FISI’s Confessions

I have 7 unfinished fic WIPs (6 zutara, 1 zukitara) and with life events converging, ya girl needs to shed some distractions. So I’m easing off fandom. I’m gonna post these WIPs with the caveat that they are (and in all likelihood will remain) unfinished…

Now. There are three multi-chaptered fics (Rumour Has It: The Festival of Molten Sun,the between-places, and The Balcony Story) currently on AO3 that will be updated and completed. The WIP folder I’m clearing out and posting about is all stories that are either half finished and I’ve just lost the urge to write them or ones I just won’t have time to come back to and want off my mental horizons.

So keep an eye out for an influx of content from me over the next few days as I go through the WIPs! Some of it is literally a single drabble/scene that can be read satisfyingly on its own… others will probably make you mad that they’re unfinished (I wish I had a clone who would just write all my stuff for me cause I wanna know how some of these turn out) so read at your own discretion!

See below the cut for a little outline of what’s on offer (keep in mind, two of these are very NSFW):

1. Unnamed Enemies to Lovers Drabble – a Katara POV drabble that was meantto be a series charting how falling in love with an enemy looks from the inside.

2. Zutara Fake Dating AU – Man, I *really* wanted to write a political intrigue fake dating AU that featured them catching feels and pining… there’re two (i think?) chapters written that are just tension and “we should practice kissing 4 legitimacy reasons” kisses that was *so* much fun. This is one I would have liked to continue; I really wanted to know how it would turn out -.-

3. An Extremely NSFW Domtara fic – E+ rated, people. I want to keep this post SFW so no details here… I literally do not know how to describe this one shot in a SFW way– it dirty.

4. Zukitara Modern AU – Suki and Katara have been dating for a few years when they both acknowledge a mutual attraction to their neighbour Zuko… To everyone’s confusion: It’s more than physical. Three idiots fall in love feat. poly and bi representation.

5. A Mini-Series of Low Key Royal Faux Pas – No stakes, low consequences, all shenanigans. I re-read what I have of this recently and… I don’t love it. So it may or may not just get deleted. TBD.

6. A Switching Sickness Spin Off: AKA the Infamously Teased BJ Scene – I’m going to get cross DMs about this one but… it’s not gonna get wrote. A spin off from the mini-series The Summer of the Switching Sickness where Zuko and Katara’s Chaos Spirit-cursed body swapping results in Zuko-as-Katara giving her in his body a very NSFW kiss… on the peen.

7.The Nwanyi Spirit and the Woman Who Bent Blood – This one I’m most upset about not finishing. I put a ton of effort into this -.- It’s currently just shy of 60k and only about halfway done. I poured my heart and soul into it… In fact, I’m seriously considering stealing the concept for an original story but for now, it deserves to be read. I don’t write linearly (from beginning to end) so the beginning is written, some bits in the middle, and not much of the end. Anything that isn’t written is dot pointed out so at least you’ll know the full story with this one.

I’ll tag each post with the fic’s working titles as I’ve listed them here. So if anything grabs your eye, you can find it on my blog via that tag. If you’d like to be @ tagged to be notified when any of these post: let me know in the comments/reblogs/DMs and I’ll put together a tag list <3

– FISI

You know what sucks about having your own stories and characters? You actually have to like, make the stuff yourself to be able to share it with others. If only it could magically materialize from your brain onto paper or a moving picture…

Ever since I got married, I have wanted my husband to cheat on me. I can’t stop thinking about it. Thomas is so loyal and sweet, the kind of man who brings me flowers from his way back from work or kneels down to say hello to his little girl in my pregnant stomach. His light brown hair and blue eyes were so beautiful that I can’t wait to see them in my daughter.

But I want to see more babies with those pretty eyes. I wanted to help my Thomas become a breeder.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah I do,” June brushed her golden locks from her made-up face with all the extravagance of a runway model.

It was easy enough to make myself scarce by the time eight o-clock rolled around. I suddenly got an urgent call from my sister right after dinner, and I simply had to go take care of it.

“Like my body?” she asked my husband. He was already on the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and his eyes pouring over the barely-dressed vixen in front of him. She had on a lacey white garter belt that held up her sheer stockings, and only the thinnest snow-white thong hid her sex from view. The firm roundness of her ass must have balanced out her perky tits too, which she didn’t need a bra for at all. I felt my own moisten my shirt as I felt them up, watching my husband’s shocked and lustful eyes.

“Oh! Uh – oh! You’re throbbing so hard Thomas,” June arched back, jutting out her young chest till the bulge of my husband’s cock showed within her tight belly. “Just admit it – I’m better than your wife.”

