#because B flat is cool

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

The title of the next song I write will be a dark comedy entitled “Dramatic Irony” with the subject matter of doing good for humanity despite never doing good for oneself… if that makes sense. It will be filled with country song-style wordplay. I have a few ideas for the lyrics already and it’s kind of funny… I just need to work out a melody… which will probably be cheerful; because I have a thing for setting the most awful lyrics to cute lullaby sounds… and with this subject matter specifically, that would place the song squarely in the genre of a certain controversial fashion subculture… idk how to feel about that…..

[imflyingfish]

Its weird because i dont actually have much of a desire to move to france or use french reguarly in my life but at this point ive deadicated over a year to learning it so i might as well keep going and finish

[moodyseal]

Me when having nice hair actually requires effort: 😦

[plexiglassonion]

4 possibly 5 conditional offers for universities #ridemyswaglikeastrap #educationpilled

[strawberry-miiiiiiiiiiiilk]

sitting in my room for a half hour thinking about how if we lived in a better world Ada Wong would be the Ilsa Faust of Resident Evil (primarily in how she's introduced in Rogue Nation), with a dynamic to leon not unlike Fujiko Mine's and Lupin's in which they are both extremely competent and in situations in which they may have to work against and occasionally with each other on a mission, but ultimately are forced to stay apart and while they may be apart and even have different love interests from each other, ultimately still care deeply for one another. They are compelled to go after each other in part because it's so difficult and they are so often in circumstances in which they can't be with each other. The thrill of the chase and all that.

Ada being only tangentially related to the other character's stories because the world is simply larger than them and she has her own concerns and problems to deal with, and to have that be given any care or weight in a story, let alone focus. That she can be cunning and even manipulative but because she needs to and will still choose not to when the chips are down because she is genuinely caring--which I know none of that is new ground for her but I wish it was done in a more interesting way and *without leon at all*. She chooses to show mercy in a key point not because she's in love with that other character.

And also that she has more personality. I dig the subdued nature of her in 4r and her subtle sarcasm but it's just crumbs. I want her to be silly on occasion and say dumb jokes because she's alone like in 2r. I want her to shed a bit of that seriousness when she's on the clock because she's confident in herself as a professional and again has no one to put up a façade to.

It's honestly kinda embarrassing reading this back as I realize most of what I'm writing is not only already present in the games but incredibly tropey in and of itself, and wouldn't improve the character much. Dear god I think too much of my view of the character has been marred by shallow fanworks depicting her. I think if anything it's a sign that:

I'm a shit writer and need to do way more than watch movies and gesture vaguely at them to come up w a decent story or character (that being said as much as I prefer Fallout as a film, I stand by my earlier statement of Ilsa Faust being the ideal spy woman as she's depicted in Rogue Nation as she has a distinct set of goals and needs that are complex and developed largely tangentially to the protagonist's, at least initially).

It's going to take a completely new approach to her character to get something remotely interesting and that takes advantage of her potential.

For as mired in tropes as she and every other character and story in Resident Evil is, Ada could be far more memorable and enjoyable if only there was more care and effort to giver at least some interests and goals (perhaps even...characterization) on her own other than being a sexy love interest and potentially traitorous (as so many femme fatales already are).

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[skipper1331]

Art // Leah Williamson

You loved playing football yet drawing and painting was your silent passion. A passion nobody really knew about.

It all started when you were a kid. After a bad day, lost match you would be so angry and disappointed that you would draw your anger away. It didn‘t matter if it was with pencils, crayons or acrylic, you didn‘t care if it was on paper or on a canvas. You just had to draw/paint.

Slowly, it not only started to reduce your anger but to become a daily thing. Over the years you got better and better and even sold some paintings.

When you moved to London, transfered to Arsenal from the german league you took your painting utils with you.

In your new apartment was an extra room which used to be a guest room - you didn't need it, so you set it up as a painting room. The floor was covered with foil as were parts of the wall while many canvases and tubes of paint stood on the newly built shelves. Your desk was full of paper, sketchbooks, pens, erasers, etc. everything an artist needed. It was your favorite room in your apartment.

As the weeks went on, you drew everything interesting. Such as the training facility, jerseys, the stadium and much more.

But If someone would have looked through your sketchbook they would‘ve noticed that there was one thing or rather one person which was drawn very often. Arsenals number 6. Leah Williamson. You couldn‘t explain why but she was incredible. Everything about her was perfect; her talent, her personality, her smile. You just could not not draw her. Often you only realized that you had drawn her after your drawing was already finished and when drawing number 12 of Leah was finished you knew you had a crush on her. What you didn‘t realize though was a) she also developed a crush on you and b) your face and hands covered in paint and pencil has not gone unnoticed. To find out why that was the team formed an alliance. When Rosa questioned why they simply didn‘t ask you her head was smacked from Kyra, Alessia and Vic. "It‘s much more exciting this way" Kyra replied mischievously.

Mission Colour had officially started.

On bus rides, plane flights, away games you would always have your 'away sketchbook' and one pencil with you just to calm down or to stay calm. Most of the time you sat next to Manu, your national teammate. She was like big sister to you and of course she knew about your drawing talent but what she didn‘t know was that a few teammates wanted to find out. As well Manu knew about your little crush, not because you told her but because she saw your sketch of Leah and connected the dots.

