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syneilesis · 3 months

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[fic] Pampertime

Pampertime

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | Explicit | 6.7k words | ao3 link

Butler Rule No. 1: From the moment you accept the role, be prepared to obey your lady’s every command. The bunny butler outfit makes a grand return. In bed.

Content tags: Established Relationship, PWP, Roleplay, Bunny Butler Xavier, Dom/sub elements, Sub!Xavier, Strip Tease, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Cowgirl Position, Riding, PIV sex, Creampie

A/N: My contribution to the bunny butler Xavier train. Only gave a cursory edit once, so any mistakes still my fault. I'm just glad I'm done, whatever. Divider by @/saradika

One bright and sunny afternoon, Xavier texts you: Emergency can U come up here to help me?

You're in the middle of cleaning your living room, after weeks of neglecting your household responsibilities due to the sudden influx of Wanderers in the neighboring city. The Hunters Association had been scrambling to send out their hunters due to the sudden invasion of Wanderers that resembled bafflingly like corgis—which was both a blessing and a curse, if one were to be asked. Blessing because, well, they were a breed that incited cute aggression and fluffiness, and civilian evacuation had resulted in minimal problems, if one ignores the influx of people into doglike Wanderers. A curse, because—well, they did look like corgis—fluffy like a bread with a cute butt, the kind that you would expect to see in the plushie line sold at Twinkle Toys Store. They're irresistible to drag your hand across their soft coat. A not-inconsiderable number of hunters realized the error of their ways in overlooking the fact that these floof of creatures were still Wanderers, and as a consequence, Linkon hospitals suddenly found themselves busier for a week or two.

Regardless, the corgi Wanderers were easy to take care of, once you saw past their clever ruse. The difficulty lay in the numbers. Like a relentless tsunami flooding the city, they undulate in droves, shaking their butts and bouncing around and generally making an oxymoronically cute menace of themselves.

As one of the hunters dispatched to the area, you valiantly resisted the siren cute-call and eliminated as many as you could. It took you and your team more than a week, and it would have been shorter than that, had Xavier been in the fray. But he had been sent in another region the week before, and was unable to join you in your fluff-filled resistance.

But now it seems that he's back and is in need of your assistance. Flashback to that time when his oven exploded due to his attempt at baking tarts, and you drop everything you're doing and fly outside, towards the elevator, fueled by fear and sheer panic.

When you burst into his apartment, using the spare key he left you, you cry out, “Xavier! Sitrep!”

A cursory survey of the area indicate neither fire nor flood, and his apartment seems undamaged. Fear subsiding, you finally take stock of the situation.

Perhaps it's not a kitchen emergency after all? There’s no smell of something burning, thank heavens for that. You do not want to apologize to his neighbors in his place again.

You call once more, “Xavier?”

“In here.”

His voice is coming from the bedroom, and that makes you waver. Why is he still in his bedroom? Maybe he's stuck in bed? Did he sleep for three days and wake up in an unusual position and in need of assistance to set back his limbs again? Weirder and weirder thoughts spiral in your head, and your lack of response prompts him to speak once more.

“You can go in, if that's what stops you.”

“Why can't you just go out?”

“I ... can't.”

The hesitation captures your attention. Xavier is probably entangled in the bed. You may as well help him.

“All right, I'm coming in then.”

When you open the door, you're expecting some sort of layers and layers of blankets, a sea of them, not just on the bed but also on the floor and other furniture. Xavier might be underneath in any of those blankets, and it's your duty to locate him and fish him out. You're ready to swim against these blankets, fight your way into it. Do your utmost duty as a combat partner.

Except.

Except it's not a sea of blankets that welcome you once you enter the room. It's—different.

So different.

So utterly different that you drop your phone. It clatters muffled against the carpeted floor, where it slightly nudges a gift-wrapped box. And that gift-wrapped box sits next to another gift-wrapped box, and another. And another. Until you lift your widening gaze to see that Xavier's bedroom is littered with a lot of them. And Xavier—

He's on the bed, all right. But he's—

He grins lightly, leaning back from his sprawled position. The pillows behind him sink under his weight.

“Kjalfjdsj?” you say, eloquently.

“I'm glad you came ...” A pregnant pause, before he drops the bomb. “My lady.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Xavier is sprawled on the bed, bunny ears on his head, waistcoat and tie, and—you just know, you can feel it in your bones—bunny tail on behind. It's exactly what he wore when you had your couple's photos back then. The fact that he's wearing it and, judging by the sudden change of interior design of his room, that he's replicated the decoration of the studio—actually, you don't know what you can glean from those points, because you're too busy picking up the remains of your brain matter to form a coherent thought.

He drops another bomb: “Why are you just standing there, my lady?” he says, and going by the quirk of his lips he knows the effect he has on you. Compared with the first time it happened, the shy reluctance is no longer present. “This bunny butler is ready to serve, just say the word.”

Your brain melts.

“Wha—I mean—um, guh—” You studiously reacquaint yourself with the concept of words. “I just—what is going on?”

Xavier blinks, and the bunny ears on top of his head twitch as if they are truly connected to his head. Your fingers twitch themselves in response, that urge to touch and feel them again.

“I just thought,” he begins, slowly at first as if testing the waters, “that you need to relax and get pampered after that difficult mission you've just had.”

The words percolate in your mind and you scrabble for an appropriate reply to that. To be fair to the man, Xavier is sweet thinking of your well-being like that. Or maybe he's guilty that he wasn't there to help during that corgipocalypse of a week. Regardless of his intent, you have to ask:

“You thought I need to relax and your solution is to dress up as a bunny butler?”

He has the gall to think about it at length. “Yes, my lady.”

You don't miss the way he spreads his legs a little wider at that.

And really—you're only human, with wants and needs and desires. It just so happens that the common denominator of those three aspects point to the ridiculous man before you, in that ridiculous bunny butler getup that you secretly love and hope to see again. Which—yeah, it's definitely the perfect solution.

Stomping your hesitation and pride, you stride towards the bed, and Xavier, watching your every step, reclines further, giving you space for you to place your knee on the soft mattress, between his legs.

The bedfoam dips, and he shifts to avoid sinking down the indent your knee makes. Your other knee follows, and you move towards him until the heat of his inner thighs touch the outer sides of yours.

At the proximity between the two of you, Xavier tips forward, and in spite of your positions he doesn't need to tilt his head much upward to meet your deliberating gaze. An anticipatory sharpness falls on his expression and, oh, you realize, he must've wanted this too.

Which is all that you need to fall into this completely.

And it's a transformation: a reshifting of limbs and the straightening of spine, something like a lock unlatching.

“Mr. Bunny Butler,” you begin, low and relishing and shy of being predatory, “bow your head.”

Xavier's nostrils flare at that. After a couple of seconds he complies, and seeing the sliver of his exposed nape opens something within you.

Against your shoulder the bunny ears snag, their length not allowing to fall along Xavier's pose. You bring one hand up to trace an invisible line across an ear, the fur short and soft. Xavier's quiet beneath you, but you can feel him stiffening at your every move. Braced a little behind his sides, his hands clench tightly.

“Can you feel it?” you ask, pinching the colored tip of the ear, pushing it back to observe its make. It's well-made, and you wonder if this one costs more than you'd expect.

Xavier shakes his head. You want to hear him, however, so you tap the back of his head in warning. He exhales loudly; breathes out, “No ...” and then tacking on: “Master.”

Your eyes narrow in pleasure, the flesh of your cheeks bunching from how wide your smile is. “That's my good bunny,” you praise him, caressing the curve of his head. He shivers—whether from the praise or the touch or both, you don't know.

To see him like this—a formidable hunter with centuries of experience, the force of stars pulsing underneath his skin, ready to rupture at his command—head bent low before you, hands closed in restrained fists, the lines of his body intersecting into a show of surrender. Yielding. It heats the core of your belly and your blood, and you can't help but bite your lip as you savor the image.

Leaning back and sitting on your calves, you catch Xavier's downcast stare. His brows furrowed as if concentrating, and when he notices you trained on him, his eyes do something that reminds you of the existence of the concept of puppy dog eyes.

Every time he does that, you think, you want to gobble him up.

Closing in on his face, you raise your left hand and cradle his jaw, tipping it up, gazes never leaving each other. Then you draw nearer, and nearer, until your lips almost brush against his. The sharp sound of his inhale is deafening in this lack of distance. Your eyes never leave his, but his drop down, nearly crossing, as he's distracted by your lips. His breaths are hot on your skin, and finally you aim at the corner of his mouth, and open your own to say:

“Don't move.”

And then you descend, trailing butterfly kisses along the edge of his lips, his cheek, his temple. Xavier goes spine-rigid at the first contact, forgetting to breathe for a second, before slowly exhaling, as if trying to hold himself together. His brows knit again and his eyes flutter closed, the line of his lips sloping downward.

He's controlling himself. And that delights you so much that you shift to kiss his earlobe and tug it once, then whispering directly to his ear, “That's my obedient bunny. Keep this up and I'll reward you.”

You stop to wait, and when nothing happens, you tug his jaw and take a bite at the shell of his ear—he gasps—and continue:

“What do you say?”

Xavier's shoulders lurch. He breathes once, twice, before answering.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Good boy.”

The first reward: a kiss on the lips. A quick, initial press before you pry him open with tongue, and he welcomes you eagerly from the way he surges to meet you. The hand on his face holds him back, but his own hands fly to your hips and plant themselves there.

You slap them away, he resists. You break the kiss, and he makes a disappointed sound, chasing you, and then realizes what he's done.

“I'm sorry—my lady,” he stumbles, putting his hands back in their previous position. He looks so properly chastised, you love it.

Outwardly, you sigh in disappointment, and he whips his head up, stricken. “After I said that you're obedient, you do this. What shall we do, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

“What—” He swallows. “What do you want me to do, my lady?”

In all the times you've tried to fluster him, Xavier doesn't really redden. At best his skin produces a soft sheen of pink across his cheeks that linger over his ears. Never tomato-red though.

But now, his face glows bright pink that gradiates to a noticeable crimson, ending at the tips of his ears. This is good development, you decide, something that you want more of. So you push further.

“Are you truly sorry, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

He nods meekly.

“Then”—a finger pokes at the center of his forehead and pushes, his head docilely tilting back, exposing his slender, beautiful neck—“don't move this time.”

You slip two fingers under his tie and pull it loose. The unobstructed slide of the silken fabric echoes around the room, punctuated by the hitch of his breath. The bunny ears jerk. To his credit, he's still as a statue, and the giddiness that you've been feeling for a while now mounts to a dull yet insistent ache that pools between your legs.

Then you unbutton his collar, which reveals more of that pretty neck. An alarmed sound forms in his throat, and you call his name in warning. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows whatever he's about to say.

And that Adam's apple becomes your next target: your mouth molds around it, sucking, and Xavier gives a full-body shudder. A groan bursts out of him. He's trembling, his hands—leather-gloved and creaking at the strain of his fists—his thighs, his shoulders. You can see how he wants to turn his head, to retreat from your hot mouth, but thinks himself the better of it.

You place your left hand under his head and kiss him under the angle of his left jaw.

“Ah—”

With your free hand, you trace down the outline of his neck to shoulder. His breath catches, he jolts away, his eyes shoot you a betrayed look.

“My lady—”

You plant another kiss in the dip of his collarbone. “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?” you ask against his moist skin.

He releases a shuttered exhale. Behind you, his legs move in a way that comes across as avoidant, as if he's hiding something from you. You glance down and realize the reason for his discomfort.

Saliva pools in your mouth.

But you swallow the surging desire ignited by the image of his arousal. It isn't time yet; you want to draw this out as long as you can.

Head still tipped back, Xavier doesn't see your discovery of his want, his eyes half-mast and his focus directed on reining himself in. If you remove yourself from the scene and study him from head to toe, you'd find Xavier the perfect picture of temptation, restrained, controlled on the surface but a collapsing star underneath, gravity pulling you to him and there's no way to escape.

Not that you'd like to escape in the first place.

You repeat your question, this time against his Adam's apple: “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?”

“My la—” He chokes. Tries again. “Whatever my lady wants.”

Ah. Such a good bunny.

Your hands drift down to the next closed button. His tie is loosened enough that you can remove it in one hard tug. And isn't that a nice thought: one strong pull and he's dragged along by the force, his lips inevitably landing on your lips, a welcome collision.

But you don't follow that path; instead, your hands drop lower, to the last button of his waistcoat. The sides of your hands brush against the seam of his pants, dangerously close to his already obvious bulge, and it dawns on Xavier that you're already aware of his worldly response, if the widening of his eyes is an indication. He whips his head to shoot you a meaningful look, as if begging you to ignore his lapse of control—as if that is an unwelcome development.

Sometimes, you think, Xavier wants to show you a side of him that only exudes assurance, a sharp blade and sturdy shield that envelop you in sidereal protection. Be it from outside forces and his own—and even yours. Physical dangers, most especially, but curiously enough: information. Knowledge. The matters of the past. The matters of the heart. The both of you may have confessed that day, the words of your promises embedded in your heart like an oath under the stars, but there are times when a shadow passes through Xavier's expression, and he seems so far away. Light-years away.

But right now, that thought isn't at the forefront of your mind: it is the way the redness climbs up his neck, his face, his cheeks, painting him a beautiful hue that reminds you of a recently blossomed rose. He truly is gorgeous this way.

One of his hands encloses around yours, stopping your ministrations. Minute tremors hum under his callused palm.

“I'm—” A quick breath. “I'm supposed to serve you, my lady.”