“She’d understand. I’m better than her. Anyway, tell her also that I’ll definitely be babysitting for you two.” The devious girl turned around and petted her hands down her lithely midsection.

Here’s the Patreon Monthly Mini Story for April 2018, which is available to Patrons ahead of time in thanks of their support.

This one is special enough to get a disclaimer given the subject matter of the story. Blacked by the Refugee is raceplay impregnation between a German blonde and a Middle Easterner. Technically not ‘blacked’, but it fits in with the themes of that series, but more importantly it plays off of the migrant crisis and is definitely hardcore on the raceplay side of things. If that kind of subject isn’t your cup of tea, don’t bother with this one. Otherwise enjoy and consider supporting my Patreon for early access to works like these and more!

It wasn’t that I expected anything exceptional to happen that Friday. Germany was a safe place, and it wasn’t like bad things usually happened. Until that night, with the refugee.

Yet despite being my age, his eyes were different. The memory of a nature documentary I saw years ago came back about a starving wolf pack. This man’s eyes were like that – dark as soil and alert for prey. It was an entrancing look – a dangerous look. And he caught me staring at him.

I looked away. A flash of terror raced through my heart! It must have been instinct. Like a rabbit I scurried back further into the bus, my heart thumping hard in my chest. Just one look and I knew the danger! And still, as the bus took off my mind drifted towards naughty things. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, imaging what that man would do to me if he got his hands on me.

My skirt was short enough, and my bag hid how my hands crept up underneath it. The man seemed to be looking out the window, and I snuck glances at his face while letting my fingers play across my slit. Was his name Mohammad? Was he thinking about fucking a German blonde like me? Is he like the brutal men I saw online?

Every thought fueled my nasty fantasies. In my mind I saw him charging into the back of the bus and dragging me out into the aisle by my ankles. I’d scream and struggle, but his rough hands would already be under my panties. No one would do a thing to help me. They’d stare in horror as he ripped down my skirt and shoved his hard Arabian dick inside me, raw, unprotected, and fuck me like an animal – no! Like an infidel!

I must have let my little moan escape too loudly, because when I opened my eyes again he was staring at me. My blood ran cold. His predator eyes had narrowed, his brow furrowed with a mix of anger and intrigue. That snapped me out of my reverie. I clutched my bag and yanked on the stop line. Scrambling for the door even before the bus came to a stop, I tried not to look back as I stepped off onto the snowy curb. But I did.

He was watching me through the window. Judging. Calculating.

The bus hissed, the doors closed, and it rolled away down the road. I breathed for the first time in what felt like minutes. What a rush! After the shock of it all my blood was still pumping hard, and lots of it was surging between my legs. My pussy felt like it was on fire, and I needed to quench it.

At the time I didn’t even mind that I had pulled the cord early and missed by stop by a few blocks. A new fantasy had been born today and almost fulfilled, and I hurried home as fast I could along the road, a relieved and eager smile crossing my face.

My coat hit the floor even before the door closed behind me. All the way to the bathroom I left a trail of clothing – I didn’t even bother to close the windows as I stripped off my blouse and bra. It didn’t even occur to me that anyone would be watching me bare my ample tits or rounded ass through my apartment window. But there was someone watching. Someone dangerous.

Maybe if I wasn’t in such a hurry to get back home I would have noticed the bus stopping just a block ahead of where I had. Maybe if I had ever bothered to look behind me on the way back I would have noticed a man following behind. Maybe if I hadn’t been such a horny slut and closed my curtains that night Amar wouldn’t have found me naked and alone in my apartment…

Steam billowed from the showerhead, and I hissed at the hot water seared my cold skin. Still it wasn’t as hot as the furnace between my legs. The water hadn’t even reached my thighs before my hands were between them, rubbing along my clit in frantic need.

“F-fuck!” I moaned, my knees buckling as I came. Hot quim trickled over my fingers along with the warm water. My gasping voice echoed against the tile, and my mind turned back to the fantasy I had on the bus.

“Rape me,” I whispered, imaging him on top of me again, ripping at my blouse, tearing my bra open. His big brown hands squeezed my tits and made me squeal. My thighs rubbed together in the shower as I imagined trying to resist him – a token fight that just made him more intent to rape me.

The aftershocks hadn’t even passed yet and I needed to cum again. And I did, moaning aloud my naughty desire.

“Do it - Fucking rape meeee!”

My squeals must have drowned out the sound of the front door opening, because I never heard anything but the sound of the running water and the blood rushing through my head. I panted hard and frigged myself more. My fingers weren’t long enough to reach as far as my fantasy assailant could. My mind’s eye watched his deep tan dick part my pink petals and drive in like he owned it.