It was the next day when you came to training with a blue stripe on you forehead and hands covered with many shades of blue. This morning you worked on your current project (a painting of the ocean) and lost track of time. You hadn‘t had the chance to look in the mirror again after you rushed out of your flat to the car.

Fast forward, here you were in the training facility in bright red clothes while your skin was covered in blue.

"Looking like Papa smurf" Katie laughed, gently shoving you towards the mirror in the changing room.

Your eyes widened in horror, "Shit" aggressively you started to rub at the stripe of paint but it was too late. The stripe was already dry. Making your way to the bathroom, you wet the paper towel, not much hope about cleaning your face.

"Hey" you heard a voice beside you, your eyes locking with the blonde defenders through the mirror, "do you need some help?" Leah asked, already concerned by the way you aggressively rubbed your forehead, "hey, lemme-" the girl gently tugged at your wrist as she turned you to face her. She grabbed another paper towel, putting a tiny bit of soap on it before she put it under water. In silence, the taller girl started to clean your face. Her movements were slow and tender as she tried to stay cool while she was so close to you. In the meantime, you admired the blonde, scanned every feature of her face.

"Secretly a Chelsea fan, huh?" the gunner asked, trying to ease the obvious tension in the room.

"Gosh no," you chuckled, "I was working on my new proctect this morning and lost track of time" you admitted, Leah raising a brow in return.

"You must think I’m pretty unorganized, hm?"

"of course not!" She replied immediately, "i was just wondering, project? What project?"

"It‘s nothing much, just a painting project" you shrugged your shoulders, "the ocean."

"I didn‘t know you could paint" she stated, the dots connecting with all the paint stains that covered your clothes and body since you had arrived in London.

"Maybe you‘d like to see some of my works?" your voice was quiet, shy as you nervously scratched your neck.

"It‘s a date" the same moment, Leah dropped the comment, you heard Kim call, "training starts" which let Leah hurry out of the room, leaving you completely shocked and with a mix of nervousness and excitement alone. Was she serious?

-

"Leah, wait!"

Training had finished half an hour ago, the girls, including you, doing their usual routines, some had physio, some went straight to the showers or others that just changed their clothes happy to finally go home - Leah, one of the girls who preferred to shower at home after a particularly long cardio session.

"Were you serious about the date? Because if not that would be totally fine, but if so, I’d really like to go on a date with you" you rambled, "we could go out for dinner or i could cook for you or not, because I’m not the greatest cook, but maybe take out would be fine too?! whatever you like works for me!"

"Take a deep breath, love" she smiled, squeezing your hand, "i was serious" her cheeks slowly turning red, "sorry, could‘ve been a bit more romantic, i admit, but indeed, I’d be very happy to go on a date with you"

"Oh, really!" you were so surprised, shocked even that the Leah Williamson wanted to go on a date with you.

"Yes, really. What about this: I’ll go home for a shower and at-" she looked at her watch, "at 7, I’ll be at your front door with some food in my hands. Neither of us has to cook and we can have a nice and relaxed evening, how does that sound?"

"That sounds perfect, thank you"

"See you soon" she smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she felt brave enough to do so in that moment.

Like in trance, you watched her walk away while your fingers touched the spot were lips had been a few seconds ago. Wow.

On the other hand as soon as Leah sat in her car, she did a little happy dance, finally getting the chance to spend some time with you alone and even better, being able to call it a date.

-

5 minutes early the defender stood in front of your door, two bags of food in one hand while the other hand held a bouquet of flowers.

With confidence Leah rang the door bell, she felt untouchable. She had a date with the prettiest girl and nothing would stop her from trying to be the best version of herself for you. She really wanted this to work out.

In all honesty, Leah had been crushing on you for quite a while. It all started with an international friendly where you both were captaining your nations. You fell in conversation easily, the blonde friends with some of your national teammates.

Since then the Lioness followed you on your socials, also enjoying watching you play football - something about your technic and brain for the game made her fall in love with football all over again.

When the announcement was made that you‘d join Arsenal, she was excited, overly so. She wanted to talk to you again, be your friend. But soon the thought of just being friends combined with her little crush on you that was getting bigger and bigger day by day was long forgotten. She wanted to get to know you, on a deeper level than just the typical friendly one.

"Hey! Welcome in" you said with a wide smile, stepping aside.

"Hi, these are for you" the defenders cheeks turned slightly pink as yours did too.

"These are beautiful, thank you so much" the bouquet was big mix of multiple flowers in multiple colours, "i didn‘t know what your favorite flower was, so i bought one of each they had"

"I love it and I really appreciate it" shy smiles were exchanged before your attention was brought back, "follow me. So this is my living room and as you can see, there‘s my kitchen. I hope you like wine? I found this one in my cupboard" you pointed at the bottle on your coffee table. "Here let me plate the food, make yourself a home" as you wandered off to the kitchen, Leah admired your home. It was tidy yet looked very cozy. Then her gaze fell to various of pictures and paintings you had in your living room. One in particular caught her attention, it reminded her of something that she couldn’t form in words, an familiar warm feeling filled her chest as she looked at it closely - something about this painting was special.

