in his mind, a maw massive enough to swallow the sky opened wide.

*.*.*

The thing was in his head now, kind of. Quin was not fond of this part, but he managed to figure out how to shield his thoughts as he traversed the ruin, collecting the treasure the thing was guiding him to. Wealth was a part of power after all and power was what he had wanted, first and foremost.

It was...exhilarating. He was no longer human, he knew that in the very marrow of his bones. He bled red still, he learned and his emotions and thoughts were the same as before. He hadn't lost his humanity, however much of it he had possessed in the first place.

But he was stronger, faster and sharper now. As dangerous as he had always wanted to be and he reveled in it.

His bags filled with gold and jewels he emerged from the tomb-temple and the world was just slightly sharper around him, his senses stronger. He knew he could actually track something down by scent alone if necessary and it made him grin.

He set out with a confident stride, tall and fierce in ways he hadn't been able to even emulate as a human. He was different now and as he traveled, he slowly got used to all the changes.

Of course, every pact came with its downsides. People who had spoken freely with him before or had been willing to share information or even secrets over a couple of drinks shied away from him now.

Quin found that no one dared to meet his gaze and he checked his small pocket mirror multiple times, but his eyes were still the same. Dark and soulful, as his mother had once said. Gods rest her soul, she had always encouraged him to do what he wanted. To take what he wanted.

Quin traveled on swiftly, outstaying his welcome at every new place within mere moments. The thing in his head wanted something, but communication was still iffy and frustrated the both of them.

Then Quin stumbled across a whip-thin young woman, left bleeding at the side of the road. She was dying, that was easy to see, but her eyes told a different story. She did not shy from him the way everyone else did, a defiance to her as though she believed him to be the reaper and she was going to cling to this life with all she had.

Quin wasn't her end. If anything, he was her knew beginning, as he produced a contract for her through his...what was the thing, a patron? It was no benign entity, that was for damn sure. It roiled with malice and bloodlust whenever he focused on it.

The woman took the contract and found herself healed and changed, much like Quin had. They traveled onward together and Quin realized that people avoided her as much as they avoided him.

"What are we?" the woman asked as they camped outside a village that had refused to house them.

Quin shrugged. "Better," was all he said with a smile he knew was too sharp, dangerous in a way human smiles weren't. "Eat up, we're having a long road ahead tomorrow."

Treasure weighed heavy and it soon brought the unsavory attention of bandits and robbers. Quin had never shied from bloodshed, from protecting what was his and this was no different.

The fight was almost too easy with all that he was capable of now. He and the woman stood over the dead once it was done and dealt with. He inhaled the smell of blood, sweet and coppery, iron and salt and smiled to himself.

"You are right," the woman said quietly as she helped him loot the bodies. "We are better now."

They continued on together, picking up a couple more people along the way. A man tossed out on his ear by his family for loving another man, twins who were rumored to be born with black magic, a couple that had fled from their wrathful noble families. A betrayed merchant left in rags.

They all accepted the contract Quin offered them and soon he called them his hunters. They were vicious when necessary, absolutely deadly and no longer quite human. They weren't as strong as he, the contract he could offer a diluted version of the pact he carried in his soul and mind.

They approached a city a couple of weeks later and the thing in the back of his head stirred, hungry and greedy, feeling all those souls within calling out. It pressed images into his mind, of deals and contracts, of all the ways he could feed it. Make it stronger. Help it break its cage in given time.

Quin did not like that he didn't have much of a choice in this matter. The thing would take back the pact if he didn't listen and that would kill him and his hunters. And curse him, but he had grown fond of this lot of lost souls that followed him like he was their shepherd.

Maybe he was, in a way.

His treasure got him what his charm no longer could: people willing to listen. He found an empty, unexpectedly large tavern and settled in. It was nice to have a home, he had to admit, after traveling for so long.

He soon had to concede the business side to employees who had no deals with him. For if he or his hunters were behind the bar or walking around with serving trays, the few that had shown up left swiftly.

It took time and effort to build a bit of a reputation, but slowly he carved out a place for himself in this large city. Mostly he was known for his deals and his tavern for offering nice ale and food to acceptable prices.

As he sat in his usual booth, waiting for people to approach him for a piece of his patron's powers, he realized that this wasn't quite the life he had wanted for himself.

Sure, he had gotten quite a lot out of the pact, but mostly he had wanted to be free. To do whatever he wanted. To have all the different versions of power to be untouchable and uncontrollable. To be really, truly free.

He watched a man gather the courage to approach him, his arms gripping a clearly sick babe. He'd get the mildest contract Quin could create.

Quin would help the guy for free if his patron allowed such things, which it of course didn't. For all of Quin's occasional depravity and ease at murdering, he did not like to take advantage of the truly helpless.

Of the people his parents had once been.

'Well,' he thought to himself as he smiled as mildly as he could when the father walked towards him at last. 'If this is my lot in life, I better make it a damn fucking good one.'

So he remodeled the tavern, hired performers and grabbed his carefully hoarded treasure. He spent and invested the gold, bartered and made deals that had nothing to do with the coiling darkness connected to his mind and soul.

He set himself free in almost all aspects. The pact had given him many things while shackling him down and even if the shackle was something he had to live with until his dying day, there were still other chains to break.

Chains made by society and stupid rules even he had stuck in his head despite his best efforts.

So Quin set himself free as much as he could and built his reputation anew. He built the Revelry and it grew beyond the bounds of his tavern with every year, gold flowing back to him first in a small trickle and then in a big river and he took it and invested it into his business, his street. His life.

Within a couple of years he was as powerful and untouchable as he had always dreamed of being. He had the sort of reputation that made people avoid his gaze for more reasons than one.

Some days he could delude himself into thinking that it was his bloody and dangerous reputation alone that made folks inch away from him, rather than what his patron had turned him into.