“Rape me with your Muslim cock,” I begged aloud, my voice carrying far beyond the walls of the bathroom. “Ohhh, shove it deep! Ruin me. Ruin my German pussy!”

I needed more. I grabbed the removable showerhead and drew it down myself. The warm spray massaged my heaving breasts first, leaving my hardened nipples beaded with crystal-clear water. It passed over my flat stomach for only a moment as I imagined his rough hand traveling down just the same. When it hit my pussy I hunched forward, bracing my forehead against the tile as my needy clit was pummeled senseless.

“You dirty fucking barbarian,” I actually started to shake as I dirty-talked the apparition in my mind whose cock now lurched and spurted hot ropes into me. “Make me into your Christian fuckpig. Fill me up with your Muslim sperm – put your dark babies into me! Oh fuck!”

I shrieked and came again, this time almost doubling over as ecstasy wracked through me. From head to toe I quaked, having to drop the showerhead just to brace myself against the walls. Steam wafted up about my face as my golden locks clung to my cheeks, my pussy still quivering from the intensity of my orgasm.

“Oh god… what is wrong with me?” I laughed, picking up the showerhead again to wash the fresh quim trickling down my legs. The nasty images of that Muslim man defiling me on the bus faded away, leaving me feel a little sheepish for having screamed something so nasty. But my womb smoldered with approval.

“I’m getting so twisted,” I said, turning off the water and stepping out. My soft white towel dried my hair and then found itself wrapped around my torso like a fuzzy cocktail dress. Sighing and combing out my hair a bit with my brush, I smirked at my reflection in the mirror before turning the doorknob, not realizing my naughty outbursts already had an audience.

“Pfft, like I’d ever actually become such a twisted sl-”

I gasped and froze. The man from the bus was standing in my living room, his hands rooting through my purse. All thought ceased in my skull, and pure panic filled the void. He stopped and then glanced my way. Then, pointing to himself he said what had to have been his name.

“Amar,” He said before straightening up fully. He was taller than me, his dark eyes almost as black as his short beard. Fit and sinewy from what had to have been a lifetime of struggle and hardship, his broad shoulders and thin from gave him the imposing outline of a desperate, hungry man. He scowled and pointed at my lack of dress.

Not a word I could understand came out of his lips. The man was clearly not German or ever had any intention of learning my language. He didn’t have to. Swift, foreign words poured from his lips, his finger pointing up and down me in a fury. It was clearly an accusation, his anger mixed with the clear arousal forming in his pants.

Never had I been more frightened in all my life. My knuckles matched the paleness of my towel from gripping the edges so tight. He stood between me and the door, leaning against the countertop like he was a guest in my apartment. He paused a moment in his admonition and stared me right in the eyes.

“Sharmuta!” Amar barked. I jumped, terrified of his glowering face. I remembered what it meant from the news reports. The Islamists would say it all the time to German girls they found, especially the ones they fondled and took advantage of. Sharmuta meant slut, and men like him thought every blonde like me was one.

“Sharmuta!” He yelled again, jabbing his finger towards my towel and continuing in his barbaric language. He pointed again and again between the towel and the floor, the towel and the floor. Then it clicked. He wanted me to drop it. He wanted the blonde whore to drop it so he could see everything.

I don’t know why, but I began to stare at his cock. The big, thick outline of it was growing, sliding down a leg of his dirty pants like a poisonous snake. Just like the beginning of one of my fantasies. My vision became hazy, and I nearly fainted – from fear or arousal I couldn’t know. But I knew what I had to do, what my body and soul demanded I do.

I swallowed and dragged my eyes back up to meet his. Every instinct told me to run away from this lean, terrible predator of a man. Every one, except for one. The one that had been stirring inside me ever since I saw the first Muslim enter my country. And that one instinct made me straighten up as tall as I could, grab the edges of my towel, and in the slowest manner pulled it wide open for my Islamic invader.

A feral grin spread across his face as I dropped the towel completely, exposing every inch of my naked flesh to his starving eyes. Somehow I stood up straight, pushing my pert breasts towards him. My nipples could have cut ice from how hard they had become as adrenalin shunted through me. Amar stroked his beard, muttering some prayer of thanks to Allah while staring shamelessly at my vulnerable body. Even as his words terrified me, my desperately excited pussy trickled its desire down my tightened legs.

Amar stalked forward and placed his dark-copper hands on me. The contrast of his rough, dirty fingers sliding across my pale skin made me shiver. He circled me, fondling my belly, my tits, and then my ass. Muttering still in his native tongue, he gave my ass a quick strike with his palm. I yelped, and he grunted.