-

The night went on with an ease, everything felt so natural. Dinner was great, the conversation flowing, the tv long forgotten as both of your attentions were on each other. Throughout the night the two of you had moved closer, knees already touching as you shared jokes and stories about everything and nothing.

"I must say, i really like the paintings in here. This one especially" she pointed at your favorite.

"Thank you, that‘s very nice of you to say"

"How much did they cost you? They look so expensive!" she admired, quickly realizing what an rude question she asked, "oh I’m so sorry, that‘s not something I should be asking"

"No, don’t worry, you’re good" you assured her, "they didn‘t cost me anything, i did them myself" you said, "well, that‘s a lie, i had to buy the canvas and the paint but other than that i didn‘t cost me anything."

"No way! You really did these? Are you joking?"

You shook your head.

"Wow! These are amazing. Like seriously, you’ve got some serious talent!"

Soon you furiously started to blush, getting all shy as you looked away from the gunner.

"Can i see the ocean painting which you talked earlier about?" she remembered, hoping to get see more of your work.

"Sure, but it‘s not finished yet"

"That‘s fine. I‘d see anything you painted, really, this is so impressive"

"Stop" you buried your face in your hands, your cheeks as hot as ever, the tip of your ears a deep shade of red, "hey, no. Don’t hide that pretty face of yours" taking your hands out of your face, you stared at each other as everything around you fell silent. Both of you were so close, if you would just lean forward-

"Here follow me" you broke the silence, grabbing the lioness’ hand and dragging her to your art room, "don’t mind the mess" you said as you opened the door, showing Leah the inside of your heart.

For once, the defender didn‘t know what to say. Everywhere she looked where painting, sketches and drawings. It was like she not only stepped into your heart but also your brain.

"Wow" she whispered, in utter disbelief at what she saw. You did this. All of this!

Walking around the room Leah felt like she was at an art gallery, heavily impressed about the beauty she got to see in each painting.

"May i look in these too?" she asked once she was at your desk, sketchbooks across the table.

Slowly, you nodded. In that moment, you didn’t even think about the fact that you had sketched Leah too, and that more than once.

Every now and then, compliments slipped out while her fingers traced the lines and shapes of your art.

Then she stopped, silence deafening, "is that me?" she whispered, looking at more pages of herself.

"What? Shit, no, no, no." With a few quick steps, you slammed the book shut. Too embarrassed to even look at her, "you weren‘t supposed to see those" you muttered.

"So it was me?" she asked again, even though it was quite obvious that it was her indeed.

"Yes, I’m sorry. I‘m not a creep i promise! You‘re just- just so-" your brain went blank.

"yeah?"

"you‘re… you‘re just so amazing and i- I really like you. And i only realized that i sketched you once it was too late. I‘m really sorry! You weren‘t even supposed to see them. I‘m not a creep, I’m just in love with you and i never thought you‘d like me back and now you‘re here with me on date. Well at least that‘s what you said it was. But it‘s totally fine, if you don’t want it to be a date anymore or if you want leave now or-" in the middle of your ramble, Leah cut you off, with her lips gently pressing against your own, a perfect way to shut you up. Your body relaxed immediately as your lips responded to the new sensation. Leah’s hands fell to your hips while yours laid on her stomach, your brain not knowing where else to put them as it was completely consumed by Leah kissing you.

Here you were in the heart of your art with Leah, the most beautiful girl, who was kissing you, the artist.

And even though, most artist are only known for their work by everyone after their death, you weren‘t most and Leah surely wasn‘t everyone. She was the one.

"Wow"

"Indeed wow"

You both stared at each other in silence, loving the tranquil atmosphere you had created.

"So what should i call you now? Picasso? Van Gogh? Michelangelo? Da Vinci?"

You laughed at her comment, playfully hitting her chest while she pulled you even closer in return.

"While i did like Papa smurf, I’d eventually prefer my girlfriend" she smiled, leaning in once again.

[wileycap]

So, uh, Netflix Avatar, huh? Yeah. I guess I'll make a really long post about it because ATLA brainrot has is a cornerstone of my personality at this point.

So.

It's okay. B, maybe a C+.

That's it.

Now for the spoilers:

The biggest issue with the Netflix version is the pacing. Scenes come out of nowhere and many of the episodes are disjointed. Example: Aang escaping from Zuko's ship. We see him getting the key and going "aha!", and in the next scene he's in Zuko's room. And then he just runs out, no fun acrobatics or fights, and immediately they go to the Southern Air Temple where he sees Gyatso's corpse, goes into the Avatar state, and then sees Gyatso being really cheesy, comes out of it, and resolves that conflict. Nothing seems to lead into anything. The characters don't get to breathe.

The show's worst mistake (aside from Iroh fucking murdering Zhao) is its' first one: they start in the past. Instead of immediately introducing us to our main characters and dropping us into a world where we have a perfect dynamic where Aang doesn't know the current state of the world and Katara and Sokka don't know about the past, thus allowing for seamless and organic worldbuilding and exposition, they just... tell us. "Hey, this is what happened, ok, time for Aang!" There's no mystery, no intrigue, just a stream of information being shoved down the audience's throats and then onto the next set piece.