Sometimes it was a lonely life, sure, but he had a...yes, a family now. His hunters meant the world to him and he cared for his employees, making sure they had everything they needed to be happy.

In return, they were fiercely loyal, bringing him rumors and secrets and warning him of backhanded deals and impending betrayals by business partners. He grew untouchable in more ways than one thanks to them.

He kept his patron fed and content, made sure it had everything it could possibly want. He was careful, however, never quite feeding it as much as it really wanted.

He didn't want it to get out of its tomb and while he knew some day it would happen, he'd drag it out as long as he possibly could.

Quin made the Revelry and dedicated himself to it, gave it his heart and blood and most of the time it was enough. Most of the time he felt like his life was nearly perfect.

As long as his patron was quiet, he pretended as though every part of him, his everything, could be dedicated to what he had built. That all his choices were his own and could not be controlled by another.

This was a good life, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the greed for more within him. The greed to reach that extra little inch to true freedom, the shackle on his foot keeping him firmly grounded.

He had a rich, free, powerful life. The sort of life written about in stories and that he had dreamed about as a boy while helping his mother scrub pots and pans and his father with mending clothes.

He almost wished they were still alive to see him now. Sometimes he poured a drink in their honor and hoped they were watching from whatever afterlife they were in now.

He hoped they were proud, that he had taken all their lessons and challenged the world. That he had come out the other side as the person he wanted to be.

He hunted and made pacts, terrified foolish nobles and bartered for information to get the city guard fully under his thumb. He already had a number of people on his payroll, but he really wanted to get his claws into the captain. Then the city really would be his at long last.

He had no idea how soon his wish would be fulfilled.

It was a night like many others, filled with joy and laughter, wild partying and people cutting loose in a way that fed his very soul and spirit. Quin was in a very good mood as he made a contract with a burly man who could scarcely stand to even glance in his direction.

"My right hand will take care of things," he said, gesturing lazily and his first hunter melted out of the shadows.

His oldest friend, sometimes pain in his ass and a stalwart, loyal companion. Quin knew, deep down, that he would have withered away emotionally without his hunters at his side.

The deal made and on its way to being fulfilled, he got up just as someone tripped, stumbling towards him. He caught that person just in time, casting a brief glare at the drunk woman that had decided shoving his guests was a good idea.

The woman hurriedly looked away and Quin plastered on his best smile, straightening up the one in his arms. "Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this."

And the first thing he noticed was that the stranger met his eyes, unafraid and unflinching, before listing a bit to the side. Ah, a drunkard.

Or not, he realized when, for the first time, someone refused to be parted from him. Cold fingers clung to his silk doublet and the feeling that something was wrong tingled in the back of his mind.

So he reached out, hooking his finger under an equally cold chin, not yet knowing that he was looking at the one who would change his life forever in all the best ways.

The one to set him free, truly free, at long last.

*.*.*

Tag List:

@those-damn-snippets @the-cash-cache @queenofbooknerds @14-lizards-in-a-trenchcoat @fern-writes-whump @bexterbaileyw @setsailforthestars @piperjistic @addrai @catloverlawyer @permanentlydepressedpigeon @tama-on-vetta @marateleam @transparentdiplomatlandgoth @cheesecakev2 @myst3rious-figur3 @warriorofbooks @aprilraine

#my writing #short story #quin was so chatty #I hope this is an enjoyable read #implied murder #i have no idea why the tagging didn't work for everyone #going to look into it #anyway #hope you enjoy this little thing I cobbled together for quin #and his very much not really tragic backstory #he's just one greedy mf #it's a bit weird to me that there is so little dialogue #but it just worked better this way somehow #anywho #there might be a Drabble for Deals and Revelry later #for quin and his love #he's really just a very fun character to write for #hope I didn't overlook too many spelling mistakes

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adaharablack · 2 months ago

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some very important drarry dialogue i had to go write down for my book five rewrite.

#azimuth // mf #been thinking abt this rewrite a lot lately as i work on book four #i can't wait to go full tragic romance #two different ways to say i love you in drarry language

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astersghost · 2 years ago

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Hey um hey uh hey mr. Liam O'Brien uh ow uh ouch

#bells hells #critical role #bells hells spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role spoilers #orym of the air ashari #orym #liam o'brien #you mf #i know you enjoy your tragic characters #i enjoy your tragic characters #but sir #my fucking heart #my favorite small little guy being equally fucked up in the head #just quiet about it #is so true #but um #ouchie

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thetortured-poetsdepartment · 9 months ago

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#polls #music polls #music #taylor swift #taylor swift debut #debut #lover #taylor swift lover #ts polls #taylor swift polls #i still think the second half of this tracklist is fuckin wild #youve got a really intense iconic song about heartbreak thats like easily one of the best on the album #a really energetic bordering on silly song about fucking england. and English people. thats easily one of the worst on the album #really really sad heartbreaking song about her mom's battle with cancer #sex + sax #campest song ever about how all women and all gay people are cool asf and haters gonna hate #yntcd is like shake it off got addicted to acid or something #and also came out of the closet #and then youve got afterglow. which is like i know i suck im the worst person alive please dont leave me #which is immediately followed up by actually im the best and youre lucky to have me. would you like to hear a brendon urie high note #then a song thats supposed to be a wedding song but is lowkey creepy #then The album closer of all time #like in a world where lover was her final album daylight would have been the perfect track to end her discography like it so perfectly #summarises Everything imo #and then the most tragic belated bonus track ever 💀 it was like ok this mf gets one last nice song before i dump his ass and drop ylm #ellies polls

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strigital · 2 years ago

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y'all mind if i drop a whole bunch of my precious tragic meow meows down here real quick?