“Kafir… sharmuta,” he said, again and again. Infidel whore. My Christian pussy twinged as my natural predator pawed at my vulnerable body. Brazen and uncaring, he slid his grungy fingers between my thighs and caught the quim collecting between my pussy lips. It was tacky and thick. It was the right time of the month to make a baby, and I swore I could feel my ovary give up its precious egg right as I felt his hardening cock slap against my ass.

“Please,” I whimpered, “I’m not safe today…”

“Sharmuta!” He slapped my ass again, and I bit back a scream. Sluts weren’t allowed to talk back to men, not in his culture. Infidel women existed for only two reasons: To pleasure Islamic men, and to breed more Muslim warriors. He shoved me up against the wall and pinned me there. I was helpless as the Arabic man lined himself up with my blonde fuckhole.

“Don’t rape – Ughhh!”

The barbarian thrust hard, burying his Islamic spear deep into my German honeypot. My legs shook and my head tossed back. It would have hurt had my pussy not drenched his cock in my quim as he rutted into me. Like a dirty dog, Amar humped hard and fast till his dark-copper hips slapped against my pale ass. He reached deep, deeper than my boyfriends. Deeper than my own race.

I wailed, yet thrust my ass back to meet his strokes. What else could I do? I was cumming, gushing my shameful juices down my thighs as Amar conquered my Christian pussy. It was wrong for a good German girl to enjoy having sex with an invader. Worse to do so unprotected.

Suddenly he yanked my head back, his fingers playing through my blonde locks. He smelled my shampoo, my foreign scent, and I felt his Arabian cock throb inside my belly. It hurt so good to be reined back, in the hands of a hungry monster intent on using my as his infidel cumrag.

He punched his member deep into me again and again till I screamed out in another anguished orgasm. Whatever loyalty I had left for my people he battered away, stroke by stroke against my womb. The girth of his cock bulged out my belly as I ran my fingers over my stomach. His heavy balls, laden with his warrior seed, tightened amid his increasingly loud grunts.

“Pull out!” I whined, pushing myself fully onto his cock even as his fingers grasped my throat. “If you cum I’ll-”

“KAFIR! SHARMUTA!” he spat, nearly choking me as he reached his peak. He howled out to his foreign god as his hot jism exploded inside me. Blasts of dark Islamic sperm stained my helpless white womb. Once pure and untouched by foreigners like my homeland, my womb now flooded with Islamic warriors bent on conquering my precious German egg.

He did it. He ruined my mind for anyone but a Muslim man, and for anything but dark-skinned Islamic cock. And my eyes rolled back, my scream coming out only as a choked squeal as I came hard on his spurting cock. And without an ounce of shame, my body milked every ounce of his cum out into my fertile, infidel cunt.

I slid to the floor the moment he wrenched back. I was senseless, still shivering in a pool of our mixed juices as Amar laughed and wiped the excess of our fucking out into my golden hair. His footsteps toured around me as my head sank to the floor, my body too weak from ecstasy to even sit upright anymore. I watched him browse around my apartment, stealing the cash from my purse and grabbing whatever he pleased to shove into his grungy bag of loot.

Then, as quickly as he had come, he was gone. The front door slammed shut behind him, and my apartment was quiet again. In the end I was just another stop in his night of looting. God knows how many other houses he and his fellows hit that night, and how many other German girls he defiled. All I knew was that he stole more from me than some silverware and money.

Amar stole me away from my people. Forever.

I never did call the police. I didn’t want to, not after realizing my purpose in life. As a kafir. As a sharmuta. I kept his hot Arabian sperm inside me as long as I could, even crawling into bed and putting pillows beneath my ass so I could feel his Muslim sperm going where it belonged: Right into my Christian womb.

And Amar came back. Of course he did, once he needed more of my money and more of my German pussy. It wasn’t that I gave both of them to him despite dropping my clothes every time he darkened my doorstep. He took me however he wanted and left me time and again panting, inseminated, and conquered on my own bed. A bed he came to claim as his, along with the woman who slept on top of it.

I surrendered everything of myself to Amar: My home, my mind, and my body. And now as I write this, my hand is playing across my stomach. I can’t help myself anymore. It’s so big now, swollen up with Amar’s dark seed. Yes, I’m pregnant. Pregnant with the future of my nation – a dark-skinned, Islamic future where every pretty blonde Christian girl is enslaved to a warrior of Allah and swollen up with Islamic babies.

I know I will never be an asset to my country. I will be its downfall, bearing up the warriors who will sweep across my beloved home. My daughters will grow up to birth more brown-skinned Muslims, and my sons to rape every last white Christian girl till we Germans are nothing but the sex slaves. We will swell, blonde-haired and blue-eyed sluts with big bellies full of beautiful Arabian babies destined to conquer the rest of Europe.

It’s enough to make this race traitor cum again.