The visuals are for the most part great, but like with most Netflix productions, they just don't have great art direction. It feels like a video game cinematic, where everything is meant to be Maximum Cool - and none of the environments get to breathe. It's like they have tight indoor sets (with some great set design) and then they have a bunch of trailer shots. It's oozing with a kind of very superficial love.

Netflix still doesn't know how to do lighting, and with how disjointed the scenes are, the locations end up feeling like a parade of sets rather than actual cities or forests or temples. As for the costumes, Netflix still doesn't know how to do costumes that look like they're meant to be actually worn, so many of the characters seem weirdly uncomfortable, like they're afraid of creasing their pristine costumes.

The acting is decent to good, for the most part. I can't tell if the weaker moments come down to the actors or the direction and editing, but if I had to guess, I'd say the latter. Iroh and Katara are the weakest, Sokka is the most consistent, Zuko hits the mark most of the time, and Aang is okay. I liked Suki (though... she was weirdly horny? Like?) but Yue just fell kind of flat.

The tight fight choreography of the original is replaced with a bunch of spinny moves and Marvel fighting, though there are some moments of good choreography, like the Agni Kai between Ozai and Zuko (there's a million things I could say about how bad it was thematically, but this post is overly long already.) There's an actually hilarious moment in the first episode when Zuko is shooting down Aang, and he does jazz hands to charge up his attack.

Then there's the characters. Everybody feels very static - Zuko especially gets to have very little agency. A great example of that is the scene in which Iroh tells Lieutenant Jee the story of Zuko's scar.

In the original, it's a very intimate affair, and he doesn't lead the crew into any conclusions. Here, Iroh straight up tells the crew "you are the 41st, he saved your lives" and then the crew shows Zuko some love. A nice moment, but it feels unearned, when contrasted with the perfection of The Storm. In The Storm, Zuko's words and actions directly contradict each other, and Iroh's story gives the crew (and the audience) context as to why, which makes Zuko a compelling character. We get to piece it out along with them. Here - Iroh just flat out says it. He just says it, multiple times, to hammer in the point that hey, Zuko is Good Actually.

And then there's Iroh. You remember the kindly but powerful man who you can see gently nudging Zuko to his own conclusions? No, he's a pretty insecure dude who just tells Zuko that his daddy doesn't love him a lot and then he kills Zhao. Yeah. Iroh just plain kills Zhao dead. Why?

Iroh's characterization also makes Zuko come off as dumb - not just clueless and deluded, no, actually stupid. He constantly gets told that Iroh loves him and his dad doesn't, and he doesn't have any good answers for that, so he just... keeps on keeping on, I guess? This version of Zuko isn't conflicted and willfully ignorant like the OG, he's just... kind of stupid. He's not very compelling.

In the original, Zuko is well aware of Azula's status as the golden child. It motivates him - he twists it around to mean that he, through constant struggle, can become even stronger than her, than anyone. Here, Zhao tells him that "no, ur dad likes her better tee hee" and it's presented as some kind of a revelation. And then Iroh kills Zhao. I'm sorry I keep bringing that up, but it's just such an unforgiveable thematic fuckup that I have to. In the original, Zhao falls victim to his hubris, and Zuko gets to demonstrate his underlying compassion and nobility when he offers his hand to Zhao. Then we get some ambiguity in Zhao: does he refuse Zuko's hand because of his pride, or is it his final honorable action to not drag Zuko down with him? A mix of both? It's a great ending to his character. Here, he tries to backstab Zuko and then Iroh, who just sort of stood off to the side for five minutes, goes "oh well, it's murderin' time :)"

They mess with the worldbuilding in ways that didn't really need to be messed with. The Ice Moon "brings the spirit world and the mortal world closer together"? Give me a break. That's something you made up, as opposed to the millenia of cultural relevance that the Solstice has. That's bad, guys. You replaced something real with something you just hastily made up. There's a lot of that. We DID NOT need any backstory for Koh, for one. And Katara and Sokka certainly didn't need to be captured by Koh. I could go on and on, but again, this post is already way too long.

It's, um, very disappointing. A lot of telling and not very much showing, and I feel like all of the characters just... sort of end up in the same place they started out in. I feel like we don't see any of the characters grow: they're just told over and over again how they need to grow and what they need to do.

To sum it up: Netflix Avatar is a mile wide, but an inch deep.

[eccentricallygothic]

Coy

Pairing: Daddy!Steve Rogers | Shy Gf!You.

Description: Steve makes his shy girl call him Daddy <3

Warning(s): Stevie is lowkey a lil mean, m!dom, f!sub, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, missionary, doggy style, dick riding towards the end, spanking, hair pulling, age gap bc it's me, slight bondage idk, choking, humiliation, dumbification, dirty talk. MDNI.

Type: Request for my lovely @chxrryhansen, here. 

MASTERLIST

❤️

“C'mon, just say it, baby” Steve wasn't sure if the annoyance in his voice was unclear or if you were just that stupid. 