Johnnyboy 👇

Jaxine (V, just V)

Jaxine circa 60's-70's (ah yes, the roaring teens, the formative years and the quiet before the shitstorm)

Alek (The Original™ V and once upon a time - the deadliest gay mf in NC)

Yuki (the mom, the myth, the legend and also Takemura's sweetheart)

Isaak (the dad's fucken dead yo but we still love him dearly </3)

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unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years ago

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spinning off of "winston being fantastically (literally fantastical (literally related to fantasy)) clairvoyant (he is also figuratively clear-sighted / figuratively preternaturally perceptive just like, in the show. which is where this all comes from. plus him calling himself cassandra, always seeing the future. he really has always / continued to be thusly) and taylor literally has a broadsword" type fun and games that are very loosey goosey b/c billions aus go spinning off into their own separate dimensions super easily when billions canon is so rooted in its specific Stage Settings of modern day US law n finance battles in the office, sidewalks, and eateries:

the thought of winston & tuk and winston gets to be a fairy. jokes, please. changelings are right there with the common theory of "was this to explain disabilities & go 'something could go Wrong and the baby's not a Person and get rid of that,' unlike nowadays where people do that but go 'b/c that baby's disabled'" and also one goes Thinking Emoji about how apparently New Mothers and New Brides were susceptible along with New Borns to become swapped out with a fairy and now something's wrong with them and get rid of that. had to be about Something given that people apparently did act on changeling lore and martin luther is taking a stance like yeah another thesis, it's important to kill them And okay to kill them b/c they don't even have a soul anyways. okay thanks martin luther....meanwhile also witchcraft and getting after anybody for that too. and fairies generally as Problems, the etymology going back to [fate], the range like "ooh hehe causing funny little inconveniences just because" to more so "yeah they could cause life-threatening illness for that" and "yeah they'll just kill you"....and i think fairy/fey as respective noun/adj re: being gay is of Unknown Origin, like "gay" also is. and you never know, if being fey is like, well something's not right and it's dangerous, whether this is the inspiration....though by the time this slang starts turning up, and even in the time of prior possible origins / the roots in other usages / potential inspirations, theoretical actual fairies are surely becoming more Fanciful, this being around like, the 18th century, rather than "here's martin luther telling you to immolate! that! baby!"

but that like, you can have it all ways out here. the Always Small fairies i think being a later kind of victorian deal, rather than "fairies are shapeshifters & can become animals e.g. & May have a 'tiny little inches or millimeters high mode' but that's just a mode & the fact that generally though they just look like people, maybe with some stylistic variations and tells, means watch out" and i think wings came up ever, across yknow the various centuries and regions of folklore out here lmao and possible origins / influences yet further across time & regions & cultures, but again "always small and always winged" being a very relatively modern victorian deal. but we can draw on that to be sure when, additionally, a Potential mutual [would prefer to avoid] between fairies and humans (as opposed to "if your house or some shit is on a fairy path bestie just build them another door to walk straight through cuz they're Gonna") becomes "no, fairies mostly avoid humans more than the other way around" type of imbalance of any threat means like, well hey sure, the Real Self could then become a tiny little magical guy having fun with wing designs who is shy and elusive but maybe another fun little guy can accidentally become aware but then have a secret little hidden friendship hmm....

but then also just thinking of the version where you just look exactly like everyone else and live amongst them, changeling style. and potentially don't Know you're different, or at least not Why, b/c this is a "from birth" thing like hmmm ya don't say. and the whole thread where in some folklore fairies Aren't nonhuman, the difference is only about the separate fairy Realm you live in, which is different, with like "yeah sometimes fairies come from people who died." and alongside / overlapping with everything like "yeah you could disappear for a few days to that realm and then be like 'don't wanna / can't talk about it'" and whatever all various like "watch out for the liminal and unknowingly wandering or being taken into the fairy world and Then watch out for communing with them b/c then you could be Permanently affected, or permanently continually affected or vulnerable, or just stuck there. and we wouldn't want that" like well don't let them know your name but maybe try to find out their names b/c you can get at them in turn that way, don't get in on any food, don't get in on any parties. though variations, sometimes people getting whisked away for particular tasks that apparently Only humans can do. or forever potential for helpful / sympathetic fairy interventions in life. like fairies raising humans b/c their human parents were awful

also, that some classic Tests for "is your baby a changeling?" were very like, "well i guess if we drowned or burned that person and they just died about it....our bad," in the way that like apparently the way to go could be "put them in the fire. where they'll either burn or fly out the chimney." or "start going tf beating them with objects. so that they go away" like and they never stop beating winston with hammers out here!! or the classic "idk abandon them in the forest so fairies can take them back" like well they do also like [i prefer to pretend winston doesn't exist / forget that he does] lmao. this isn't really related. just the ol "ballpeen hammers kind of goated when it comes to putting someone in a sack and beating them to death" factor out here for your local changelings

also sure thinking of like ohh watch out for winston and his gayass Realm he exists in which is wrong and not of our own and potentially will forever change you with its gayass ways. uh oh don't get corrupted into a whole other powerful magical mode of existence if you commune with him in some deep fundamental nourishing ways. oh nooo watch ouuuut....one of the "you might be a changeling if" moments being "when they think they're alone do they act up?? dance??" like yeah i'm stimming and bursting into motion and making noises and existing wrong when i think i'm alone. Old Souls (theory as well that newborn changelings were secretly elderly fairies)....existence in the Fey Realm just making you different and out of place huh. and it would just be a guy though like either [undetectable except by already trying to kill them] and/or [actually just a human, fairies are just humans, fairies b/c they're in/from the fairy realm] but uh oh don't let him corrupt you. don't go hanging out with him and talking with him and partaking in his activities and embracing his ways. you'll be changed. you'll never fit in around here and be able to do things right ever again. we'll have to start beating you with hammers. and all for what. your weird gayass little guy and a whole possible other dimension of existence? vs all This? smh