Ah. Truly such a good bunny.

You capitulate, hands retreating from the button of his pants, but not before caressing his trembling hand and squeezing it once. An indulgent smile unfurls in the line of your lips, and you make a snap decision.

The second reward: freedom. Xavier has expressed his desire to serve, to please, and you'll give him the freedom to choose how to enact it—

Under a specific instruction, of course.

“Yes, of course,” you say, tapping his warm cheek fondly with your index finger. “Serve me, then, Mr. Bunny Butler. Strip for me. Slowly.”

He catches that finger quickly with his mouth, bites it lightly, like it's a warning—or a promise. You let him nibble and lick your finger for a couple of seconds, the wetness sending electricity down your spine, and you can't stop the shiver that echoes throughout your body. Xavier narrows his eyes in satisfaction at your response, hints of a smirk around his lips, and that's insubordination if you saw one. So you snatch your finger away from him, and punish him by dragging your wet finger along the column of his neck.

He jumps at the sensation.

“Strip, Xavier,” you repeat firmly. “Make sure it's a good show.”

It just proves how dedicated he is at this roleplay: by this point he should have already ended this little act and would have taken over, but he's holding your critical gaze as his hands settle over the topmost button of his vest.

“I'll try, my lady.” His voice drops to a low, husky murmur, one that summons pinpricks down your nape and the back of your shoulders, crawling in a slow, deliberate tease.

He does try, indeed. He moves back, affording you space to see his torso without having to change your position. One hand to brace his weight, the other deftly maneuvering each button at a comfortable pace. For every button opened, he takes a deep breath, gives you a confident smile, albeit awkward at the edges. But the rhythm of it lulls you, and you find yourself playing with his bunny ears again—a right decision, because he makes a surprised sound, which morphs into a moan.

The returned proximity grants you the ghostly brushes of his knuckles against your clothed stomach when he opens another button. Because of this, the way your stomach contracts every time he brushes you becomes known to him, and Xavier huffs a laugh, and proceeds to be more purposeful with it.

You tug at his bunny ear, hard. “Mr. Bunny Butler,” you warn.

His shrugs his vest off as his reply.

Now, only left with shirt and tie, Xavier stares down at them, thinking about what to do next. You help him by pushing yourself flush against him, making sure that your thigh grazes his cock. He judders, shoving his face on the crook of your neck and groaning. Idly, you continue playing with the furred ears.

“My lady, my lady,” he mutters, and you feel him sighing, “don't tease me.”

You hum. “Then put more effort in your show.”

He peeks up at you under those pretty yet underhanded lashes of his, and you spy hints of a smirk in that mouth.

But before you can question him about it, a hand grabs yours and guides it to his tie, wraps it around the silk fabric, and pulls. Slowly, carefully. From this angle more skin is revealed under your wandering gaze—the tease of a nipple, flashing beneath that white shirt—and you gulp at the flutter in your belly.

Once the necktie is completely off him, he takes it from your hand and, indeed like a show, re-ties it around his neck, a ribboned gift. At this point you're ready to combust—and he's not even naked.

“Do you like it, my lady?”

“Yes,” you rasp, suddenly off-kilter, “very much.”

“Then ...” He resumes undressing, the buttons of his shirt easily extricated, his movements economical, and bit by bit his bare torso opens before your anticipatory eyes.

He stops at the tucked-in part of the shirt. Glances at you, bites his lip, and goes back to pull the front off so the shirt opens just below his shoulders, presenting you such a gorgeous view.

Xavier sinks into the propped-up pillows—and you unconsciously follow—and smiles. “All yours, Master.”

He knows—that little shit—the allure of incomplete nakedness. The gap, the gape, the patches of exposed skin surrounded by fabric. Xavier's using it to his utmost advantage.

By now you could have clawed his clothes away from his body, but somehow, this tastes more delicious, the promise of a tease, the prolonged heat-pulse that thrums in your core, and you're pretty sure, if Xavier's shallow breaths are an indication, that he's into this too.

Well. May as well take advantage of this luxurious present.

One hand descends on the side of his neck, and you see him tamp down the surprised jolt. This hand, light in its touch, ghostly, virtual, traces the edges of the necktie. You can hear Xavier's bated breath, waiting for your next step.

Then down, down, down to his collarbone, the dip of it, your index finger making laps twice, end to end.

Then further: his chest. And this time, it's not only your hand that wants to participate. You brace yourself on his shoulder and bend down to kiss the center of his chest. Xavier lets out a sound, and inhales sharply.

Next: his left nipple, with an additional teasing nip. His hips buck from the sensation.

You stay where you are, lifting your gaze to ascertain his expression. His head is turned away, hiding his face, a hand covering half of it. But it's useless for him to hide, because his ear is in your direct line of vision, and it's a glaring red.

This propels you to indulge more: the hand on his shoulder slides down to pay his other nipple attention. His legs shift, restless. The sounds of his gasps and moans occupy the room. You feast on him, laying your tongue flat on him and dragging it wetly until you hear him stutter your name.

“M-My lady—I—”

You surge forward, and the force topples the stack of pillows behind him. In the midst of this, you reposition your legs so that you're finally straddling Xavier, your skirt bunching up just below your waist, and—teasingly—grind against his straining cock.

He jerks, grabbing at your hips, attempting at more friction, but you remind him who's in charge, and he eventually relents, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“Sorry about that, my lady. I'm—I'm good now.”

“That's my good bunny.” Then you continue exploring his body with your tongue.

He tastes faintly of sweat but also the scent-taste of his body wash. He's showered just before calling you up. And for some reason, that does you: you rise to kiss him again, and your free hand sneaks itself under him—and grabs his bunny tail.

Xavier yelps, scarlet, shocked at the action, gaping at you and your smug face.

You squeeze the fluffy ball of a tail in response.

“M-My lady...!” he blurts.

“Shame that I didn't get to play with this last time,” you muse, feeling up the soft thing. It twitches under your curious touch. Delighted, you shift around Xavier's torso to lift his hips and study and poke at the tail repeatedly, entranced at the bounce and fuzziness of it. “A wasted opportunity, don't you think so?”

When you check Xavier's reaction, you have to hold back your laugh. He's clearly uncomfortable, but the discomfort is brought upon by embarrassment, as evidenced by his squirming and the persistence of his blush.

Words have left him, so he just averts your leery gaze, bury his face into the nearest pillow, and groans.

Taking pity on him, you release his tail—but not without giving it one last flick; he jolts—and slide your hands around the waistband of his pants. You're fumbling for the button and then the zipper when two gloved hands hinder your actions.

Xavier's face is rearranged into an indulgent yet mischievous smile. “My lady can enjoy me as long as you like. There's no need to hurry.”

But that's the thing, isn't it? You have already enjoyed him so much and enough that at one point things are bound to snap. He as your focal point of your want, the desire that thrums alongside your veins, almost like blood.

“But Mr. Bunny Butler,” you start, adopting a light, airy voice and tilting your head up at him, “there are a lot of things to enjoy from you. I'm not sure if one evening would do.”

Before Xavier can even get a word edgewise, you tear his pants open and yank his boxers down, freeing his cock.

“My la—”

His cock is a firm, solid weight on your hand, and Xavier bucks at the first contact, a halfway gasp ripping out of him. You watch his reactions as you stroke him slowly—painfully slowly, tantalizingly slowly—as your other hand crawl up his waist, flat palm spanning his side.

You know, intellectually and objectively, that Xavier is pretty. Gunmetal-grey hair that shimmers under the starry night sky. His smooth, unlined skin that you're harboring unholy envy for, soft under your curious fingers, almost pristine, untouched all his life. The column of his neck, strong bones underneath the layer of skin and muscle, the prominence of his Adam's apple. The outline of his body—even and proportioned, balanced like a finely crafted sword. And most of all: his eyes, the most expressive part of all of him. The color of an unperturbed sky, always clear and never lost. A steady glister in the darkness.

Right now, though, he's different altogether. Almost otherworldly in the way he's unraveling under your clever fingers. A shift of pressure and he's biting down the meat of his hand in a poor attempt to muffle his groans. A fleeting trail across the slit of his cock and his eyes flutter shut, his hips jumping off the mattress. He thrashes in chase of the pressure and pleasure you're providing him in crumbs, your need to see him lose that frustrating control of his. You keep stroking him and watching him blossom before you, petal by petal, limb by limb, nerve by nerve.

“My lady—” He's panting, running out of breath, his voice gaining that frenzied quality. It's music to your ears. “Master—Master, haa—”

He's coming, you can feel it. You can see it through his quickening breaths, the flush of his skin all over his body, the white-knuckled fist of his hands, the throb of his cock.

“My lady, I'm co—”

You release him, and the slow transformation of his face is such a fascinating phenomenon. From the crunch of pleasure, then crumpling into confusion. He raises his head to see you leaning back, hands away from him, his hazy eyes taking in what's happening—or its lack of. Then they widen, his mouth dropping open to release a sound of distress, round and full and cracking.

“Why did you ...”

You tug at the ends of the ribbon-necktie. He clicks his mouth shut.

“You said I can enjoy you as long as I like. There's no need to hurry.”

His gaze finally clears, and he gulps, nodding. Near your hips, Xavier's cock leaks.

“Then ...” You lay on top of him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, your belly pressing against his pulsing cock (he freezes at this, and then continues to freeze), and place your arms on the sides of his head so your hands can reach the bunny ears. They still react delightfully under your roaming touch. “I'm going to enjoy these a little more. Don't move too much, okay?”

The room becomes pinched with quiet, and while you're intent on the furry ears atop Xavier's head, you can sense in your periphery his eyes on you. He's careful not to jostle you, the air he breathes catching on your skin, and you feel his arms snaking around your waist, settling on the small of your back.

“You really like the costume that much, huh.”

You hum in acknowledgment, rubbing the area where accessory meets scalp. You scratch it with your light fingernails, and Xavier sighs at the feeling.

When you leave the ears, you turn your attention to Xavier's expression next. He's still observing you, his flush now pale but enduringly distinct across his cheeks, and that entices you to meet his lips in a slow, patient kiss.

“It's nice, seeing you go through such effort to make me happy,” you answer him after you separate, punctuating the statement with a pleased, narrow-eyed smile.

A thought takes over Xavier, with the way his brows knit. Moments pass, you regard him, until he finally opens his mouth to articulate whatever has occupied him.

“My lady,” he begins, hesitant at first, but each word gains confidence, “there's something I want to do for you.”

“Speak.”

“I want you to”—and here his stare morphs into that puppy dog eyes again—“sit on my face. Please.”

You're stunned. The room continues to be quiet, and you're stunned. Xavier doesn't add anything after that; just waiting for your response. He's probably not sensing how you've finally shut down. You, felled by nine words, the last one an imperative period that brooked no refusal.

When he calls you, his face and his voice are tinted with uncertainty.

“Stars, Xavier.” You scramble up to reposition yourselves in accordance to his request. During this transitory moment, Xavier removes his gloves with his teeth. Now bare, both his hands come up to hold your thighs from behind, adjusting their spread and angle. You want to whine self-consciously, but glimpsing Xavier's eager expression as you move towards his head, you stamp that part in your mind. “Okay down there?”

He doesn't reply—instead he just goes for it.

Your hands shoot for the headboard, a surprised cry shocked out of you. Is this Xavier's way of revenge for denying his orgasm earlier? The way he confronts you is not unlike a battle, with his single-minded focus on his goal and his preciseness. He parts your folds with his tongue, pays attention to your clit first: sucks it lightly before dialing it up. You convulse, your hips digging down, and he moans, the vibration thrumming your flesh.

“Xavier,” you sob, “Xavier. Xavier.”

He laps around your clit like a thirsty man, hands kneading your thighs. He must've been thinking about this for a while now, with how methodical he's going by it, strategized to push you into becoming a complete and utter wreck. He kisses your clit then mouths it, moves his tongue in lateral glides that have you thrashing on your position. You grind against him, and he welcomes it wholeheartedly, and behind you his hips thrust helplessly in air, his stubbornly hard cock drooling with pre-come.

One hand nudges you forward and you follow, until his tongue enters inside you—you gasp and shiver at the slick intrusion—drinks you with such loudness that you wouldn't be surprised if his neighbors overhear what the two of you have been doing.

He knows how to prolong the barrage of pleasure, that heat and swell around your core, your undulating hips, sustained until you buckle and collapse from the force of it, your orgasm torrential like a storm.

When Xavier emerges between your legs, his face shines from your slick and his saliva. A fond smile slips out of you, and a finger traces the length of his lips; then your entire hand, cupping the side of his face, a tender caress. A smile of his own appears and he nuzzles your hand, kisses the center of your palm, eyes closed and sated.

“Good boy,” you praise, and he sighs happily. “So good for me. Have to reward you, don't I?”

The third reward: release. You move back to pull his pants and boxers off him completely, and Xavier just watches you with anticipation, breaths in quick bursts.

“You know the drill: don't move.” You underline this order with a tease of his cock, a line-trail from the tip to the base and then a quick squeeze of his balls.

When you align yourself above him and begin to sink down, Xavier goes rigid-stiff, daring not to breathe, careful not to move. You pause from your progress, and send him a worried look.

“Xavier?”

“I—I'm—” He bites his lip, exhales through his nose. “I'm okay, I just. I'm just trying not to react too much.”

“Why?”

He casts you a helpless gaze. “Because, my lady, I'm afraid that my control would slip, and I would have my selfish way with you.”