“Nooo, Stevie!” You giggled even though you had been whining just a few seconds ago because of how much strength he had had to use and the endurance that had been required of you to withstand the entering of his monstrous cock in your tight little pussy. Yes, Steve had indeed fingered you before that. And yes, it still hadn't been enough to open up your tiny hole. 

Not for Steve, anyway.

“Oh—” he stopped to keep himself from saying something hurtful because you were too sensitive for your own good. “Just… fuck!” He abruptly cursed as your pussy responded to the twitching of his dick by clenching around it just when he was balls deep inside you. “Just say it for me, yeah, baby?” You were choking his dick out and his dick was in pain too. 

Only, your tightness and his girth made up a pain too nice for either of you to want to stop. 

Your face was flush and your heavy breaths were labored, the weight of his massive body pressing yours down into the mattress. “B- But it's wrong, S- Stevie…” It took him all his strength to not scoff at your words so he took his ire out on your poor little nipple that was trapped between his cruel fingertips. 

“Why?” Steve's hips nearly collided with yours when he gave you yet another heavy but speedy thrust. 

“B- Because you're not actually my Daddy, S- Steve— hnng!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt his breach intensify, the pangs that were being caused by the vicious jabbing of his hard, thick tip against your innermost spot on the brink of reaching your cervix. 

Steve's nose flared and his blue eyes suddenly flashed you an icy look. “Yeah?” His eyebrows went flat but the violent rocking of his body against yours didn't. The room was full of the gut-wrenchingly obscene sounds of skin slapping against flesh. “Who do you think I am, then?” 

It was getting harder to form proper words the more his cock caused for the burning knot to tighten between your hips. “Y- You… You're… AH!” Your arms that were coiled around his broad shoulders tightened against his neck to withstand how his huge hand rudely was squeezing your boob. “You're… b- bofi…” Steve's strength was no joke.

“And who says bofis can't be Daddies?” The golden haired man expectantly peered down at you for an answer but you were too busy moaning and rocking yourself against his cock as much as his heavy body allowed you to do so. 

“B- But…” Your small protest told him all he needed to know.

Steve didn't have time for this nonsense. 

A loud plop! sounded in the air and you blushed a deep shade of red despite your worked up state. Before you could word your complaint about why Steve had suddenly pulled out of your weepy cunt, the older flipped you onto your chest and roughly pushed what remained of your shirt -the beast had a thing for ripping your clothes off, good thing he made up for it by buying you prettier compensations- up your arms and around your wrists until they were bound above your head. 

New slick bubbled out of your opening as you whimpered and felt your hole blink in sensitive realization of the fact that now he wanted you to lay your face down and keep your ass up. Fuck. When he took you like that, there was absolutely nothing he couldn't make you do or say. 

After that, Steve had your throat in one hand and your boobs in the other, his muscular thighs fished their way under your trembling legs to collect them out of his way. His tip that had cooled down a bit made you jump when he entered you again and though the penetration was somewhat easier this time around, you couldn't help but whine from the stretch again. 

And then, Steve went into a crazed jackhammer mode. Your throat tickled and ached from the deep groans that crawled up your vocal cavity, ones that your position was forcing you to stifle into the mattress. The temperature of his cock easily returned back to its previous warmth. 

“Say it” he demanded as he squeezed your windpipe. 

All you could let out was a humiliating, breathless and incoherent guttural ‘aaaaah~’ as your body began to slide off his due to the force of his brutal fucking. The tip of your nose hurt from how it rubbed up and down the bedding.

“Tsk, messy little kiddie brat” his hand abandoned your boob to firmly claw around one of your thighs to hold you in place to ensure a smooth pounding. “Needs Daddy for everything but acts like she doesn't” you could deny it to your heart's content and be as shy and ‘innocent’ as you pleased, but the way you moaned, messed yourself up and clenched when he said the dirtiest things was not lost on him.

Steve knew you liked it all just as much as he did. 

“Oh, my God—!” Steve squeezed your throat again because he did not like what he was hearing. Your lungs ached from the strain he was putting them under.

“Now that's a bit far, baby” before he shook in mirth and the vibration of his body shook your squishy walls, the sensation causing your eyes to roll until their undersides burnt. “But I guess that's okay too” your fucked out mind felt somewhat relieved. Maybe this would satiate him and you would not have to— “But that's not what I want to hear you call me tonight” your chest ached from the wheeze you let out when he finally let your throat go to smack your ass and you could breathe again. “Come on, now. Chop, chop” you cried out from the frustration. 

He was so mean.

“After all, Daddies take care of their kids. And I take care of you, don't I?” There was something in the way he worded it. You moaned out loud. His balls began to penetrate your stubborn opening. 

And then he crept his fingers between your legs and against your cunt. The grainy digits stroked your hardened flesh. And you knew at once, you had lost. 

It was impossible to hold back now. The taut dam of your building orgasm came undone and your toes curled as bittersweet relief exploded between your hips and down your legs.

“DADDY! OH, DADDY! OH!” You began to chant uncontrollably, feeling your knees shake as cold sweat trickled down the back of your thighs. 