#that fey little mf. all the same glasses hoodies cargo pants winston....#winston billions #you can't go wrong. sort of semi fantastical au. or just modern day ''fairies can even be in your hedge fund office'' magical realism #not even like there's clear Powers lol like what do fairies do? well bit fuzzy on that but one things for sure:#cause problems for US!!!! like wow the way symptoms & definitions of disabilities are approached much?#you might be a fairy if....ouch i'm dead of unclear causes in 1337. Not very 1337....#winston is truly always causing problems. also learned that ''oaf'' (another word i've recently thought like ''i would just not say that''#b/c for some reason the nyt i believe described orville wingate as [still an(?)] Oaf & i was like a) huh b) excuse me) derives from fairy #as it was a term for a changeling specifically :I which juuust so happens to lead to connotations of Stupidity(tm) & Clumsiness(tm)#hmm! you do not say it!#what could changeling winston do? up for grabs. but the point is: change(ling) your life. and other fun things :)#also i think another potential fairy ability was: seeing the future as well lol. it's all coming together #seeing winston with fun bird wings b/c you've communed with him ''too much'' already. not an angel thing. a fairy thing #(sidebar abt how some Lore was that they Are an angel thing. see: influence from whole other traditions lol)#winston Becoming a bird b/c he can do things like that b/c fairies are shapeshifters. he's a pigeon =) you have a nest for him =) cooing #another parallel like ''definitely don't fuck him or you're locked in to his gay autistic realm for sure''#just like how as a theoretically real world autistic person everyone just knows winston isn't allowed to have sex #nowadays how ridiculous to imagine going: we think someone is weird & dislike their vibes; they shouldn't exist. we should ostracize them #we would never be like; some corruption has caused your child to exist wrong. basically taking your Real child away from you #or when they do tragically exist that they should be driven away to any possible extent up to ''just kill them :( sorry for You btw''#with the Possibility fairies could give you your Real Human Child back....#autistic kid? number one recommendation totally isn't ''put them in specialized abuse school where we try to banish the autism for you''

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taeslarityy · 1 year ago

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outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night.

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic.

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls.

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely.

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park.

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that.

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night.

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm.

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home.

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity.

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds?

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa.

You also adored the fuck out of Joel.

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock.

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman.

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts.

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.”

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day.

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.”

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided.

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.”

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by.

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home.

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet.

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm.

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already.

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee.

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it.

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name.

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house.

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted.

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?”

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you.

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest.

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long.

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

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wanderingcritter · 7 months ago

Text

My daily schedule according to anti-kin mfs

3am: get up to aggressively bark and howl at the moon for 2 hours, waking all of my neighbors up in the process

6am: make myself a well rounded breakfast consisting exclusively of raw deer meat

6:30am: scream and cry for half an hour because my mom is forcing me to go to school and wolves CLEARLY do not go to school. my life is hell

7am: throw all of my deodorant in the trash because it blocks my natural 💫 𝓅𝒽ℯ𝓇ℯ𝓂ℴ𝓃ℯ𝓈💫

8am: arrive at school wearing my fav buttplug tail and galaxy wolf shirt

8:30am: have a vague memory of having graduated high school already, but that cant be true because no therian is older than 16 so here i am

9am: yell at my classmates for calling me a human and tell them that they're being therianphobic, and that im going to cancel them on twitter and make sure they never get jobs

9:30am: enter psychosis

10am: angrily email the school board for the 8th time this week because they won't put litter boxes in the bathrooms for me which is therianphobic oppression

10:30am: sit alone in a corner and growl/hiss at any humans who get too close to me

11am: enter psychosis

12pm: single handedly regress the trans rights movement by 10 years

1:30pm: refuse to sit in a chair for class and instead perch up on a desk. teacher threatens to kick me out, tragically i am forced to comply

2:30pm: cast a spell on one of my religious classmates as i leave school using my evil devil anti-human anti-christian magic

3pm: more raw deer meat omnomnomnom

5pm: enter psychosis

5:30pm: burn a picture of charles darwin in my trashcan because i hate all of that therianphonic science and biology nonsense. you can't tell me what to do CHARLES

6pm: enter psychosis

7pm: enter psychosis

8pm: i curl up in my nest of roadkill bones and sheets that haven't been washed in 3 months and gently fall asleep <3

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fixated-cookies · 5 months ago

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(Ignore this if this is too much to post but I think it’s ok I just REALLY needed to yap-)

okay. shadow milk.

that mf has overtaken my mind again like last year accept it’s “worse” now. (hashtag non con, yandere😇)

Shadow Milk is nothing but a powerful menace in bed i SWEAR. That sadistic jester is gonna do everything to make you scream while your getting pounded. He absolutely loves it, bonus points if your tied up by his strings because he has a bondage kink you can’t change my mind. He will turn you into his puppet weather you want it or not he doesn’t want you to escape. Oh.. he’d be throwing degrades out at you left and right you just whimper with tears falling out of your eyes not knowing what to say back. The roughness of his cock has overtaken your senses.

“Aww~! Look at how pathetic you are so vulnerable and tied up like this. It’s sad really~!” *the man chuckles*

Omg he’d wipe them tears away like he gives af about you crying from his hard dick, he just wants you for himself. I mean he does care about you in his own interesting ways but not when your tied up looking oh so submissive and on display for him.

Once he’s done he will apologize to you and try his hardest to help you recover. (your still tied up) but that’s definitely not the last time your gonna see that hardcore fucking from him.

i am Insane i need this good day/night fellow black pearl enjoyer.

ahh, he definitely would pull something like this, especially after an escape attempt. it's just a little silly, really, how you think you could trick HIM, out of all people to try this with.