You falter at that. To be honest that's not such a bad idea at all, but Xavier knows that this is for you and your needs, and what you need right now—and what you want, if one were to ask—is him under you, at your mercy. Just as he is right now.

So you move lower, feeling the head of his cock open you up, slowly. And you can hear the hitching breaths unwittingly made by him, his eyes shut and his whole expression folded inward, as if he couldn't handle the pleasure descending over him.

A groan tumbles out of his lips, low at first, quick and fleeting, but as you inch lower and lower, the feel of his cock molding you inside, the wanton sounds he makes lengthens, gets louder, until he parts those glistening lips and vocalizes his satisfaction.

“My lady—you feel so—”

“Good, I hope.”

He doesn't wait until you bottom out; he bucks his hips to sheathe himself inside you completely in one smooth motion. You cry out from his action, his cock pulsing against your walls, and the feeling of him pulls you in further bliss that your eyes flutter closed and your back arches as the pleasure spreads throughout your body.

“The best, my lady.”

He gasps when you clench around him, your wetness dripping between your joined bodies.

You really think the best position Xavier has ever been is here right now: underneath you, helpless to your demands, seized by pleasure that you're giving him and taking from him. The way his face doesn't know what to do in the undulating waves of pressure as you begin to move above him, your hips lifting and then slamming back down; the film of sweat coating his skin all over, moistening the sheets beneath the two of you. The severe grip of his hands, bunching up the blankets in their deathly clutch. His rapid heartbeat under your palm as you support your weight by bracing yourself on his chest. His moans, his filthy, filthy moans—his moans that you will remember until your dying day because they are so far out of his cultivated normalcy—open-mouthed, slack-jawed moans that come from the core of his abdomen, surging upwards, frantic, crazed, melodiously and sublimely wanton.

“Look at you, Xavier,” you pant, and one of Xavier's legs kicks out. “Look at my bunny butler.”

“Master—Master—”

“What do you want, darling?” you ask, shakily tracing the side of his face. When your fingers near his mouth he turns his head to place a kiss at your fingertips, then drags his tongue out to lick at their length. Your index and middle fingers press flat at his tongue, and he groans around them. His puffs of breath beat in time with the movement of your hips.

One hand crawls towards your thigh, haltingly slides upwards, up to the junction of your hips, where it disappears under the spill of your skirt. Then it reaches behind to squeeze at the meat of your ass, and you gasp, stuttering your pace.

You take out your fingers so he can answer you, but Xavier grabs your wrist with his other hand and brings it back to his lips, trails kisses on each finger, murmurs nonsensical things against your saliva-coated skin until, louder, he tells you—

“Everything you can give me, my lovely Master.”

And, oh, isn't that a wonderful thing to hear? That readiness of his—be it in battle or in bed, he rolls with everything you throw at him, as though there's nothing that can taint you in his eyes, no betrayal to feel forsaken by. As though all that he's done, all that he's doing, is in service to you.

And it's because of this that you use the same hand to cup at his jaw and jerk it in your direction, bowing down to kiss him, bite his lower lip, thrust your tongue inside, lick the roof of his mouth, suck his own tongue—devour him fully and utterly.

He meets your intent with his own, just as intense, just as parched and hungry as you are for him. Every exhale is accompanied by a soft sigh, and you swallow his every sound—that lovely and soothing voice that lingers in your mind and haunts the edges of your dreams. His reaction just drives you to speed up your pace.

He's trembling all over, and tries to shift the angle from which you're riding him. Doing so affords his cock to hit something inside you, lighting up your body, starburst behind your eyelids, and you jolt, a whimper tearing out of your throat that Xavier drinks greedily. His hand on your ass traverses to your clit and plays with it, intensifying the blast of sensations on your lower body.

Obstructed by your mouth, Xavier tries: “My lady, I think—I'm close.”

“Me too, I'm—don't hold back—”

He doesn't. And he doubles his efforts in relentlessly stroking your clit and pounding up inside you, and the pleasure crests and crests and crests until you pulse and clench and come, sobbing at the white-hot crash flooding your nerves, collapsing on top of Xavier, mouths still connected.

And he doesn't stop. This time both his hands bracket your hips; grinds you down as he pushes deeper and deeper inside you. You're oversensitive but you don't stop him, just clinging to him and whimpering, and he begins to assail your ear, his panting tangible and hot against your skin.

“My lady, my lady,” he chants, voice shattering like glass. “My lady—Master—”

His orgasm feels like an echo of your own release, his spend filling inside you. Xavier gives a few more thrusts before slowing down and stopping. A self-satisfied sigh ripples over his relaxed body, and his hands climb to your back, guide you to pillow your head on his chest, embracing you as you melt on top of him.

Minutes pass, and his breathing evens; you expected him to fall asleep after, but when you look up his eyes are emphatically open.

“Aren't you sleeping?”

He glances down at you. Quirks a smile. “No, not yet.”

“Oh ...”

“We're not finished, my lady.”

“Huh?”

“You've had your fill, Master.” He smirks. Then flips you over, reversing your positions so he's now on top of you. He starts unbuttoning your shirt. “Now let me have mine.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #LaD fic #love and deepspace smut #LaD smut #love and deepspace xavier #LaD x reader #love and deepspace x reader #LaD xavier #nsft #fic #my fic #shen xinghui my beloved

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tuulikki · 5 months

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I really appreciate that in your response to the Spotify wrapped post, you didn’t just put, “you are not immune to propaganda”, but actually followed that up with thought-provoking questions that help clarify what that propaganda can look like. That’s really helpful and considerate and I really appreciate how kind and thoughtful your response was. It really helped me recontextualize my experience of and reaction to the misinformation post when it went around. Thank you so much

You're so, so welcome. I'm really glad it helped. If you ever have any follow-up questions or just wanna chat, hit me up

I've fallen for misinformation, propaganda, and conspiratorial thinking in my life. Probably everyone has, to some degree. But I've also been kinda obsessed with the study and analysis of it ever since, so I feel like I'm obligated to try to help people to the degree I can.

I will say, it also "helps" that I have the privilege of not being in anyone's crosshairs and not having a personal connection to the issues, other than the basic moral concerns any decent human being would have. A lot of people don't have that luxury. When people are scared and hurting, it's inhuman to demand that they overcome that and put more energy into fact-checking than do those of us with less pain.

So I guess I'll try to condense some key ideas:

Reblogging ("keep talking about this!") is harmful if it isn't accurate. Inaccuracy contributes to the fog of war, causes agony to people directly involved (they see you on social media: the internet is global!), and discredits the legitimacy of a movement.

Misinformation/disinformation blends truth with lies. Seeing one thing you know to be true next to an unverified statement will make you trust that statement.

Crises make us feel helpless and small. But it is privileging your discomfort over the pain of victims if you shy away from tackling complexity.

Sometimes it feels like a betrayal to reserve a space in yourself for doubt. But disinformation trivializes important issues. If something really matters to you, then you will want it to be accurate.

People will make good-faith inaccuracies. I will. You will. Governments/organizations will. People on the ground will. No one is omniscient. Don't double-down in support of the mistake and don't let one mistake discredit a good source.

People in pain will be duped, lie, or exaggerate. Many are seeking meaning with a greater need than you are. You must find compassion for them.

Our best instincts (justice) and worst instincts (self-righteousness) will be manipulated.

Responsibility for fact-checking falls on those of us whose distress is moral, rather than personal.

Everyone is biased. Humans always care for some people more than others. Find two opposing sources and read both: you'll find the truth somewhere between them.

Truth is a hill worth dying on.

Sorry this is a long post and maybe it's useless but I thought it was important to try

#conspiracy theories #disinformation #israel #palestine #propaganda

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spinningwebsandtales · 4 months

Text

Vita Nova

Orm Marius X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Spoilers, mentions of death, crying, hurt/comfort, reader has some trauma, suggestive themes, angst, and fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

Fic Swap with @the-marshals-wife

(A/N:) Happy (belated) New Year everyone! And my first fic of 2024 and it turned out to be a whopper! My lovely best friend and I just adore the Aquaman movies and in light of the new movie that dropped around Christmas we decided to do a ficswap together! This bad boy is my contribution and you lucky readers get to read it! I hope I can make the other Orm fangirls happy with this as I honestly had way too much fun writing it as you can see! Over 4,000 words of just Orm goodness! I look forward of sharing more writings in this new year and I'm glad I could open up with this! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Reader's POV is in italics.

SPOILERS FOR AQUAMAN AND THE LOST KINGDOM BELOW

DO NOT CONTINUE AHEAD IF YOU HAVE YET TO SEE THE MOVIE!

Orm stood upon the beach, his toes buried in the warm sand as the setting sun painted his features in orange and pink hues. His heart longed for Atlantis once more as homesickness always reared it's ugly head when he was feeling alone. While tension still remained between him and his older brother, deep down he was grateful for Arthur, giving him a new chance at life. With Atlantis finally revealing themselves to the people of the land, he no longer had to be so secretive about himself, except when it came to Atlanteans. He had burned too many bridges that most likely would never have the chance to be rebuilt. He sighed deeply as the warm salty foam washed over his feet.

Orm turned, leaving his regrets and longing to drown in the crashing waves. While he could see why his brother loved the land dwelling humans, Orm normally avoided them as much as he could. Especially when it came to his time on the beach, he rather not be bothered. And despite the world knowing, he still swam in deserted parts of the beaches he visited. His favorite places were around the docks where the shade kept him cool and various sea creatures stuck around. The fish and small crabs made him feel a little less lonely and made everything feel more like home.

Orm's bare feet padded against the planks of the dock as he tugged his shirt over his head. The breeze rippled his blond locks and whispered promises of a good evening swim. His vision staying straight ahead, Orm was preparing to run and dive into the bright blue water when a yelp caused him to stumble and he fell to the dock. He almost slid off when a slender hand caught his wrist and kept him from rolling off and slamming into a boat.

"Are you okay?!"

A feminine voice had him blinking against the pain in his skull before he finally got his eyes to focus. Orm sat up quickly, backing away from the woman looking at him with genuine concern. It was an emotion Orm was unacquainted with.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," the woman blushed getting to her feet and brushing the front of her shirt and shorts off. A quick flash of annoyance had him glaring before Orm sucked in a deep breath and calmed the raging tide threatening to overtake him. She offered him a hand up and old him would have swatted it away with a snarl, but new him remembered his older brother and took her offered hand. She shuffled her feet before him awkwardly, refusing to look up in embarrassment. Though Orm was worried he was intimidating her, though he wasn't trying at the moment.

"Sorry again," she apologized once more only to break the silent tension between them.

"I wasn't paying attention," it was the most polite thing he could say. "Though I can't help but ask. Why were you laying across the dock?"

Her cheeks flushed bright crimson, a pretty red color, and now she really refused to look up at him, more interested in her bare feet. This in turn made Orm feel more awkward, like he had pushed across some threshold that he should have never even touched.

"You'll laugh," she mumbled. Her gaze quickly darting up towards him before once again looking away. When she noticed that he wasn't going to say anything else her shoulders sagged in defeat.

"I like watching the fish. They feel like they're my friends and they're so peaceful living their lives without a care in the world," she whispered. "I've also always dreamed about Atlantis and going there and now that it is truly real I can't help but long for it even more. Silly huh?"

Orm shook his head and smiled remembering his home fondly, "No it's not. I think it's a wonderful dream."

Though home always brought a smile to his face, in this moment of his life it brought a pang of sadness with it. One mistake had taken his chance of ever seeing that beautiful city ever again. And here he just met a mere human upon an empty dock longing for the same as him. Maybe he had more in common with the humans of this side of the world than he had first realized. She smiled and nodded, happy to have someone not laugh at her for a change. She walked away moments later leaving him to ponder upon the dock as the waves whispered softly against the sand. Then Orm dived in.

Usually Orm moved around a lot. If he liked a place more than others he'd normally stay for a few days. But for reasons he didn't want to know he had stayed in this particular spot for weeks. And it wasn't because the food was anything extraordinary nor was the beach one of the most beautiful he's seen. If he dug down deep inside he knew it was because of that one moment, where he had seen a glimpse of that beautiful humanity that Arthur was always talking about to him. So Orm did what every normal man would do, he kept his distance and watched her from afar. She visited the dock he had found her at nightly, just to talk to the fish and to watch the sun set behind the horizon of the ocean. She would hum tunes, almost stroking the water with her gentle hands. She would hide sometimes as people would come to the beach calling out a name he had never heard. What would shatter his heart more than anything was when she would come some nights crying. His heart would clench as her salty tears dropped into the ocean. He shook his head fighting the urge to go towards her. But she was different, she wanted to know his world, that she had no idea he was from. That he had once been a prince, let alone a king of that world but it didn't matter, not anymore. He was dead to that world and he had to find his place in this one.

It didn't take many times of him watching the lone girl sob on the dock before Orm concocted a plan. Atlantean technology to help humans make the trip undersea had yet to be brought to them. Except for the scuba gear the humans already had invented, but Orm wanted his plan to be perfect. So he would do something that would make his older brother proud and possibly bring an end to his life. To get what he needed he would have to venture back to the Sunken Citadel and hope that the pirates that still lived didn't kill him at first glance.