“Now that's more like the dirty little slut that I've raised on this cock” when Steve really got into chasing his own orgasm, and he always did that after yours, the most obscene and sodomous things came out of his mouth. “Tell me, brat” since you were going through a mind melt, Steve smacked your ass to redirect your attention to him. “Will you ever try to deny your Daddy again?” His hand wrapped your hair around it and your body curved in a humiliating angle as he pulled you up to bounce on his cock now.

“N- No, no, Daddy, no! Never!” Your orgasm was turning into overstimulation and there was not a damn thing you could do about it.  

“Really?” You broke into a fit of cries when Steve began to pat-slap your clit. “Doesn't sound very convincing to me…”

“No! No, Daddy! I promise! I promise! I promise I won't, Daddy!” You were curved so far out that your head collapsed on one of his hard shoulders. Your chest ached from how violently your tits bounced up and down.

“That's my girl” The baritone of Steve's voice drilled into your mind as he looked down at you before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, one tyrannical paw settling on your chest to keep you from falling down, hips springing you up and down like a mindless little toy.

❤️

Everything tag 🩷: @rosecentury

I know it sucks, I am sorry. I have a very bad creative block these days but I am trying my best to clear out all requests <3 

[reachartwork]

the process

a lot of people like to ask me about my process and how ai can be "creative" because they're under the impression that it's just kind of a big slot machine. you pull a lever and art uncontrollably comes out. well, let me show you my process

this is going to be a long thread tagged with #long post, blacklist that if you want to skip it.

so how it starts like most art is that i have an idea. in this case, earlier i made a post about witch-knights "surfing" on swords, so i'm going to try and make that - a witch-knight flying through the air atop one of her swords.

it starts with this picture.

i think this picture is dogshit so i discard basically all of it to try and find something closer to my original intent. there's a couple of uninteresting regenerations so it's clear i have to go back to the drawing board and teach the machine what it is i'm trying to do

let's start with a witch-knight on a broom. it's definitely not great but it gives us a better pose that i can work with.

i start by erasing the broom and replacing it with a skateboard - the machine understands skating better for what i need it to do.

there's a ton of small, subtle errors in this image and it overall looks like dogshit but the most important part right now is blocking and the overall pose structure - i need her "surfing" a large, lengthwise object, in the sky. i start by erasing pieces of the skateboard

now we have a sword, which is good. but the sword itself looks... bad. i'll spare you the abortive attempts at selective regeneration of the sword and just show you what happened when i rolled it back a couple of times from this pose and let it regen entirely.

again, tons of small little shitty errors, but this is something i can work with. i do another regen for a less shitty sword. her boob armor gets replaced with, like, generic scale mail.

this image has a great sword and decent pose but like... everything else is kind of futzy and i dont like it. instead of trying to pick and choose i just throw it back into the oven for a second. much better! but now she's going to cut herself on the sword, oh no!

again, i'll save you the agonizing thirty minutes of trying to get it to understand where the foot should go. unlike before i didn't really have a choice except to muscle through. there! now she's surfing safely :)

so it's done, right? well, i mean, i could post this. and it would probably do okay. but *i'm* not satisfied with it. there's stiffness. dozens of minor errors. the eyes look weird when you zoom in. let's start by fixing her hat, and then maybe her hands?

but she's missing fingers on her left hand so let's go ahead and fix that too. and i don't really like the tip of her sword and the ocean looks really flat and boring. so, VERY CAREFULLY, i have to etch out the parts of the sword and her body i have to keep, and also write an entirely new prompt to tell it "i want an ocean w/ rolling waves please :)"

this is better but not great. i try again - serendipitously, it makes this really cool variant with a shadow over the water, but i know working with that will take more wrangling so i'm considering it an evolutionary dead end and discarding it for now.

i proceed to spend 30 minutes trying to make the ocean look better but it's really not working imo. i'm gonna go back to the shadow version and see how that works

i'll spare you the other 8 minutes - i'm satisfied with the following picture. the sword isn't *perfectly* straight, her eyes aren't perfectly textured, the scale mail is... weird, in texture, but anything else would be greasing the wheel and i think beyond the machine's ability to do fine detail.

i've also attached the starting picture for comparison - it has better, "higher quality" clouds and ocean but i personally cared more about the pose and the sword surfing - the background is mostly tangential. could i get back ocean and clouds of that quality with another two hours of painstakingly cutting and re-generating bits of the background without destroying any of my existing work on the pose? probably. but i don't want to.

total time spent on this piece from start to finish was one hour and twenty one minutes. and now you know!

[kiefbowl]

What about amateur porn or drawn erotica?

"amateur porn" is mostly a marketing term. it's meant to convey an idea that the porn is "homemade." but what stops people from just producing and marketing content that looks like that? especially since the idea has been pushed successfully that this is "more ethical porn." That is capitalism 101 - find a market you aren't capturing, make them a product they'll buy.