MDNI

Dark content ahead- noncon, yandere, bondage

Now your face down ass up with your arms tied behind your back because of your own stupidity. He's pulling moans and dirty whines from you while drooling into the pillows. Just imagine Shadow Milk Cookie sneering down at you with that infuriating grin as he drinks in your helplessness. he’s so proud of his handiwork. His sweet favorite puppet trying to runaway from him? not going to happen.

"Oh, my dear, sweet little puppet… do you know what happens to misbehaving toys?" he'll purr into your ear while thrusting deep into your sopping cunt. His fingers cause indents into the skin of your hips. His hips keep moving, harsh and deliberate, dragging out every sensation until you’re trembling. You feel his smirk against your skin when he presses a kiss just beneath your ear, followed by a sharp nip that makes you jolt.

You try to muffle your mewls by trying to bury your face in the pillows? nope! His movements halt—but not for mercy, no, no—this is punishment. Before you can react, your world flips. He yanks himself away immediately, hands gripping you with almost effortless strength as he turns you over in one swift motion. The sheer force of it knocks the little air you had left straight from your lungs, leaving you gasping beneath him.

And through your blurry vision from your tears you can see his grin—it’s positively wicked.

"There we go~" he purrs "Don’t tell me you forgot who this show is for? Hiding those darling sounds? Unacceptable. I want to hear you." you squirm as you feel his cock once again entering, stretching you out to create a full sensation.

Oh, Shadow Milk Cookie isn’t just cruel—he’s ruthless. Every single mistake you made during your little escape attempt? He’s going to shove it in your face until it’s all you can think about.

"Really? Really? You actually thought you could get away from me?" His voice is full of mocked disbelief, like he finds the very idea laughable. "Ohhh, sweet thing, you must be even dumber than I thought! And trust me—that’s saying something!" He gives you a rough thrust as he laughs, a sharp, biting thing that makes your face burn with humiliation.

"Tell me, did you actually think you were being clever? Sneaking out in the dead of night like some tragic little hero? Oh, poor, naive you—running right into my strings, like the idiot you are." He takes in your cries and whimpers gripping your jaw, forcing your teary-eyed gaze to meet his.

"And now look at you. Back where you belong—right under me, whining, trembling, all because you thought you were strong enough to leave. Tsk, tsk." He shakes his head, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh feeling your warmth tighten around him. Oh and like you said anon, Shadow Milk Cookie does love it when you cry. Loves the way those fat, helpless tears roll down your cheeks, proof of how thoroughly he’s broken you down. But does he care? Ohhh, not in the way you’d hope.

he'll cup your face, his thumb swiping oh-so-gently beneath your trembling eyes. "What’s the matter, sweet thing? Regretting all those dumb little choices now?" tilting his head and studying you, focusing on the way your lips tremble and uneven breaths. "Mmm, no, I don’t think so. I think—" he leans in, grinning as he presses a feather-light kiss to your damp cheek"—you’re just upset ‘cause you finally realized how pathetic you are without me." listening to another sob fall from your mouth once he hits your cervix.

"It’s cute, really. You’re cute. Crying like this, all tied up, nowhere to run—" his voice dips, eyes glinting with something dark, something possessive— "all mine."

And when another tear spills free? He doesn’t wipe it away.

He just laughs.

And once later comes, when your wringed out of all the orgasms you can give him, laying bare, your mind empty, and feeling like a pile of jello. Do you truly believe he would feel bad?

"Ah, my poor little puppet…" His voice has lost that razor-sharp edge, now dripping in something too soft, too mocking to be genuine. He leans over you, tilting his head as if to study the mess he’s made of you. Your body, still trembling, still bound, your chest rising and falling with uneven, exhausted breaths.

His fingers trace your cheek, a feather-light touch too tender for a monster like him. "I suppose I should say sorry, huh?" He hums, tapping his chin in thought before flashing that infuriating grin. "Buuut… I don’t really regret it." Shadow Milk Cookie's aftercare is… complicated. Twisted, but in his own way, sincere. Even if he knows he’s pushed you to your limit, even if he’s relished in your helplessness, the moment it’s over, he doesn’t just walk away. He lingers, watching you—taking in the trembling of your body, the way your breath hitches, the quiet little whimpers still spilling from your lips. A teary-eyed glare hurtles his way. "Now, now… don’t look at me like that." His voice is softer now, a stark contrast to the sharp, mocking tone from before."You’ll start thinking I’m some kind of villain!" His fingers pause at your wrist, where the bindings were, and he gives a mocking little sigh as they curl around them, then bringing them lower to different parts of your body, massaging the stiff muscles with slow, deliberate movements.

"So tell me, little puppet… have we learned anything?"

I learned that the best way to write shadow milk is for him to make you annoyed at how much he speaks. HE NEEDS TO SHUT UP! They say black sapphire likes the sound of his voice? well it seems like he has competition from his own master!

#shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie smut #shadow milk cookie #yandere shadow milk cookie #yandere shadow milk #crk x reader #crk smut #crk #smut #tw noncon

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eclipixels · 5 months ago

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Anyway chat where ??? Is my kaiser fics?? 😔

LET ME PYO!! YK that one scene where Kaiser is first introduced??

could you write me sum of that scene but like it’s reader sleeping on their shared bed and yk how how he’s walking out from the bathroom to take the call?? Instead of standing there he sits on the bed leaning back on the headboard caressing/twirling readers hair while taking the call?? Maybe a lil blow job at the end idk 🤷🏻‍♀️

Fidelity

Michael Kaiser x Reader

Content: Your relationship with Kaiser, how it began and where it is now

A/N: I hate this bitch so much like he's my biggest op and he's not even real. I hate him the same way AOT fans hate Gabi, I hate him the same way Demon Slayer fans hate Muzan, I hate him the same way Gojo glazers hate Sukuna. I want him DEAD like idgaf ab his tragic backstory. PLEASE come to America you German bitch, trust I got a strap for your ass you pale ass mf ima rip those fuck ass cheap at home kool-aid dyed blue ends from your scalp, you can't use your "soccer kicking" skills out of this the same way you did with those police officers. ON MY MAMA I WILL ROCK HIS SHIT if he was real. UNFORTUNATELY my bestie requested, and I had to deliver so wtvr, this is the content you get from a D1 Kaiser hater. You have been warned. Um anyway, enjoy :P

Warnings: oral sex 🍋

[3,822 words]

It was just another Saturday morning. The sound of Michael's phone ringing jolted you awake, prompting you to grumble and yell at him to pick it up. Still half-asleep, you didn't realize he wasn’t beside you.