You didn't know what kept bringing you back to this particular beach, though you had a inkling that it was in false hope of finding that same blond haired man that you had tripped. He was a complete stranger and yet you found yourself hoping to see him once more. So every night you came, no matter how bad things got at home you escaped bringing yourself to this little place of serenity, hoping, waiting, that you would see him again. But every night became a disappointment, though you enjoyed seeing the fish. The sun quickly set seeping the warmth from the Earth but the ocean water still held those waning rays of warmth. The lights of the dock quickly blinked on illuminating the surrounding water so you could still watch the fish swim peacefully by. You hummed a quiet tune as the waves lapped against the barnacle crusted wooden posts. A shadow darted by causing you to suck in a quick breath. Sharks would sometimes come up or a curious dolphin but this creature was too fast to be one of them. Your heartbeat quickened but against your better judgement you stuck your hand back down along with your head, trying to find this mystery that had suddenly come upon you.

Orm had a difficult time in the Sunken Citadel and he had gotten into a few brawls, but he did get what he searched for. It had cost him, but if his well thought out plan worked as well as he hoped, it would all be worth it. He made his way back to the normal spot and he had timed his return just right. As his mystery woman he had begun to adore made her way out onto the normal dock. She was light on her feet and she greeted some of the boatmen, who were leaving, politely before going to her same spot Orm could always find her. She stuck a hand in the water tracing the patterns of the fish below as they swam close to the surface. She had a small content grin on her face as she enjoyed the creatures below the surface. Orm moved his arms slower, trying to keep from interrupting this moment as he was more than happy to watch her for a little while. She hummed a tune while tucking strands of untamable hair behind her ear, only for a breeze to send them back to fluttering. He sucked in a breath letting the peace of her presence wash over him. And then he went under the surface and swam close by and quickly. He heard her gasp and he grinned to himself. He could have a moments fun at her expense, especially with the gift he was bringing her. Despite not knowing what he was she braved the unknown and he had to admire that about her. She was proving his theory of humans being a cowardly race wrong every moment he watched her.

You searched timidly for any sign of the shadow you had seen. Your eyes darting across the eerily still waters. You were about to pull yourself back up onto the dock when an arm breached the water and grabbed onto your wrist. You screamed yanking yourself backwards and the person attached to the hand around you came up with your panicked movements.

Orm laughed loudly at your terrified face while he treaded the water. He had never been one to play tricks as he had been trained as a prince of Atlantis, but he found it quite fun. The woman he had yet to put a name to a face laid on her back panting, trying to regain some form of control.

"Why did you do that," she screeched once she finally found her breath.

"Think of it as payback for making me fall on my face the first time we met," Orm smirked as he lifted himself from the water easily.

She took in the fact quickly that his upper torso was bare and the form fitting pants only seemed tighter by the fact that they were dripping water everywhere. She looked away, pink coming to her cheeks.

"You come out here every night," Orm said after a few moments of awkward silence.

Her head whipped around and her eyes widened in surprise.

"How did you know that? I never see you around!" Those moments of wishing to see him again, hoping he'd be around, and he had been hidden from her the entire time.

"I was," Orm paused. He knew he couldn't just tell her that he had been watching her from afar. But he didn't want to lie. "I was swimming."

"Swimming?" Now she was suspicious of him. As she rightly should, though they had already met once he was still a stranger.

"I'm a decent swimmer." Understatement of the century Orm thought to himself.

"I can see that," she gestured towards him before darting her gaze away once more.

Orm chuckled. He liked that little of color that would pop up in her skin. He found it endearing and despite himself his heart began to pick up speed. He offered out a hand and she glanced at it warily.

"I'm Orm," he offered in greeting. "Orm Marius. I should have introduced myself that first day we met."

She laughed, taking his offered hand. "(Y/N). And I should have thought of it too. But I did almost make you faceplant into the water. Though it seems like it wouldn't have bothered you so bad if you had."

Orm shook her hand, reveling in how smaller it was compared to his. "Do you mean to tell me that you wish you had let me fallen into the water now? Instead of rescuing me?"

"Well after you just basically scared the daylights out of me, yes."

Orm pouted playfully, "And here I brought you a gift."

"A gift?!" Once again those beautiful colored eyes glowed in delight. It sent his heart a flutter and he could have sworn it skipped a beat. Is this what his mother had possibly felt when she looked upon the man that fathered Arthur?

"I think I am rather partial to it now," he teased. "Maybe I will just keep it for myself."

"You can't just say that you brought me a gift and then keep it for yourself. That's mean," she whined.

Orm couldn't keep stringing her along though he was finding it fun just to get a rise out of her. He brought the gift from behind his back and he wasn't expecting her to jump up and down. Her confusion was to be expected and he found himself grinning once more. She was so expressive, he found it endearing.

"Your dream of seeing Atlantis stuck out to me and their technology is above what your people have. I wanted to show you a part of that life even if it is just a small glimpse."

He was revealing himself. His heart was almost leaping out of his chest. He had kept his identity a secret, revealing nothing to the humans he had contact with. She would be the first and he didn't know what to do if she didn't accept. She placed her hands on the oxygen helmet, a question on her lips. But without a word he once more grabbed onto her wrist and lead her to the end of the dock. She wordlessly tugged the pirated good on her head and with no hesitation followed Orm into the water.

Orm dived down, keeping a good grasp on her hand, their fingers interlaced as he didn't want to hurt her by tugging on her joints by the speed he could swim at. The oxygen mask was working like a dream and despite the time of the evening the moon was doing a good job of lighting the sea life below the ocean. She gasped in awe at the sea creatures and plant life below. But mostly she gaped at him.

"You are," she hesitated saying the word.

Orm nodded. "I am."

You absolutely couldn't believe your eyes. A true Atlantean. It was everything that you could have ever dreamed of and as he kept you from floating away this moment was more than you could have ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," Orm didn't want anything left unsaid. This was his chance. His chance to be himself and to stop being so alone in this world that he was learning more about every day. His time in Atlantis was done and now he was going to have to start anew. Maybe you were that new chance that he had been needing for a long time.

"It's okay," she answered. Her voice muffled in the helmet. Fish swam by coming near to Orm, pecking at his arm. He shooed them away gently causing her to laugh. "You don't have to explain yourself. We had just met that day and even at this moment we are still basically strangers. But I'm glad I met you Orm and your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," he choked. Gratitude had been lost on him long ago but as he looked at this young woman, so genuine and beautiful in his eyes, that feeling was no longer a stranger. "Would you like to see more of my world?"

"Absolutely!" No hesitation and no fear. Orm kept her close, keeping her safe as he swam them further out into the sea.

Back on dry land you couldn't believe what your eyes had beheld. The world under was far beyond anything you could have ever imagined as Orm helped steady you. Spending that much time in the water had left your legs a little wobbly and you glared at Orm walking perfectly though he did have to take a moment to cough up water. You held out the helmet towards him but he shook his head pushing it back into your chest.

"Keep it," Orm insisted. "I want to take you out more now that you have it. There's so much more I wish to show and tell you. I hope that you don't mind."

She shook her head, stepping towards him. "I would like that so much."

Without a second thought she embraced him, squeezing Orm tightly before backing away, that familiar blush coming back to her cheeks. Reaching out Orm brushed a stray droplet of sea water off her cheek.

"Until tomorrow," he whispered and she nodded quickly.

Days had followed that moment before it had turned into weeks. Orm met with her daily, the helmet in tow every time as they explored together. She the underwater world he had grew up in and him emotions never before explored. Orm knew he couldn't take her far below the surface as he wished. He was trying his best to get a suit that would keep her from being crushed by the water pressure or freezing from the depths, but it would take some time. The helmet was easy to obtain, well easier than the suit. But she didn't complain nor did she beg him for more. Always content with their outings he began to realize that he looked forward to every second they spent together every day. It didn't take Orm long to figure out the emotions he was feeling and everything seemed to fall into place. She was beginning to swim closer to him as every day passed. Gentle touches and encounters that would leave her in awe and him trying to not overstep his bounds.

She swam closer keeping to his side as the day began to wan and like everything good in life their time together was ending that day. Orm always took his time bringing them both back to shore whenever it was time to head back in. She never seemed to be in a hurry herself and it had Orm wondering on things that he couldn't ask her when they first me. He wondered why she came by herself every day and those moments she had hid on the dock as several people had come searching, yelling her name. He wondered at the days that she had came crying as if she could no longer smile. And now that he had gotten to know her more it was something he could no longer keep himself from asking about.

Back on shore she removed the helmet and rung the sea water from her hair. Orm stayed near as he gathered up the courage to ask her. He was about to ask her about something she had yet to give up willingly and he didn't want to cause her to shut him out. He honestly didn't know if he could take losing her. He breathed in deeply gathering up all his courage, he stepped closer and grasped onto her shoulder to gain her attention and steady himself. She grinned up at him before it fell at the seriousness in his blue eyes.

"What is it," she asked covering his hand with hers that still laid upon her shoulder.

"Why do you come to the docks every day? And why do you hide from the people that call out to you and cry on some days?"

There he asked and he felt faint as she looked down at the waves lapping at their bare feet.

"You saw those moments too?" She whispered.

"I did," Orm confessed. " I've come to care for you these past few weeks and I can't help my curiosity getting the best of me. Knowing that you hurt or have any reason to hide is too much for me to bear."

She paused for a moment, gathering her strength. "I was in a bad relationship. I got out of it but the pain is still there and some days are worse than others. I find peace out here and that's why I always come and then I met you. And despite me telling you why that day, you didn't laugh at me like he and several other people did. I was really glad. You made me happy. Part of me was hoping that I'd get to see you again and yet I was afraid of getting hurt again too."

"That was brave," Orm cooed bringing her into his arms. He was warm despite the lack of shirt and all the time spent in the water. She shook from the cold and from telling things that had been hard on her. "You're the bravest and kindest person I have ever met."

"I'm not really," she answered.

"You really are," Orm breathed. "I'm the coward. I didn't like this part of the world at all. I tried to destroy it because of my older brother. I blamed him for a lot of things and I hated him. I still don't love him as a little brother should but my hatred cost me. I was prince of Atlantis once and I was even it's king for a short spell. But that was taken from me and now I am thought of as dead. I cannot go back there because I have officially been killed in action." Orm sucked in a deep breath as he feared what you would do now that you knew about his darkness, though he kept going. "This is both my punishment and my new life. This is both my brother's way of blessing me and cursing me. But I don't see it as a curse anymore, not that I know you now."

"Orm," she sniffled.

He tugged her in, her trembling body pressed to his as he tried to will any form of comfort into her smaller body. He felt lighter and more at peace than he had ever felt and while she held onto him tightly, Orm lost the battle on his emotional restraints. Holding her out he took in the sight of her, clearly seeing everything about her for the first time. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly loved. Not for being royalty of Atlantis or because they had to. Genuine love that asked for nothing in return. He leaned down towards her his stature always towering over her and it wasn't until his lips met her warmer ones did the fireworks start shooting off in his head. She didn't shove him away and she didn't protest so Orm pulled her closer. Deepening the kiss as he could taste the salty water still on her mouth and the scent of the ocean breeze on her skin. In that moment she was everything to him and he could want for nothing else as long as she stayed. She cupped his cheek, stroking his skin before Orm finally pulled away. His chest heaved and he couldn't bring himself to give her up just yet. He continued to hold her against his chest, not ever wanting this moment to end.

"Is it okay that we start a new life together," her voice quivered in uncertainty. She felt like she was going too fast or overstepping her bounds.

"I think I would like that more than you know," he agreed. This was when his life started. That new beginning he wanted for so long, that he dreamed about in that prison cell. This was the moment he longed for and had no idea. That moment he met her had been fate and had lead him to this moment. Their days together didn't have to end when their feet touched the shore, it was only the start of something on the shore. While he was her guide in the water, here on the land and in the midst of people it was her turn to guide him. She took his hand, taking the responsibility for teaching and leading in stride. They would learn together what this life meant and what it meant to know each other and keep together through thick and thin. Orm had baggage and come to find out she did too. But Orm didn't see that, he saw a woman who could light his way. She saw a man that had found redemption and was looking for a way to claim it. The sun had set behind them on the beach but the dawn was rising before them as they left hand in hand towards the life they would find together. Like two ships destined for each other, a new life was just beginning.

#Orm Marius X Reader #Orm Marius / Reader #Aquaman #Orm Marius Imagine #Aquaman Imagine #Orm Marius Fanfiction #Orm Marius #DC Universe #Not My Gif #My Writing

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genericpuff · 1 month

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I have no idea if this is intentional, but with how you've written Kore/Persephone, I very much get like,,, DID, specifically a very wrathful protector alter vibes from Persephone?? And I dunno, I have DID myself and my own protector whose very much determined in his rage to keep us safe, and it's very sweet to be able to see us in a piece of work for once and not have it be demonised. So even if it was completely unintentional, thank you!

Aww anon! This was sweet to read, and I'm happy to inform you that you're not the only one with DID who's relating to Kore's story in the comic! We have another reader in the community who's very outspoken in the Discord server and always speaking on their experiences with DID and how it relates to their analysis of Kore. So you're not alone in feeling that!!

I will say that while I didn't explicitly set out to make Kore a DID-specific character, I can certainly see why and how people with DID are relating to her and I think it's wonderful. I've been writing characters like Kore for years now, as a fan of the "alter ego" trope in media (and it's a big reason why I felt so attached to LO in the first place through the initial S1 setup of the AOW and Persephone being her "wrathful" side) and I've definitely had my own mental health struggles over the years that I think have certainly contributed to that (I don't have DID as far as I know, but I do have those mental "splits" in times of high stress that's almost similar to mania, so I'd be more likely to believe it's either just autistic meltdowns or MAYBE borderline personality disorder lol) Writing characters like Kore has always brought me comfort through personifying the processing of emotions and perspectives and conflicting thought processes.