Even in the event it's not actually a production by a studio, you cannot verify that the porn you're watching is not a woman in an abusive relationship with a pimp. Boyfriends become pimps all the time. I think people have this idea that pimps are caricatures that pop out of the ground organically and fully formed, like some sort of mythological "bad guy." They don't stop to think that any opportunistic man (or woman) can become a pimp easily by just having access to a vulnerable woman. If someone enjoys porn, I think it's easy and worthwhile for them to have a disconnect between what "real abusers" do and what happens in a mythical porn setting that's more convenient to imagine. Yet do you need to look far to find examples of couples either A) joking how much money they could make if the wife would get on OF B) fighting because the husband wants the wife to get on OF to increase their revenue and she doesn't or C) just flat out admitting the wife is on OF and how much money it brings to the table? Besides the fact that in any one of these situations, this could be a covert marketing tactic by OF working with a couple, but even if it's not...why believe in scenario C that the husband is just some good guy and this is just some normal situation they fell into? The difference between scenario C and a pimp is what? They're being public about it by framing it a certain way? Well if that makes the public normalize it, why wouldn't "real" pimps just take that lead and do the same? My point is that there is no distinction: a man (whether it's a stranger, a friend, a dad, a husband, a boyfriend) exerting control over a woman by making her perform sexual acts for his own profit is a pimp, and I don't see why we should trust the way he frames it publicly, even if he says "I'm just a progressive husband who isn't jealous and loves that my wife shakes ass online for our family" or whatever gets people to go "cool! I will not questions this."

I'm sure you're asking in good faith anon, so this isn't directed specifically at you, but often when porn watchers are engaging in debate about porn, they'll start bringing up things like 'drawn erotica' as if it's some sort of gotcha. To me, it's so revealing how little they care about the arguments presented about the harms of the porn industry because yes, obviously drawn erotica is different than filming real humans having sex. It also reveals some sort of assumed bias that the person presenting objections to porn without appealing to religious morality or puritanical ideas about sex are somehow being deceitful. As if once "victimless porn" is brought up, they'll be unable to lie and their true nature will be revealed because they'll have some thinly veiled excuses about how drawn porn is obviously just as bad, because it's so sexy!

Drawings of people having sex or being naked and sexual are not above criticism in how they replicate harmful ideas about sex, sexuality, and gender - but they also aren't literal forms of violence against real people. So, it's irrelevant to the discussion of vulnerable people being pushed into porn to perform sexual acts against their will to a point of ruination. If someone feels comfortable continuing to watch and masturbate to porn after this has been explained to them, I don't see why any thoughts I have on erotica written or drawn or otherwise really matters. They can't be convinced through that avenue, clearly. They're probably willing to take whatever thread they can pull on to justify their consumption and to assuage their conscience over watching porn. That to me signifies a porn addiction, because even a casual viewer of porn who's never come across any anti-porn arguments knows they can live without porn, knows they don't need to defend it tooth and nail, and will not play stupid about comparisons to real people having sex on film/enacting violence on each other to erotic drawings.

At the end of the day, re: erotica, I would need to take each thing of media in it's own right and judge it for itself (like all film, books, and art). If it replicates pornographic images (i.e. the film language of porn that I take issue with vis-a-vis misogyny and violence against women), then yeah I'm going to have a problem with it. Not because it's sexual, but because it's content is disagreeable to me in that it's misogynistic. The scale for that is going to be sliding - the difference between a causal representation of unexamined gender dynamics and extremely violent CSAM is huge. I don't take issues with people finding, say, mild 18th century drawings titillating as much as I take issues with people acting entitled to violent images as if their masturbation depends on it and they're entitled to masturbate to whatever they want. Why? I masturbate to my imagination all the time. It's literally the easiest and most natural thing to do. If someone can't, it's probably because they're addicted to porn. If desperate poor women being pushed into drugs to continue making porn that becomes increasingly violent doesn't stop someone from watching porn, then maybe I should ask them to get angry at porn for altering their brain so badly. That's how desperate people sound when they have to scrape the bottom of the barrel in the face of facts about violence, poverty, suicide, and abuse.

[radiantmists]

For @charles-rowland-week Day 3: Bag of Tricks Backpack!

I have a lot of thoughts about the backpack (I love a bag of holding) so here's one scene from what will hopefully be a whole fic someday, set at some point before Charles has quite figured the bag out.

***

"I do wish you wouldn't do that in the office," Edwin says from his seat at the desk. He's been reading the same book for more than a day now, some thick alchemy tome that's apparently fascinating enough to hold his interest despite being written using Linear B, which even Edwin finds challenging.

Charles, setting the sparkly rock he's just pulled out of his backpack next to the pair of sunglasses and ornately painted saltshaker that had preceded it, grins up at him.

"You don't want me to bring the bag on cases, now you don't want me to mess with it in the office," he says. "Where am I meant to practice, on the roof?"

"I didn't want you to bring it on cases because I worried you would put case-relevant materials in by accident and not be able to retrieve them in time," Edwin replies primly. "Now that that ship has rather dramatically sailed, I don't want you to use it here because I worry that you will retrieve certain case-relevant materials."

"I told you, I'm pretty sure it ate the demon bats," Charles says. "I mean, digested and all. We're never gonna see them again."

He's only mostly joking about that. Nothing he did should have given the bag the ability to digest magical creatures, but he's got the strong feeling that it has a sense of humor, and if it can develop one of those on it's own, a stomach isn't much of a stretch, is it?