You and Michael had been together for a while now. You'd known him since childhood, watching him grow while growing alongside him. It was strange, witnessing the changes in him while navigating your own.

—

"What's your name?" you remember asking when you first met him. He lived a few houses over on your street.

"Michael," he answered, his voice flat, unreadable.

"I'm Y/n," you said, offering a hesitant smile. Most of your friends were girls, it was easier that way. They were usually kind, welcoming, making friendship feel natural. But Michael was different. He carried himself with a quiet detachment, his expression unreadable, his posture stiff as if he wasn’t used to people talking to him. Truth be told, when you first saw him, you had mistaken him for a girl. His hair was long and tangled, matted in a way that suggested neglect rather than style. His clothes hung loosely on his thin frame, worn and slightly oversized. There was something about him that felt off, but you were too young to understand why.

At that age, you didn’t question much. You didn’t ask why his hair looked like that or why he never seemed to smile. You just knew that he was there, and for some reason, you kept talking to him. Maybe it was because he listened, or maybe it was because he never pushed you away.

Your mother was barely present, always chasing the bottom of a bottle or stepping outside for another smoke. Alcohol had its grip on her, and you learned early on that you couldn’t rely on her for much. You spent most days fending for yourself, learning how to navigate the world without guidance. Loneliness was something you had grown accustomed to, but when Michael appeared, that loneliness didn’t feel as suffocating.

You started sticking around him, finding comfort in his silence. He didn’t gossip or giggle over small things. He didn’t ask too many questions. You stuck with him.

Before he met you, Michael spent most of his time on the streets, stealing just to survive. It was all he knew, taking what he needed, keeping his head down, and making it through another day. But after you came into his life, something shifted. For the first time, he felt a strange, unspoken obligation to keep someone else safe. It wasn’t something he fully understood, only that you were his in a way nothing else had ever been.

It was the same feeling he had when he bought that soccer ball—his first real possession, something finally, finally his to keep. You became that too, in a way. Someone he wanted to protect, to hold onto. And so, instead of roaming the streets or lurking in dark alleys, he started spending most of his time with you, in places that were quiet, safe.

It was different with you. Not like how it was when he would eventually meet Ness. Ness was someone he could manipulate, someone who would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. A pawn. A tool. But you were not that. At least, that’s what he seemed to feel. You weren’t something to use, you were something to keep.

While you attended public school like any other kid, Michael had never been enrolled. His father hadn’t bothered. So while you sat in classrooms, listening to lessons and doing assignments, he spent his days stealing, pawning whatever he could to get by. But the moment you came home, he was there. He always made sure to be there.

"Today in class, we spent some time learning about history," you began, your voice carrying a hint of thoughtfulness as you recalled the lesson.

"Hm?" he hummed in response, his interest piqued but his body visibly relaxed. Michael, who had just settled beside you after an intense session of kicking the soccer ball around, tilted his head to look at you.

The two of you were lounging on the soft grass of a nearby public park, the sun casting a warm glow over the open space. He had been experimenting with different techniques, testing his footwork and control before finally deciding he had done enough for now. He then plopped down next to you and made himself comfortable, his head naturally finding its place on your lap, something he had developed into a quiet habit over time.

"Did you know that the last German Kaiser was Wilhelm II, who was a cousin of Russia’s last Tsar, Nicholas II, and Britain’s King George V."

"Oh," Michael hummed, his response quiet, almost absentminded as he rested against you.

"In Russia, there were these people who wanted to change the way the royal family treated everyone, so they got rid of them," you explained, your voice steady but laced with the weight of the lesson.

A revolution, born from the suffering of the abused and mistreated, had taken extreme measures to erase the rulers they held responsible for the devastation of their country. They had believed that by eliminating the monarchy, they could forge a new beginning, a birth of politics free from oppression. But in their pursuit of justice, they got carried away. Soon, the very ideals they had fought for crumbled beneath the weight of their own actions.

Trying to hurt those who have hurt you, it’s easy to get lost in it. Once you rise from being the underdog to someone in power, the very thing you fought against seeps into you. It overwhelms, corrupts. Before you even realize it, you're no different from those you once despised. You start hurting the people around you, repeating the cycle.

You were too young to understand it back then. Human nature—flawed, unpredictable, a subject of endless debate among philosophers for centuries. But you never expected to experience it, though.

Once Michael got arrested, he disappeared from your life for weeks. You weren’t sure when or if you’d see him again and the thought of that hurt. But then, one day, he was standing outside your door.

You were in your room, oblivious to his presence, while your mother was home for once. Unbeknownst to you, he lingered on the doorstep, unmoving. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating. He’d seen you a million times before, yet something about this moment felt different. Maybe it was the weight of everything that had happened. Maybe it was the fact that he never really knew what to call what you two had. He never really had friends, after all.

Through the thin walls of your house, he could hear the yelling, your mother’s sharp, bitter voice laced with frustration as she blamed you for money problems again. Then a sound that made something inside him snap, the unmistakable clink of a bottle being raised, the threat hanging in the air.