So I'm glad Kore has brought you that same comfort 🥰

The only thing I will caution is that the topic of Kore and Persephone will get dicey at times. Kore will go through many ups and downs in the plot that will simultaneously be presented through Persephone. There will be just as many lovely moments to be had as well as ugly. Proper trigger warnings will be provided when necessary but much of their plotline will address some rather emotionally devastating stuff, to say the least LOL At the end of the day though I want to give them both a satisfying ending, so I hope we can all weather the storm together until we get to the light on the other side 💖

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you continue to find joy and peace in their story 🥰

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore rekindled #lore rekindled ama

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isoldmysoulforcheese · 1 year

Note

firstly, thank you for the gift of your writing - you’re very talented :) ♥️ could i request a super rough daryl smut with a fluffy ending? lots of slapping n humiliation plsss !! 😁

Nothing Compares

Paring: Daryl Dixon x female reader

Era: Season Four

Summary: Daryl releases all of his pent up sexual frustration upon you after not being alone with you for weeks

Warnings: Smut, swearing, domination, female masturbation, slapping, degradation, and humiliation

Word count: 9,434

(Btw, thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoy my writing, I always put a lot of effort into my writing so I'm happy so many people seem to like it :) Also, I don't really feel like this is my best work but I still hope you enjoy it)

As you laid upon you and Daryl's shared bed, you wondered to yourself how you could have possibly gotten yourself into this situation; you had a loving boyfriend, one who enjoyed to touch you and please you, and God, was he good at it, but here you were with your own hand stuffed lazily down your pants with your eyes pinched shut, day dreaming about the male.

Your dignified boyfriend was often gone during the day, usually participating in some sort of supply run, often absent for hours, or even days, on end as he collected contribution for the large prison group that had formed. Although you were proud of the male, happy to see him return safe and fulfilled at the end of every adventure, this still left you alone and yearning for him. When he wasn't on some sort of mission, he was hunting, brining home a large animal for the group to feast upon, and when he wasn't stalking some sort of critter, he was helping Rick or other civilians, and when he wasn't assisting others, he was exhausted, sleeping deeply within the comfort of your shared bed, which left seemingly no time for the two of you to share with one another.

At that moment, Daryl was taking part in a supply run with Glenn, Sasha, and whoever else decided to accompany them that day, when you found yourself with one arm draped over your mouth, muffling your moans and whimpers, and the other cascaded down your body, your hand placed uncomfortably within the depths of your jeans.

You had laid a sloppy kiss upon the rugged males cheek before he departed, observing as the sun glistened upon his sweat glazed skin, his muscles bulging underneath the pressure he applied to them as he pulled himself upon his motorcycle. His hair was laced with perspiration, sticking to his forehead due to the extremely warm sun rays beating down upon the prison, heat that was causing his flesh to turn a slight pinkish color.

The view immediately sent you spiraling; his tense biceps, throbbing upon his arms as he gripped the bikes handlebars, an action that caused his muscles to pulse beneath his glimmering skin once more. The way he tossed his hair from his vision, jerking his head to the side to affectively rid of the locks. And finally, the way he had placed himself upon the motorcycle, arms outstretched as he grasped at he vehicles handlebars, shoulder blades grinding together beneath his vest as he straddled the leather seat.

Images of the male placed underneath the hot and simmering sun flashed through your mind as your fingers circled your clit, struggling underneath the confines of your tight jeans as you imagined the way his muscles moved like the tide or how good he looked with a cigarette placed between his lips, smoke bellowing around his head like some type of halo. Your body yearned for any sort of relief, practically touch deprived as you pleasured yourself.

Daryl and you hadn't had a moment of privacy together in about two weeks, which was setting a new record for the two of you as you used to fuck like wild animals at least every other day. The male was always busy with some sort of task, wether it be helping other group members or simply tuning up his motorcycle so it would be up and ready for the next journey. He was always tangled up in some sort of chore.

You deeply desired the hunter with every bone within your body, you wanted to feel his rough hands upon your skin as he fucked you senseless. No, want was an understatement, you needed to feel his calloused fingers laced in between the stands of your hair as he thrusted down your throat, every grind of his hips causing tears to roll down your flustered cheeks.

You brought your hand down to your yearning entrance, stuffing three of your fingers into your crotch to simply mimic only two of Daryl's, an action that caused you to let out a strangled moan, a vulgar noise caught within the burning flesh of your arm. You rolled your hips down upon your digits, chasing the small hint of pleasure that had erupted inside the depths of your abdomen.

But nothing ever seemed to feel as good as Daryl.

You let out a frustrated groan as you brought your fingers back up to your clit, circling it once more, but with much more fervor than before: You applied more pressure upon the bundle of nerves, your fingers revolving around your crotch in small, tight movements, squeezing your eyes shut as you mewled into the flesh of your upper arm, images of Daryl holding your frame into the mattress as he rutted into you appearing within your imagination.

God, you desperately needed to cum but nothing ever seemed to work.

"What er ya doin?"

The sudden noise echoing through your cell caused you to flinch; your heart began racing, rattling against your rib cage as your eyes flew open, irises growing wide as they darted around the room, quickly examining the area surrounding you in the hopes of solving the mystery of who had just rudely interrupted you. Your hand flew from the confines of your pants, landing upon your exposed torso as a heat began radiating into the fat of your arm, your face turning a deep shade of red as your frantic eyes continued to search the room for who could have possibly been disrupting you.

When your weary eyes finally landed upon Daryl, a smug look drawn across his face as he stood within the doorframe, the intense pounding of your heart began to simmer down.

The male was supporting a slight smirk that was beginning to inch across his lips, he had his arms crossed as he leaned against the cell door, fingers grasping at the exposed flesh of his upper limbs as the sheet hanging behind him settled within the wind. He licked his lips as you perceived him: His stance was dominant yet relaxed, the waist of his jeans was pulled taunt against his body, a very prominent bulge placed within the confines of his pants, which caused you to wonder just how long he had actually be standing there, watching you, listening to you, waiting for you.

His position caused a shock of fear, yet excitement, to electrify your body, a sensation that was completely thrilling. Your eyes practically ate up his posture, his ascendant stance causing your core to grow wetter, your entrance to clench around nothing, and your mind to go crazy. He looked absolutely sultry, your eyes began to devour him as you engraved the moment within your mind, all you wanted to do was jump up from your position upon the bed and fuck him senseless. But you knew better.

You both knew what was about to unfold between the two of you.

His eyes were pinched into small, observant slits as his pupils traveled across the landscape of your body; you watched as his vision traced your head, examining the flustered features that were visible upon your face: Your wide, trembling eyes, warm and crimson skin, and raised eyebrows. His vision scanned your hair, the way your locks were pooling upon the bed, surrounding your figure like a Van Gogh painting as your chest heaved. The rapid movements caused Daryl's eyes to dart down your body, resting upon your exposed torso. Your shirt had been yanked up your figure, just enough for you to shove your hand down your pants, an action that gave the male the ability to descry your stomach as it raised and fell at a swift pace. Your skin was a light red, a reaction to your ignored arousal as your hand drew small images upon the flesh of your abdomen, your v-line disappearing promptly within the depths of your trousers.

Daryl could feel himself growing painfully hard at the position in which you had placed yourself upon the bed; you looked absolutely breath taking, like a mythical being he had unknowingly stumbled across as your body trembled.

The male had also been depraved of your sweet and delicate touch, yearning for your body as his own hands could never seem to do it for him anymore. He had been growing erect at random moments, his member becoming hard as he leaned across his bike, the warmth of the vehicle transmitting through his jeans as he fought against the overpowering urge to rut himself against the object. Or, he would randomly stiffen within the confines of his pants while on supply runs, unable to relieve himself in such a populated situation so he would just have to manage with the aching boner concealed within his jeans.

Although it was just your boyfriend, a flustered heat continued to spread across the vast land of your face as his observant eyes appeared to be tracing your entire being. You were becoming extremely nervous underneath his unfaltering gaze, embarrassed as he watched you, his eyes burning holes upon your body.

Doubtful thoughts suddenly began rushing through your head: What if he was angry or disappointed in you? What if he was judging you or disgusted with you? But, this was your Daryl you were thinking about, and if you had actually taken a moment to think about the entire situation, you would have eventually come to the correct conclusion that no, he wasn't angry or disgusted, instead, he was overcome with a feeling of deep desire and he was about to fuck you until you couldn't walk properly.

You slowly removed the arm placed upon your face, mustering up the small amount of courage left within your flustered body as you dropped your limb upon the mattress, an action that caused the bed frame to slightly rattle.

"I-I," you paused, stumbling over your sentence as you had troubles explaining yourself "Daryl, uhm, well-"

"Stand up." He interrupted your mindless dribble, his voice cold and blunt.

His sudden words caused your heart to skip a beat, your eyes quickly scanning his face for any sign of anger as he took a large step towards you: His features were blank, eyes void of any emotion as he loomed over you, his body casting a large shadow upon the bed as his frame contradicted the glow being illuminated from the small lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. His tone was plain-spoken and a bit eery, the sound of his voice insinuated not any specific emotion, just monotone and direct. His vocalization caused a sinking feeling to quickly appear within the depths of your gut.

Your heart was pounding so intensely that you were sure the hunter could hear it as you quickly followed his vague orders, pulling yourself up upon your elbows, the rough fabric of the comforter scraping against your skin before you rose to your exposed feet. The sudden movements caused your legs to grow weak as the male peered down upon you, limbs shaking as your eyes locked. Your mind grew hazy, vision turning fuzzy as his dull eyes connected with your own, your body growing weak under his scrutinizing gaze.

The room had grown an unsettling aura, the tension thick as the archer took a seat upon the messy bed, the furniture creaking below his weight as he settled upon the mattress. The blankets pooled around his frame as he leaned back upon his forearms, eyes scanning your quivering figure as you stood awkwardly in front of him, feet cold against the concrete flooring.

The freezing ground sent a wave of crisp air up your legs, spreading across your thighs before dying out upon your waist. You struggled to fight the urge to fend off the chill, trying your best not to begin to dance from one foot to another, instead, you just allowed goosebumps to spread across your body, small lumps littering your skin as you uncomfortably waited for Daryl to speak once more.

"Strip." He said, simply.

Your breath caught within the back of your throat due to his request, face burning hot as he gazed upon you, waiting impatiently for you to heed to his commands.

You knew not to argue with the male, you had grown to understand that he would just simply punish you if you objected. He would discipline you until you were a sobbing and overstimulated mess sprawled out upon his lap, begging for him to have mercy on you. So you just simply obeyed his orders.

Your hands began to venture up your body, gliding up your thighs and tickling the skin across your torso before your fingers found the hem of your shirt. Your digits dug at the thin fabric of your worn top before your palms wrapped themselves around the circumference of your shirt. Your began to slowly drag the article of clothing up your body, hoping you didn't pass out from embarrassment right there upon the cold, cell floor as you revealed your toned chest to the male. You felt the cloth slide across your stomach, over the curves of your clothed breasts, and up your neck before you pulled the shirt above your head, Daryl shakily exhaling from below you as you did so.

The male had seen your body about a thousand times, he had made you strip from him multiple times, and he observed you as you stood embarrassed and exposed numerous amount of times, but your appearance never seemed to thrill him any less; your figure always seemed to excite him, his cock growing painfully hard as you exposed yourself to him, his mind overflowing with a deep feeling of desire and lust whenever he laid his eyes upon you.

You could feel his irises upon your figure as his vision glided across the curves of your abdomen, tracing over your flushed waist, gazing at your perfect torso, skimming across your trembling shoulders, eyeing your exposed collarbones, and finally, his eyes landed upon your clothed breasts. A twinge of pleasure shot through his length as he observed your boobs, adoring the way they bounced and jiggled as they fell from the restraint of your shirt.

Your eyes momentarily landed upon the hunter, observing him as he sat across from you, searching his features for any sign of disapproval or disgust. You were expecting to see his eyebrows furrowed, his blue orbs overcome by a look of pure anger, and for his lips to be drawn into a thin, confused line. But instead, you were met by a man absolutely lust struck:

There was a small grin drawn across his mouth, his bottom lip pulled taunt between the top row of his teeth as his right hand rested upon the bulge throbbing beneath his legs. His eyes were dark, hungry as they observed your body, waiting for you to remove another piece of cloth from your figure. He was watching you like some sort of porno, desperate and craving for another section of your frame to be revealed to him as he lightly palmed his restricted erection.

Your head fell to the side as your shirt slipped from your grasp, sliding from your palm as you let out a small breath. The top floated to the floor as your fingers danced across your sides, face lolling upon your shoulder as you grew too embarrassed to espy him much longer. You could feel the brown haired male's eyes glued to your hands as you brought your digits up to the clasp of your bra, fidgeting with the lock as your face burned, the heat traveling down your nape.

The male let out a low groan as you finally unlatched the hooks of your bra, the article of clothing slowly sliding down your arms, caressing your horripilation effected skin before the cups clattered upon the stone floor.

You held your eyes shut, squeezing your eyelids together as you paused momentarily, conjuring up the nerve to continue, your legs growing weak as your mind grew crazy under the immense amount of pressure. You and Daryl had been together for a long while at that point, maybe a couple months or so, and he had treated you with the up most respect: He never made you uncomfortable, self-conscious, or fearful, he had always had a positive effect upon you, causing you to feel amazing, worthy, and he had even caused your ego to inflate over time. But, he still had some sort of dominating hold upon you in the bedroom: He made you feel humiliated, but in the best way possible; he made a wave of embarrassment wash over you, a collision that was laced with excitement, the thrill of his cock soon to be slamming into you always made the experience so enthralling.