Before he even registered the decision, his body moved on its own. He kicked at the door, once, twice, three times, until it finally gave way. Adrenaline surged through his veins but his face remained void of emotion as he stepped inside.

You were on the floor, frozen in shock at the sight of him.

“Micha?” Your voice wavered.

He didn’t respond, just moved forward, scooping you up effortlessly before carrying you outside.

Your mother barely reacted. She couldn’t care less about you but when she finally turned, her gaze met Michael’s and for the first time, you saw something terrifying. The look he gave her was colder than ice, sharper than a blade. It was the same look of disdain you had only ever seen him reserve for his father.

You didn’t look back. As you walked beside him, your hand held firmly in his, you finally spoke.

“Where have you been?”

Michael kept his eyes forward. “Do you still want to live there?” he asked instead.

You were still only fourteen. Michael had just turned fifteen.

“I don’t really have a choice,” you admitted.

He exhaled, then said, “I think I’m gonna be getting a lot of money soon.” A pause. “You can live with me.”

Your mind raced with a million questions. Where had he been? What did he mean by money? How was that even possible?

But Michael wasn’t someone who explained things with words. He always acted first, letting the truth reveal itself over time. So instead of questioning, you simply nodded.

“Okay.”

He hummed in appreciation.

It wasn’t until later that you learned everything. How he got arrested, what happened to his father, how he had been scouted by a soccer team that saw potential in him. They were training him to become something great, something unstoppable. And with that came money, a future, an escape.

As for you and Michael, you weren’t sure where you stood.

You called it friendship.

One afternoon, he was lying on your lap again. It had become your thing. No matter where you were—whether on your bed, sitting in the park, or on the porch of your old house—Michael would always find his way there, resting his head on your thighs, golden locks spilling over as he closed his eyes with his arms crossed.

That day was no different. Except, this time, it was late, far past the usual hour either of you went to bed. Bastard München had been against the idea of letting you stay in the dorms, but Michael had given them an ultimatum. Either they paid for your necessities too, or he’d find another team. And Michael was a once-in-a-lifetime player, someone they couldn’t afford to lose. So they agreed.

“You asleep?” you asked softly, fingers threading through his hair. It was much silkier now than when you were younger. He was in cleaner clothes, you both were. You had access to things you never had growing up in poverty.

Michael’s eyes fluttered open, blue irises peeking up at you through his lashes.

He was quiet. You stared back, taking in the details of his face, memorizing them as if you hadn’t already done so a thousand times. Then, without a word, he lifted his head. His face was suddenly much closer to yours.

You barely had time to react before his lips met yours.

It was untraditional. Your eyes shut immediately, but his remained slightly open, half-lidded, just enough to watch you. He had never done this before. It was foreign to him, but he followed instinct, doing what felt right.

Michael had never thought about kissing you before.

The same couldn’t be said for you.

He pressed his lips more firmly against yours, learning the sensation of your plush lips against his own. He learned that he really liked the way you tasted, a flavor uniquely made just for him.

When he finally pulled back, he studied you, the faintest trace of saliva connecting you before you wiped it away with the back of your hand. Michael’s expression twisted into offense as he licked his own lips instead.

“Why’d you wipe it off?” His voice was laced with mild irritation, almost possessive.

Your face burned. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“Michael, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

The moment you said it, you regretted it. Your cheeks were on fire, and you had no idea what had come over you. Michael stilled, frozen in place as he just stared at you. His hand found yours before his gaze lowered, face thoughtful but expressionless.

“What does love feel like?” He asked after a pause.

You swallowed, gathering your thoughts. “It’s when you feel comfortable and taken care of. When your heart feels at home. When you feel happy.”

Michael was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he settled back into your lap, arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face against you.

“Then, I love you too,” he whispered, his voice barely audible before sleep pulled him under.

—

Currently, you are in bed, your body cocooned in the warmth of the blankets. Michael stepped out in his lavish robe, the scent of expensive cologne and the luxury he’d surrounded himself with clinging to him. He picked up his phone, slipping into a conversation about some program in Japan that required Bastard Munchen's assistance.

He was different now. Fame, fortune, and luxury had transformed him. He saw himself as untouchable, sitting on a throne that no one could ever knock him off from. He imagined himself soaring higher than the stars, out of reach.

You saw the change in him. It was evident in the way he treated his teammates, in the way he treated Ness. It was... almost cruel, and it hurt to watch. You didn’t want to believe it. How could your Michael, the boy you had grown up with, become like this? You clung to that small, sweet, innocent part of him that still lingered, that side of him you knew was still there. Maybe you were wrong to believe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. You knew the things he did weren’t right, but when he was with you, he was different. He was still your Michael, the same one you grew up with.

But he had changed. From the underdog, the abused, the mistreated, to becoming corrupt, merciless, and mentally abusive to other people. You wanted to feel sorry for Ness, to wish for things to be different. But your loyalty, your heart, it was with Michael. You were his Kaiserin, and he was your Kaiser. And you would stay loyal to him, even if it meant turning a blind eye to the harm he was causing to others. Even if it meant sacrificing your morals and humanity to do so.

Who was the real Michael? The one with the world, or the one with you? Truth be told, you didn’t care. It was selfish and wrong, but it was the truth. You got to see his good side, the side no one else saw, and in your eyes, that was all that mattered.

“Micha...” You stirred, feeling the weight of his presence beside you. He had sat down on the bed, his gaze falling to you. Even though you didn’t think you looked anything special in the morning, he always admired the way you seemed so peaceful.

He placed a hand gently on your back, his fingers tracing soft hearts on your skin. Slowly, they climbed their way up to your head, playing with your hair as if it were the most precious thing to him.

Michael wasn’t the only one who enjoyed resting his head on your lap now. You had started to enjoy it too. You found comfort in it, in the way his warmth and presence seemed to protect you from the world. It was the little things, like taking short naps or simply cuddling, resting your head on his lap, that made you feel safe.

And right now, it felt no different. You inched closer, letting your body relax as you sprawled yourself across his lap. He had grown more muscular over the years. His thighs, once lean, were now firm and strong with muscle, but they were soft when relaxed. It was the perfect place to rest, feeling his warmth and security surround you as you melted into him.

Wrapped in nothing but a robe, Michael was completely exposed underneath, though you were still too sleepy to fully register it. The haze of drowsiness clouded your mind until you felt the subtle shift of his body. Michael let out a low grunt, his muscles tightening in his thighs, flexing under your weight in a way that couldn’t be ignored.

As he looked at you, his eyes were full of desire and desperation. It was a look he reserved for you, an unspoken plea that carried more meaning than any words could. It was his way of silently telling you what he needed, what he craved from you in that moment. He was always one to convey with actions over words.

You undid his robe as he spoke on the phone, your hands finding their way to his hard cock. It was already leaking precum, the clear liquid sticky against his tip. You and him experimented with a bunch of different things over the years, only ever having each other to do it with which is how you found out that you really enjoyed how he reacted to your touch.

Seeing how Michael acts with others vesus you was always something you indulged in. Especially now. How he spoke on the phone to those people while simulatuously just letting you ravish him.

His eyes watched intently as you opened your mouth to let saliva drip onto his dick. He winced as it dribbled down his tip, mixing with the precum already there. You looked up at him all innocently through your lashes, sticking your tongue out before swallowing him whole. For a moment, Michael froze, the line on the other end repeating his name to make sure he was still there.

“I’ll make them get on their knees.” Michael spoke seductively, almost as if the message was more for you than them. He tilted your chin up away from his dick, almost passing out at the sight when he got a full view of your pretty mouth that was full of cock.

He gestured toward the floor, a silent command that you knew all too well. Without hesitation, you slipped off the bed, your movements smooth as you sank to your knees. The thick, plush rug Michael had insisted on for your shared bedroom was surprisingly soft beneath you, its texture a welcome contrast to the coolness of the floor. You settled into it, the softness making the position more comfortable as you situated yourself before him.

Michael continued on the phone, getting details about where they’d be staying, just general information. You didn’t listen in much on the conversation, instead choosing to focus on your boyfriend’s warm cock buried in the back of your throat. Kaiser loved the natural sounds it made whenever he fucked you, whether it was your cunt or your mouth, the noises drove him feral.

He liked having you on your knees, it allowed easy control on what was happening to him from both you and himself. He could fuck himself into your mouth if he wanted to and you could grip his thighs and suck the soul out of him if you wanted to, which is exactly what you were doing.

His hair feathered along this forehead as he tossed his head back, feeling a pressure build inside of him as you continued slurping and sucking him. His free hand was tangled into your hair, gathering the strands into a make-shift ponytail. Tears brimmed your eyes from having your jaw open for so long but you didn’t really mind. You liked doing this with him, you loved the feeling of his cock in your mouth, you loved it when he painted your throat white, you loved him.

“Shit—” He cursed, trying to keep his voice steady on the line. He hoped the person on the other end of the line didn’t hear him. The person didn’t mention anything about it so he assumed he was in the clear.

Michael was a man of endurance, but when it came to you, he unravelled almost instantly, even if he didn’t want to. That being said, fuck, it was getting hard to hold in his noises of pleasure as you gave him a really good blow job.

“Just text me the rest of the information.” Michael sighed before hanging the phone up. Bastard Munchen had long been accustomed to his attitude. He tossed the phone carelessly onto the bed, exhaling a quiet sigh of relief. Now, finally, he could focus on you completely, giving you his full, undivided attention without any distractions.

“You have any idea how pretty you look right now?” He murmured, his hand finding its way to the soft curve of your jaw. His thumb rubbed over your cheek, wiping away the tears that clung to your lashes. You only smiled in response, continuing to work on him, using things he liked to get him closer.

“G’na come in your mouth, my sweet little rose” Kaiser exhaled sharply, “You’re gonna swallow it right? Every last drop?”

You nodded in response, your eyelids growing heavier as you lost yourself in your task.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, always are.” He groaned, behaving almost primal. When Michael got close, he usually took the lead, allowing himself to rock back and forth in your mouth and you let him. Both his hands were now holding your face, careful to not hurt you as he used your throat to bring him close to his orgasm.

“Fuck! Ah…hah—” Michael smiled as he felt the knot in him come undone, allowing thick ropes of warm cum to land themselves deep down your throat. He was pressed up so deep against your face, your nose brushing up against the cute tattoo of your initials he got on his v-line.

Your cheeks were hollow to provide extra suction as cum filled your mouth. You enjoyed the sensation and salty flavor it provided. He slowed down his pace, revelling in the feeling of your hot tongue swirling his shaft as you waited for him to pull out.

Finally, Michael pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath.

“Look at me.” He commanded, and you obeyed, watching as he analzyed your face. He loved seeing you like this, you looked so utterly his. Michael remained silent, his chest rising and falling at a more steady rate now. He needed to look at your face, searching to see what you were feeling at the moment.

Michael wasn’t dumb. He knew exactly how you saw him, how deeply you felt for him, despite everything. He also knew that who he had become wasn’t necessarily right. But he couldn’t change the way his past had shaped him, molding him into something hardened, something fractured. While you had taken your pain and turned it into empathy, breaking the cycle, he had done the opposite, repeating it, embodying the very thing he resents.

And yet, with you, he felt freed from it all. You’ve stayed with him throughout everything.

"Love you," he murmured, his voice softer than usual as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead and then to your lips. This was his way of reassuring you that despite everything, he still loved you. And just as much, it was his way of gauging your reaction, making sure he hadn’t been too harsh with you.

You only smiled, offering him the answer he sought without words.

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