"Look at me." He said, his voice loud, echoing around the dingy room.

Your heart sank into your stomach at his words, butterflies appearing within the depths of your abdomen. His voice was sudden and stern, his strong tone caused a slight feeling of unsettlement to grow within the depths of your gut. Had you done something wrong? Had you upset him?

"I said look at me, girl." He spat once more.

Too afraid to dismiss his orders, knowing that he would become angry with you if you did so, taking out his frustration upon your pussy, you did as you were told, your eyes slowly falling open as your neck rotated. Your head suddenly felt ten times heavier upon your shoulders, a sensation that caused your neck to struggled beneath the weight of your spinning head as your eyes rolled upon the male.

Daryl had his legs spread as he leaned back upon his forearms, his cock still pressing harshly against the fabric of his jeans, pleading to be released from the restricting clothing as he watched you. He struggled with not allowing his hand to force itself into the depths of his pants and begin to pleasure himself as he observed the show you were putting on for him. His hair was dangling in front of his face, an action that caused a shadow to be casted upon his eyes as a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He shifted within his spot upon the mattress, satisfaction washing over him as he watched you submit to his orders, waiting for you to continue once more.

You swallowed the knot within your throat, eyes stinging as your vision stayed glued to the male's, doing your best to calm the plaguing nerves that were currently causing your legs to tremble from beneath you. Your hands began to slide down your body, once again dancing down your smooth sides and skimming across your warm stomach before landing upon the waistband of your pants.

Due to the fact that your zipper had already been pulled down and the button of your jeans had previously been tugged undone due to your prior actions, you skipped straight to pushing your bottoms down your legs. The rough fabric pulled at the soft skin upon your thighs, scraping at the inside of your legs as you forced them down your limbs until you were able to shimmy out of the cloth and kick it briskly off to the side of the room, landing beside your shirt and bra.

The archer licked his lips impatiently as he yearned for you to rid of the last piece of cloth, the article of clothing that was covering the part of you he desired the most. His hands began to shake with anticipation as his cock practically begged to be stuffed deep within your wet walls, twitching within the confines of his pants, pulsing against the stitching of his jeans at the mere thought of getting to fuck you.

You remained within the bliss of your underwear for a moment longer, enjoying the comfortable sensation before you were to inevitably remove the last piece of clothing, allowing Daryl to go feral upon your body.

Once you were satisfied with the duration you had unknowingly made the male wait, you slowly began to push your underwear down your thighs. Your dripping cunt was exposed to both the crisp cell air and the impatient redneck as you ripped your garments down to the floor, the cloth pooling around your ankles.

The entire experience had caused you to grow extremely wet, your cunt immensely sensitive, clit throbbing due to the long over due fuck session that was about to ensue. You liked the feeling of Daryl's eyes upon you, his harsh gaze causing a shiver to crawl up your spine, an utterly confusing pleasurable mix of humiliation and embarrassment coursing through your veins as you stood totally exposed to the male. While he remained entirely dressed.

Your eyes darted across the hunter's face, still obeying his orders to "look at him" as you stood awkwardly in front of him; you observed the way he watched you, a look of pure desperation and hunger resided deep within his lust blown pupils as his eyes scanned your body.

Daryl absolutely adored your figure: He loved the indent your torso left upon your waist, he was attracted to the meat of your legs, the way the fat of your thighs jiggled when he pounded into you, he liked the soft skin placed upon your stomach, a perfect canvas for him to paint with various types of marks, and finally, he admired the way your breasts sat upon your chest, your boobs practically begging to be engulfed by his large palms. Although you were unaware of this fact, if you simply turned to him one day and exclaimed that you were never going to fuck him once more, he would probably fall to his knees and beg for you. Your body was like a masterpiece to the male, a beautiful piece of art work that only he got to lay his eyes upon.

Once Daryl was satisfied with his long extended viewing of your body, burning the imagine of your figure into his mind for later usage, he pushed himself from his elbows, sitting up before leaning forward, quick movements which caused the bed frame to groan from beneath him. The male reached out before grasping at your hips, his fingers clawing at your exposed flesh, digits digging into your soft skin before hastily pulling you towards him, desperate to burry his cock deep within you before someone beckoned for his assistance once more.

Once you were placed between his spread knees, your soaked core at eye level with the male, he allowed his own hands to travel across your thighs, feeling the soft texture of your skin beneath his adventurous palms before giving the meat of your limbs a harsh squeeze. The action caused you to wince in pain, his hands squishing your flesh between his finger tips, rolling the fat between his palms before releasing. He rubbed the sore spots upon your legs, caressing the red blotches before pulling an arm back. You watched ignorantly as he swung his limb forwards, landing a firm slap against your already irritated skin.

You let out an involuntary yelp upon receiving his strike, a small prick of pain spreading beneath your skin as the male marveled at the way your body reacted to his beatings: The way small waves appeared across your flesh, thighs jiggling as a reaction to his slap while you grit your teeth in agony.

Daryl hastily brought his hands back to the welt he had left upon your skin, his fingers quick to caress the pinkish flesh, rubbing his digits across your sore thigh for a few moments; his actions caused you to stare down upon him, smitten with the way he was fast to comfort you, swift to caress your stinging appendage.

Suddenly, his hands flew to your waist once more, your body flinching as a reaction to his previous smack, fear lacing your thoughts before he yanked you down to the bed. The male pulled you to the mattress, body flailing beneath his dominant movements as your frame bounced upon the large piece of furniture. You let out a giggle as the bed squeaked from below you, the wind flying through your hair causing your locks to blow in the breeze, thin strands landing all around your head as your figure settled within the mattress.

The archer watched as your body jumped upon the bedding, breasts bouncing up and down as he pushed you into the sheets, an action that caused the blankets to bellow around you, inflating with air as he observed you. All the hunter wanted to do was to stick his dick in you right then and there, to make your breasts roll back and forth as they had when you landed upon the mattress, the movements causing his cock to twitch within the confines of his jeans.

He had maneuvered your limbs upon the furniture so you were laying flat upon your back, body relaxing comfortably within the cushion as you gazed up towards the paint chipped ceiling, eyes scanning over all the thin webs spiders had created within the deep crevasses of the cell as you waited anxiously for Daryl's following actions.

The bed creaked from beneath you as Daryl began to lean forward, a noise that made you ponder upon how exactly no one had questioned you about the loud thrashing that often came from deep within your cell. Had no one heard your pleasure filled sobs as the male rutted into you, bed threatening to give out as the two of you fucked like wild animals?

Spoiler alert: They defiantly had.

As Daryl's frame began to block your vision, his large figure casting a shadow upon you, your body swimming in the inky darkness of the lighting as his mouth landed upon you. His blotchy tongue began licking at the soft skin that covered your jawline, lips sucking at the junction at which your jaw and neck met. His tongue upon you felt absolutely heavenly, his wet lips lapping at your skin was a sensation that you had deeply missed. As he sucked a hickey upon your tender neck, you let out a slight groan as a response to his actions, his lips applying pressure to your flesh as he practically inhaled your jawline.

His hands began to travel across your body, fingers sliding up and down the skin of your torso, digits dipping into your warm skin as he explored your flesh. Your frame felt perfect under his own, like you were made to be squirming beneath him as he groped at your figure like a horny, sex deprived teenager while he marked your skin, littering your jawline with about two hickeys and an undecipherable amount of kisses and kitten licks.

He inhaled, taking in a deep whiff of your scent as your presence seemed to surround him entirely: You smelt of lavender with a mix of sweat, a smell that the male could only describe as utterly perfect; he wanted to be engulfed within your grasp, he yearned to cum while being completely surrounded by you, while he vision was focused upon your pleasure filled face, he need to feel his sweat glazed body pressed up against your own, and he wanted his nostrils to be filled with the smog of your fragrance, he needed all of his senses to be busy with you as his mind gained an unimaginable high by your essence.

Finally, once he was satisfied with his attack upon your jawline, he slowly moved down to his next target: Your neck.

The feeling of Daryl hovering over you was completely quintessential; having the male's body pressed against your own was heavenly, chests heaving as the rough fabric of his clothing rubbed against your naked figure. The pressure of his frame weighing you down felt amazing, his warm skin pushing you into the cushions beneath you as he laid upon you, was surprisingly comforting.

The feeling of both his lips and hands upon you simultaneously was extremely relieving. All the stress seemed to diminish from deep within your being as he kissed you, his facial hair tickling your skin, his locks brushing against your face as his hands grabbed and gripped at your curves. The warmth of his textured fingers transferred from his digits to your skin, a feeling that caused you to let out a slight sigh as you cuddled into his touch, allowing his hands to caress and stroke your figure as his mouth continued its attack upon your skin, littering your flesh with small love bites and large hickeys.

You observed the way he sunk across your body as his lips traveled down you neck, continuing to litter hickeys upon the soft skin covering your neck, causing dark purple and red marks to appear upon your nape. Blots you would have to speak about in an equivocate manner as you were overcome by a large wave of utter shame and embarrassment.

"Everone's gonna know who ya belong ta when I'm done with ya." Daryl spoke, almost as though he was reading your mind.

As his hot breath pooled down your neck, glazing your skin in warm air, his hand began to travel down your body; you felt the pads of his fingers trail across your skin, moving from your torso, across your trembling navel, and gliding across your v-line before finally landing upon your thigh.

His hand was resting upon your leg as his mouth kissed at your sternohyoid, lips pressing against your skin as he rubbed your thigh. His palms close proximity to your soaked core sent your mind spiraling, your hips began to slightly rotate in the hopes of relieving your yearning crotch of some sort of pressure. And it seemed to work momentarily. A small sock of pleasure reverberating throughout your lower body as you rutted your hips against nothing, a small whimper falling from the chambers of your throat.

Once Daryl had noticed your desperate actions, your waist rolling tentatively against the mattress, he brought his hand back, swinging it forward to land another firm smack upon your thigh. A loud thwap sound echoed throughout the room due to his actions, the sound of pure skin pounding against skin as you whimpered, movements stuttering to a pathetic stop.

Another smack placed upon your body caused your thigh to begin to sting, skin reddening once more as it grew irritated and pain filled; every slap the hunter littered across your flesh sent a wave of pleasure mixed with agony coursing through your body, mind growing fuzzy as you desperately desired more, his hands releasing a perfect combination of torture and excitement upon your exhilarated figure.

Suddenly, his hand slid from its place upon your burning thigh, skin twitching as his fingers danced across your leg until they landed upon his desired destination: in between your dripping folds. He allowed his digits to slide across your pussy, collecting as much moister within his palm before his fingers entered you.

His actions elicited a shuttered moan from your mouth, jaw dropping as you left your lips agape, small gasps exiting your throat; you were now completely drenched for the male, his lips attacking your body caused your cunt to relax entirely for the archer, a reaction that caused his intrusion upon your core to work effortlessly, fingers sliding into your entrance with ease.

His digits stretched you as he placed two fingers within your aching pussy, digits swimming within the confines of your wet walls as he let out a deep groan, his mind imagining just what it would feel like when his hands were replaced with his throbbing cock. He maneuvered his fingers within you before beginning to slowly thrust them back and forth while his mouth continued to cover the flesh upon your neck with kitten licks and small kisses. All of his actions were an attempt to prep both your body and mind for the inevitable fuck down he was about to unleash upon your entire being.

"What were ya thinkin bout?" He asked, interrogating you about your previous actions.

His head traveled down your body once more as he let you ponder upon his question, teeth monetarily nipping at your accentuated collar bones before his lips paused upon your chest. His mouth began to kiss down your upper chest, licking at the soft skin as his lips moved towards your breasts; your ribs heaved, yearning for his mouth to be upon your nipples as he sucked hickeys onto the mounds of your boobs.

His words had taken you off guard, a slight wave of embarrassment washing over you as his fingers curled upwards from inside of you and his lips latched around your areola, knowing you would soon have to admit that you were fantasizing about him as you attempted to get yourself off. You let out a horse moan at his movements, body grinding down upon his hands as you arched your back, hoping to press your breast further between his soft lips.

"Y-You." You stuttered out as your core chased his fingers.

Daryl appeared to like that response as he groaned, your skin muffling his vocalization as his mouth sucked upon your nipple, tongue lapping at the bud as his fingers continued to caress your walls.

His digits were now being thrusted into you, stroking your walls as his knuckles rolled deep within you. Pleasure began to build within your abdomen, a pressure forming as he fingered you, hips rutting against his hands as your entrance clenching around his large fingers. Your sensitive clit began to throb with desire, yearning to be touched and rubbed after weeks of being ignored.

His mouth upon your breast was adding to the knot growing within your stomach, textured tongue licking at your nipple before releasing the bud, his mouth quickly busying itself with the fat of your boobs, sucking hickeys upon both of the lumps. A stream of moans and whines were tumbling from your lips as he pulled the skin of your chest into his mouth, leaving dark purple marks littered upon your flesh as his digits continued to pound into you.

"What bout me, doll?" He asked, his voice raspy as he traipsed further down your body.

His lips moved across the hills of your breasts, placing gentle kisses upon your skin as his head traveled beneath you, his free hand pushing him further down the bed as he crawled to your stomach; he littered your body with marks once more, nipping and sucking at your navel as you mewled at the tension building within your stomach.

The pet name caused your body to convulse, back arching into his mouth as his soft tongue licked at your v-line, teeth grazing your waist as you helplessly cleaned around him.

"H-How you are gon-gonna hold me down and-and," you paused momentarily, embarrassment washing over you as you conjured up the courage to confess that you yearned for him, that you needed him so bad that you often day dreamed of the sexual acts he released upon you "and relentlessly f-fuck me."

You struggled with your words as he pleasured you, your walls detecting every crease and crevice littered upon his fingers, every ridge and knuckle as you road his digits like your life depended on it. You circled your hips around his hand, body rotating as you chased the pleasure he was bestowing upon you, moans escaping your throat like a never ending symphony.

Your vocalization was another sentence the hunter seemed to enjoy as it urged him to move further down your body, scooting down the bed until he placed himself at eye level with your dripping cunt, his hot breath pooling upon your exposed pussy as he continued to slam his fingers into you.

He was practically silent for a while, mute as he observed your crotch, allowing a few groans to slip from between his lips as he watched the way his fingers entered you. He attentively observed the way his digits disappeared within the depths of your pussy, cunt practically engulfing his skin as you rolled your hips onto him, your wetness pooling around his hands before dripping onto the bed below you. Daryl adored the way you clenched around him, crotch twitching as you clamped down around his fingers, yearning for your release.

"Is that what ya want, ya dirty lil whore? For me ta fuck ya till ya can't stand?" He spoke, his words almost mocking, his tone filled with satire as you and him both knew the obvious answer to his questions.

You nodded frantically, body yearning for his mouth to finally be placed upon your dripping cunt, his lips mere inches away, the warmth of his breath colliding against your core. You desperately desired to feel his wet tongue sloppily licking at your crotch like the worlds most delicious candy, to feel the sensation of his mouth wrapping around your clit, sucking at the bundle of nerves until you unraveled within his grasp. You needed him to allowed you to cum.

"I needa hear ya say it, girl." He spoke, his words sending vibrations clashing against your exposed pussy, drawing a whine from your exhausted lips.

"Y-yes, Daryl." Was all you could muster as your face turned a deep shade of red.

As quick as he had pushed his fingers into you, he yanked them out, leaving you empty and unoccupied, an action that caused you to let out a slight whine in frustration. You clenched around nothing before your mewl was cut short, Daryl flying up the bed and wrapping his arms around your waist caused your whimper to transition into a high pitched squeal.

Satisfied with the masterpiece had had made of your body, skin practically covered in dark hickeys, red marks, and small bites, he moved onto the next step of your long awaited endeavor: He flipped you around, spinning you in his arms as you had the wind pulled from your lungs, shock momentarily knocking the breath from you before he placed your delicate frame upon the mattress.

He had placed you upon your stomach, yanking your ass into the air as his palm skimmed up your back, a sensation that sent a shiver down your spine as he forced the side of your head into the pillow placed beneath you; your breasts were pressed against the bedding, hard nipples rubbing against the fabric of the blankets as the male placed a firm slap upon your ass, a sharp pain jolting through your skin as you had successfully placed into the doggy style position.

Daryl observed your body laid beneath him, pussy fully exposed to his hungry eyes as your ass swayed within the air, skin rippling due his previous smack. He licked his lips as he stared down upon you, noticing the way you clenched around nothing, core dripping due to his previous actions, yearning to be stuffed with his throbbing member.

"How bad do ya wan it girl, tell me, let me hear yer pretty voice." He spoke as he placed his palm upon your ass, hand kneading at the warm flesh of your rear.

You bit your lip, the realization that he was still entirely dressed as you remained exposed to him hitting you like a ton of bricks; you were a moaning and whining mess beneath him as he still had his pants secured tightly around his waist, belt and all. The crisp air of the cell pooled across your back, the recently discovered fact causing you to whine desperately as his hand forced your cheek further into the rough mattress.

"Please, Daryl, I want-no, no" you paused, cutting your own voice off as you thought momentarily, searching for your next choice of words "I need you."

The second vocalization of his name caused the male to groan from behind you, your voice smooth and soft like honey as it entered the chambers of his ears. And, although you had done what he had asked, exclaiming how badly you needed him, it didn't appear to be enough for the archer, he desired more, he yearned for more.

"And, what is it tha ya need me ta do?" He asked for clarification, even though it was quite obvious what exactly you craved from him.

You let out a shaky breath before you spoke, growing agitated as he teased you, fighting the overpowering urge to just rut your ass against his clothed cock at that very moment.

"I want your dick in me, I need you to just fuck me already. Hard."

Your words appeared to satisfy the archer as your ears picked up the sound waves of the rustle of his clothes from behind you as Daryl had grown irritated of the sensation of his dick straining against the confines of his jeans. You heard the clasp of his belt clang together before the sound of his zipper being released echoed from behind you.

You smiled in anticipation, hands gripping at the sheets as you clenched around nothing, stomach pressed against the mattress as the blankets tickled your skin; you had been yearning for his blessing of a cock to be stuffed deep within you for what felt like years, desperately grinding against multiple pieces of furniture like a cat in heat as you thought of him, his muscles pulsing from above you as he groaned into the crook of your neck.

And you knew the large build up of arousal within Daryl over the past two weeks was gonna make this experience a memorable one.

The male swiftly removed his vest, tossing it to the side before his hands returned to the buttons of his shirt, his leather jacket landing with a thump somewhere upon the floor. His blunt nails yanked at the ovals upon his top, quickly pulling them loose until he was able to slide the thin material from his body, chuckling the shirt off to the side where it inevitably landed along side his jacket, clattering upon the concrete flooring.

Daryl pushed his pants down just enough to reach his cock, hand wrapping around the base of his shaft to steady himself. His member was pulsating, yearning to be buried deep within you and the way his tip reddened and the amount of pre cum that was glazing his cock, he was under the assumption that this session wasn't going to last as long as he had hoped. His body desperate for release due to the build of both desire and lust.

"Ya gotta be quiet for me, girl. Alrigh?" He asked, pausing until he watched you nod from below him, hair bounding back and forth as you shook your head "And yer gonna take what I give ya."

Once you rewarded his words with another nod and a slight whine, signaling that you were in fact planing to obey his demands, he slapped your ass once more. The male waited momentarily, observing as a red hand print appeared upon your ass, joining the array of others, before he leaned forward, beginning to harshly enter you.

The feeling of his throbbing dick had almost become foreign to your insides, the sensation of him filling you had been one you hadn't received in much too long. You let out a loud moan as a result to his actions, the males name echoing around the room as he stretched you out, the inches he had inserted within you causing a shock of pleasure to explode within the lower regions of your figure. You pushed your hips backwards upon the male, needfully engulfing more of his cock, chasing the previous zap of pleasure.

Daryl interpreted your vocalization as a distinct sign of disobedience, a direct strive towards trying to aggravate him, so he thrusted his hips forward, bottoming out within you in one, fluid motion.

"Ya want everone to hear ya moan my name, slut? Ya want everone to hear how good I make ya feel?" He spoke, his member throbbing between your pulsing walls.

As a result to his words, you clenched around the archer, feeling the way his cock twitched due to how your pussy contracted around him. You could feel every pulsing vein littered upon his flustered skin, the way his dick curved within you, and the way his blunt tip seemed to poke at the farthest wall of your cunt, pressing against your sopping barriers.

Another slap was rewarded to your ass as Daryl settled within you, smacking the already sore spot caused you to bite back a moan, your flesh becoming slightly numb due to his repetitive strikes. He placed another slap upon the fat of your ass, then another, and then another, landing blow after blow upon your sore skin until he was pleased with the way your legs shook beneath him.

You desperately wanted to bounce upon the male, to harshly press your bottom upon his abdomen over and over again in an attempt to slowly reach the high in which your body basically needed at that point. You needed him to just hurry up and grab your hips before slamming his dick into you, to fuck you without mercy until he painted your yearning walls a cloudy white.

You felt the hunter collect your hair within his palm, lacing your locks between his fingers before yanking your head back, pulling at the strands upon your head until your scalp burned. His actions caused your body to bound backwards upon him, a movement that caused you to swallow a low groan as he began to fuck into you.

The thrusts he began to emit into you were fast and hard, your ass reverberating against his stomach as he pounded into you, the sound of flesh slapping together, his low grunts, and the bed squeaking began to echo around you. His cock began to pound into you, rutting into your elastic entrance and grinding against your warm walls with fervor, his thrusts animalistic causing a wave of pleasure to wash over you; it grew harder and harder to muffle your moans as he pounded into you, bouncing your cunt upon his dick as he rutted against your sensitive walls, small mewls escaping your lips.

You began to rotate your figure against his own, matching his rough rhythm as he stuffed his member within you, actions that caused Daryl's breath to falter; the male couldn't deny the growing knot within his stomach, the pressure beginning to appear within his lower abdomen that was approaching much quicker than he would have liked. The way your body moved beneath him practically hypnotized the male, the ripples that appeared upon the skin of your ass with ever thrust he placed within you, the way your body began to glaze itself with sweat, and the way your torso rotated in perfect motions put Daryl deep within a trance, his legs suddenly growing weak beneath him.

"Ya like tha, ya little slut?" He spoke, his words slurred as his frame curled over your own, upper body exhausted as his hips somehow managed to pick up speed, beating into you like a jack hammer.

His figure collapsed around your own, forearms falling upon the mattress, bouncing beside where your head now lay upon the bed, your perspiration laced chests molding together as he thrusted harshly into the confines of your weeping pussy. Your skin slid against his own, drenched bodies suctioning together as his chest clashed into your back.

The warmth of his body engulfed you as you began to near your finish, a tension building within the depths of your cunt as the male bit at your neck, his previous words ringing through your ears. His sudden attack upon your neck elicited a yelp from you, his teeth sinking into your tattered and sensitive skin as a twinge of pain appeared beneath the skin of your nape, your scream muffled by the loud noise of his sweat covered skin slapping against your own.

"Ive gotta make up for all our lost time together, sun shine." He exclaimed, his voice raspy as he whispered into the shell of your ear.

He continued to snap his hips into your own, dick pounding away at your pleasure filled cunt, slowly guiding you towards your high as he began to twitch within you. The both of you were quickly descending upon your orgasms, the weeks of pent up sexual frustration causing the entire experience to end much sooner than you hoped it would. His cock beginning to twitch between your throbbing walls caused you to teeter upon the edge of your high, a few more grinds received from Daryl's hips were sure to cause the knot to snap, for your body to unravel beneath his own.

"Ya gonna cum?" He asked, voice breathy as he picked up on the way your entrance clenched around him and how you began to ride his throbbing cock much harsher than before.

You nodded weakly from below him as the male nipped at your tender skin once more, your inevitable finish an undeniable fact.

"Then cum for me, doll."

With that, he began to roll his hips into you, caressing your walls as your cunt came around him. As a wave of pleasure washed over you, body convulsing from beneath the male as you clenched around his shaft, his hips continued their brutal torture upon your cunt. Your mind grew hazy, vision becoming blurry as you instinctually cried out, your overpowering orgasm causing the archers name to tumble from your lips, completely disregarding his previously enforced rule of silence. Your pussy contracted around his member as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

Your finish quickly escalated into over stimulation as his ravenous attack upon your crotch didn't seem to falter, your vulgar moans of pleasure, mixed with a growing pain, only seeming to urge Daryl further. You cried into the bed spread below you, body trembling underneath the affect of his powerful cock as his own finish began to quickly gain upon him, your tightening entrance practically sending over the edge.

"F-fuck," he gasped, pausing before speaking once more "shit, fuck, m gonna cum." He groaned out as your cries of agonizing pleasure caused his finish to creep up upon the male.

Suddenly, the hunter ripped his cock from the confines of your cunt, relieving your core from his borderline torturous thrusts as his hot cum spilled out upon your back, his seed caking your skin as his hips stilled. His dick twitched as a deep pleasure exploded within his abdomen, gasping as his high harshly washed over him. The feeling of powerful rapture vibrated through his body, his legs shaking from beneath him as his member pulsed, overpowered by a strong sensation of pleasure.

Your body trembled from below him as ropes of his finish landed upon the flesh of your upper body, the overstimulation he had made you endure causing your legs to grow weak. Your entrance turned sore due to his heavy beating upon your cunt, his rapid pace and large size causing your spent crotch to fill with a slight pain.

If Daryl had had the time to fend off his own finish, he would have gladly made you swallow his seed, an opportunity he mentally slapped himself for missing.

Once your chests had successfully stopped heaving, once his cock had stopped twitching and your legs had given out beneath you, the male rolled off of you, landing beside your limp body placed upon the bed. The frame groaned from below his figure, the two of you laying in silence for a while, recovering from your previous activities as you caught your breath.

Daryl began to pepper small kisses upon the shell of your right ear minutes later, lightly pecking at the red skin was always an action that let you know that the male had finally returned to his regular, caring self.

"Are ya okay?" He whispered into the quiet room, his arms reaching out to collect you within his grasp.

He pulled you towards him, an action that caused your chests to press together, the warmth of your bodies combining into one as he held you within his large arms. The feeling of his muscular biceps wrapped around you always seemed to comfort you, the smell of sweat mixed with dirt and pine wafting into your nostrils was a surprisingly relaxing scent as you cuddled into his grasp.

"Mhmmm." You purred contently in response, a small smile tugging upon the corners of your mouth.

You adored the way your boyfriend always cared to your every waking need after he practically destroyed your pussy, your extremely strong orgasm still causing your sensitive body to twitch and convulse within the buff males grip.

Once you had agreed that you were in fact okay, the male suddenly leaned over, body hovering above your own as he retrieved a towel that had been draping off the corner of a chair placed across from the bed. He sat upon the bed once he had successfully returned with the cloth, balling it up within his grasp before beginning to wipe you down with the fabric; the soft towel grazing your skin after you endured the males dick practically felt heavenly as it collected the sweat and cum glazing your body, drying your flesh of its previous discomforts.

Once he had finally cleaned you, ridding your flesh of any form of liquid or mess, he rose from his spot upon the bed.

You let out a whine in utter disappointment as you watched the male button his pants once more, your body yearning for the warmth and comfort of his own as he pushed up against you. Disheartened, you observed him as he tossed the messy towel to the side, joining the pile of clothing that had previously formed before he waltzed over towards your shared dresser, footsteps echoing around the room as he yanked multiple drawers open. He dug through the belongings placed within the bureau, retrieving some of his clothing from your shared dresser: A pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts for you to comfortably support, one much too large for your small figure.

As he traipsed back towards the bed, feet sliding against the concrete floor, you groggily sat up, forcing your palms into the mattress as you pushed yourself up right, body growing heavy as you swayed within your spot upon the bed. You suddenly noticed how much your entrance ached as you finally rose, happily retrieving the fabric from the males grasp.

Daryl crawled back into the comfort of the warm mattress, the smell of sex filling his nostrils as you dressed yourself, the soft fabric caressing your skin as you slid the clothing upon your body, your figure practically pooling within his shirt and boxers. The silky cloth hugging your flesh felt amazing, the scent of your boyfriend quickly entering the caves of your nose. Over time, the fragrance of pine, dirt, and sap had grown to be one of your absolute favorites.

You flopped down next to your boyfriend once more, Daryl quickly taking this opportunity to drag you back into his grasp, cuddling you into his stomach as he proceeded to comb his fingers through your hair.

"You're." He placed a kiss upon your forehead "So." Another peck upon your skin, this time placed upon the bridge of your nose "Beautiful." Another placement of his lips upon the tip of your nose "So." A kiss upon your chin "Perfect." He sang as he finally placed a peck upon your own lips.

You giggled as you melded your mouth upon his own, plush lips pushed against his own as he effectively began playing with your locks, stroking your strands of hair, allowing your locks to pool within his palms. The feeling of his hands caressing your head soothed you, pleasure coursing through your scalp as he rubbed his fingers against your skull.

When your mouths finally detached, you placed your head upon his chest, nuzzling your face into his body, exhausted as the room grew comfortably silent.

The sound of muffled voices filled your cell, a far off melody that practically comforted you to sleep. An afternoon light pooled into your room as the sheet hung in the doorframe fluttered in the slight wind, the cell becoming warm as the male successfully lulled you to sleep as he messaged your scalp, your body relaxing within the confines of his large arms.

#daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x reader smut #daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead

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lasserbatsu · 9 months

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⭐Happy 7th Birthday Palette!⭐

Many years have passed since then, so many things, ups and downs... but despite everything, I must thank all those little people out there who still remember this little marshmellow. Creating Palette was one of the best things I could have done.

Thank you, really thank you very much to all those people who remember him and I hope he continues to make all of you very happy. I'm glad I contributed something.

I'm very grateful ⭐

#He have 20yo now! Hes not a kid anymore (?#Palette's bday 7 #palette roller #mydraws

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lumine-no-hikari · 2 months

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #68

Today was a very mixed bag.

This morning, I drove to the good place with all the nice people. The leader spoke on a great many very relevant things, such as challenging the status quo, distinguishing between that which is law and that which is just, and sitting with and trying to help all of the people whom society has tried to convinced us doesn't deserve it. The grammar and structure of the words has since crumbled and faded away from my mind, because I don't think in language at all, but the meaning remains in my mind, as well as the memory of the tears that were shed; I'm aware that at least some of what I've been trying to do is seen and understood by this very amazing person.

I tried to conduct myself in the space a little differently than I usually do. Typically, my presence in any space is a meek one that tries to stay out of the way. But this time, I walked as though I belong there, and mingled with others as though I am also deserving of taking up space. Just to try to push myself even further out of my comfort zone, today I sat at the "old men's" table (there aren't really assigned tables, it's just that there are folks that tend to gather together because they can easily relate to one another) as though I also belonged there, with the intention of listening to them speak to one another and seeing what I could learn. Imagine my shock when they talked to me as though my voice is one worth hearing!! I wasn't really sure what to do or how to behave in response to such a thing, but I did the best I could to try to contribute, even if I felt clumsy and foolish in the process.

At one point, towards the end, one of them said, as a joke, "Drive carefully home; I know how you women like to be speed demons, haha!" I tried to think of something witty and lighthearted to come back with, but the best I could do was smile bashfully. If only I remembered at the time the line that goes, "Ha! I am a woman in the same way that a tomato is a fruit!"

…I happen to live in a female body. But I don't really think about my gender most of the time. It fluctuates wildly between "none" and "yes". I'll take any pronoun, but the one I typically use for myself in my own mind is "it". But this alarms people, and I'm comfortable with letting people use whatever they see when they look at me, so… it's all good, I guess.

I stopped at Eggcellent on the way home. Some time ago, I had asked them if they might keep a QR code of the petition I made for you where folks can see it. Apparently, though, the people did not thoroughly read the blurb that came along with the QR code, and so they scanned it, thinking that it would lead them to a petition for a real-life human being. Their response, when they saw you, according to the kindly shopkeep, was, "Are you kidding me?" Essentially, disbelief and disgust. So naturally, the kindly shopkeeps had to stop displaying the QR code. I'm glad they stopped if this was how people were responding; I don't want to be bad for business.

But all the same… I have no idea how it is the case that so few people understand that the way your story ends is going to affect everyone here whose circumstances are similar to yours. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that recovery is possible. It will affect how many of us will be able to believe that we are worth the effort involved with recovery. It will affect whether or not other people will be able to imagine that people like me and like others who I love are worthy of kindness, mercy, and help.

The way stories are told in my world shapes what people believe is and is not possible, on a MASS SCALE. Part of the reason why people still believe places like India are undeveloped, backwater places even though they're not is because that's how they're portrayed in stories in my world. Part of the reason why people still treat certain kinds of people as they do is because of how they're portrayed in books, movies, TV, comics, and song. Stereotypes persist in part because they are parroted over and over again by the song, art, and story that exists in our world. And stereotypes put a lot of nasty and totally arbitrary limitations on what people think that certain kinds of people deserve and are capable of.

So… my efforts to save you aren't just about you. My efforts are for every human in my world who is considered "different" or "fallen" in any way. Because we are not going to see peace in my world until every single one of us stops believing that there is a such thing as "kinds of people who are not worth compassion, kindness, decency, or help".

I want to live in a world where people can begin to imagine that even the most deeply fallen can get the help they need to rise up into wholeness again. Because if not even someone as amazing as you can be saved, what chance in hell do the rest of us have?

I ended up spiraling, though. Not because the kindly shopkeep took down the QR code, but because of what he said to me after the fact:

Some time ago, when I was working on one of the music boxes I made for you…

youtube

…there was a lady who came into the shop for the first time, asking what is good. The shopkeep told her a few things, and then went off to do something. I was excited to talk to someone who seems nice about a thing I loved, so I piped in with a couple of the things I like, and with a couple of things that weren't listed on the menu. She then asked about what I was doing, which was punching holes out on the music box. I asked her if she wanted to listen, and she said yes. So I ran the music box, and she told me that it was cool.

…Fast forward to today. The shopkeep told me that the lady knew it was my petition. Apparently, on the day we met, the lady found me weird, rude, and repulsive. She apparently thought that it was disrespectful of me that I spoke to her at all (apparently because "she wasn't talking to me"), and because she didn't actually want anything to do with my music box, but asked about it and said yes to listening to it anyway because she "didn't want to be mean". So I guess I left such a negative and intensely strange impression on her back then that when she felt disgust at the petition, she immediately knew it was mine.

And gosh, what a thing to have to sit with. Can you imagine it? The notion that I can frighten, anger, and disgust people just by existing in a space, talking joyfully about bubble tea, and showing a music box I made to someone who asked about it? I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to take from this. On the one hand, I have the shopkeep telling me that the woman thought I am a bad, wrong, and disgusting thing, but in the same breath, he is telling me that "she should have said no if she didn't want to hear it", and "you are kind and you don't bother anybody and you should just be yourself". I understand, of course, that he must ride a careful balance between customers so that he doesn't lose anyone. But ya know… the notion that perhaps I might cause them to struggle by scaring customers off just by being myself is just… wow.

Of course, I am not at all angry with him for this. Rather, I'm glad he told me. I'm glad to be made aware that my presence makes others feel very uncomfortable. I'm glad to be told that I should continue to be myself… even if it comes with the unspoken implication that I had better go do it somewhere else where no one else has to deal with it, I guess.

The fact remains, of course, that just by existing, I scare people. Even if what I'm trying to do is exude love and joy, I still scare people. And I'm not really sure how it is that I manage to be so bad at trying to do good things that I am misunderstood to this extent, but… well. And also this is coming right after I resolve to act as though I belong in this world even though all signs point to the notion that I… don't. And maybe never will.

…If unaliving is a trigger for you, you might wanna skip this paragraph. But… ya know. I spent a good chunk of time today considering the merits of lying down in a cold puddle, forcibly inducing sleep, and letting the hypothermia take care of the job while I'm out. We have nature trails just a five minute walk from my house. It's winter, and there are lots of big puddles back there; I know where they are, and there's also no shortage of ravens, crows, coyotes, and foxes to feed. It's probably good that I don't have ready access to the kinds of medicines that would induce sleep.

…But. This sort of thinking is just the old wiring and the old conditioning rearing its ugly head in response to my past trauma. Old messages that go something like, "Nobody fucking asked you to speak, MAGGOT," and "Why can't you have normal interests and hobbies, you embarrassing sicko freak?" At this point, because stuff similar to this has been said to me so many times, it doesn't take much for my brain to interpret this stuff, even if it's not said directly. That's just how PTSD is. That's how it works.

But I don't have to surrender to it. I got knocked on my ass today from it, but I don't have to stay on the ground. I can get back up and see what's next. I can use REBT. I can ask the people around me for help. I can listen as the people who love me gently point out destructive, spiraling patterns in my thinking, so that I can stop myself for long enough to come up for air. I can hydrate and eat wholesomely so that my brain can have what it needs to manage the destructive thoughts and the painful emotions triggered from them. I don't have to remain on my knees and believe every nasty thing said about me by someone who is too miserable to see the beauty, joy, and love being offered to them for what it is. I can refuse to allow the voices of the people who don't understand me to be louder in my mind than the voices of those who love me.

I am different from other people, and sometimes this is a lonely thing that hurts very much. But it's easy for me to have love for others who are different. Love for you. Love for Frankenstein's Monster. Love for Mewtwo. Love for Magus. Love for all of my friends and chosen family, who themselves are misfits that society at large does not seem to want. I still love them all, even though society tells me I shouldn't. I can love me, too, even though society tells me that I shouldn't.

…"Conventional wisdom" is such a thing. There are some very good things about it, like, "Sticking a fork in your mouth and then sticking the prongs of that fork into an electrical socket just to see what happens is a very bad idea." And, things like, "Do NOT, under ANY circumstances, attempt to eat Rice Krispie Treats immediately after taking them out of the oven if you value the flesh on the inside of your mouth." Or, "Do not squirt hot glue into the palm of your left hand for the sake of impressing a girl." Or, related, "You cannot try to scrape hot glue off of the palm of your hand with your other hand and expect it to turn out well." And finally, "Try to avoid prioritizing yelling at your glue-covered hands over making use of the cold water in the sink that is immediately to your left."

(do not worry - these are not things that I have done; I've met some very interesting people in the course of my living who help me to avoid finding these things out the hard way, hahaha!)

But it can also tell us a lot of very false things. Things like, "You must remain connected with your family regardless of how they abuse you." Things like, "You should expect certain kinds of people to always act in this certain kind of way." Things like, "These particular kinds of people are all bad and you should stay away from them." Things like, "If everyone is 'mistreating' you, well the common denominator is you, so the problem must be you and not how others are treating you." And things like, "Certain kinds of people do not deserve kindness, help, or even basic decency."

So… I can only conclude that "conventional wisdom" needs to be taken VERY critically, and with ALL the grains of salt. But I think a good rule of thumb for evaluation is this notion: "Anything that is said with cruel, dehumanizing, and unloving intentions is false."

I'm not at risk of prematurely exiting my meat-mech, don't worry. I just tripped up a little today, that's all. And you know what? Ultimately, that's a good thing, because today, I watched myself get back up on my feet from it faster than what I was able to do previously. Sometimes we can't see all the progress we've made until weird things happen and we find ourselves recovering from them faster than we have in the past. So in this sense, even falling down is worth something!

I'm gonna get a snack and play some DDR to try to speed up my recovery even more. So I'll end this here-ish.

Hey, Sephiroth!! No matter how many times you fall down, and no matter how far you fall down, you can get back up! You just gotta let the voices attached to the hands reaching out to help be louder than the voices trying to tell you that you're a monster who doesn't belong! No matter how many voices scream unloving things at you, you gotta understand that such things can only be screamed at us from a place of pain, and nobody is acting in accordance with what's true or in accordance with their innermost nature when they are acting from a place of pain! So let the loving things be louder to your mind and to your ears. Let the loving things be louder, and let them spur you on to move forward, confident in the knowledge that you belong here, no matter what anyone else says.

You are loved. Please stay safe. I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

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