"For all your insistence on that point, you're very willing to put your arm inside of it," Edwin says, not sounding particularly concerned. "Do you not worry that it will gain a taste for ghost, next?"

"Mate," Charles gasps theatrically, "our backpack would never."

"That abomination is entirely yours, as far as I'm concerned."

This is somewhat fair, considering that the bag probably wouldn't have the audacity to withhold Edwin's books if he'd been the one to enchant it instead of letting Charles do it. However, the comment runs counter to Charles' current strategy: sweet-talking the bag into compliance.

"Don't worry," Charles tells it in a conciliatory tone, "he loves you really."

He glances up at Edwin, expecting a comment about misguided anthropomorphizing or something, but no, he's back to the book.

With a sigh, Charles reaches into the backpack again, focusing on his boomerang. It had been pretty cool, enchanted to return right to your hands when you threw it, even after it hit something. He and Edwin had spent weeks poking at the spell to figure out how to reproduce it for Charles' bat.

But at some point after that, it had occurred to Charles to wonder what would happen if he threw it into the backpack, and, well. Here he was a year later, groping around in the void.

(Chucking random magical objects in was probably not making the backpack's behavior more predictable, but Charles never managed to think about things like that until after he'd followed through on the impulse.)

He'd realized (again, shortly after doing it) that the problem with enchanting a bag to be infinite inside was that it now contained infinite amounts of empty space. It's taken him years just to consistently find something when he reaches in. Now he just has to work out how to find what he's actually looking for.

After a few seconds of grasping blindly, his fingers brush against something. It's small, flat and thin like a piece of paper, but a little sturdier-- maybe one of the cards he'd put in as a test a few months back? He'd been pretty sure the whole deck would stay together, but maybe if something else he put in had bumped it…

As far as he can tell by touch, there's nothing else 'nearby' in the void, so he pulls the object out and finds that it's not a card but a bookmark, one of the celluloid ones that Edwin prefers. It's in the shape of a train car, with a little advert for the rail company on the back; Charles thinks he remembers Edwin saying he used to collect these, as a child.

"Think it's trying to tell you something, mate," Charles says, holding it up for Edwin to see.

"Charles, the bag doesn't have ears," Edwin says, but he does finally look away from the book. He cocks his head as he recognizes the bookmark, expression going thoughtful. "If anything, I would say this is an indication that it's responding to your desires."

"Feel like it would be a bit easier to use if it were doing that," Charles grumbles, and Edwin's mouth quirks a bit.

"I suppose I will take the hint, wherever it originates," he says, rising and coming around the desk to retrieve the bookmark. "I admit I could use a change of scenery."

"Brills," says Charles, climbing to his feet. "Wanna take the bag to the roof and see what happens if I turn it inside out?"

"Absolutely not."

[ryanseslow]

How to Create Paper Cut-Out Reliefs: Tips and Techniques for Beginners

Back again with another lil' series of 2D wall relief paper cut-out forms. Both of the pieces below follow the same process and technique. Im really happy with the process and outcomes. Im working on animating them as we speak. I'll add them to this post later. My paintings inspire my drawings, and my drawings are inspired by those same forms found in my paintings. It makes sense that every so often I want to make those forms "pop out" and off the surface of a flat plane. Alas, it all starts with a quick sketch. See below, just a series of light loose free flowing lines take the lead, forward ->

Here we have a dude posing for a profile style portrait. Most likely, this is inspired by the NYC B-Boys from the years 1983 - 87ish. Either way, it's nostalgia for me. Once the sketch feels good, I'll break out the paper and x-acto knife. I keep telling myself that one day Ill work with another material other than paper for these works, perhaps wood or metal.. It will happen, I can foresee it for sure, hang in there. Im using a white bristol paper for the cut outs, I believe it is the vellum type and not the glossy, but either or will work just fine. I love to cut paper and the whole medium of paper art in general.

Paper cut-outs, also known as paper cutting or Kirigami, is a traditional art form that involves cutting shapes and designs out of paper. The history of paper cutting can be traced back to ancient China and Japan, where it was practiced as a folk art. The Chinese and Japanese would create intricate designs, often featuring animals, plants, and mythical creatures, and use them as decorations for festivals and special occasions. I always loved it and have felt inspired by these pieces.

Using the sketch above, I apply the "map" of the shapes and forms that I see. Sometimes I redraw those forms on the paper that I will cut out, and sometimes I just "draw" with the x-acto knife to recreate the forms. Sometimes, it's a combination of both of those techniques. There is also a series of "out-take / byproduct" cut outs that do not make the final piece, those can be saved and used for the next piece, obviously!

I layer the forms on top of each other to compose the arrangement as a whole, its fun to watch it all come together, in the next phase, you will need some kind of durable tape or you can make little paper forms that can be pasted to both sides of the forms as they stack, this will create the gauge and depth of the piece once it is placed onto the wall.

This is the final composition above, I love it! I used a roll of duct tape to make small cylinder forms that connect the pieces together, the piece as a whole comes "off of the surface of the wall" by about 1.5 - 2" inches - you can play with this a bit but keep in mind, the tape makes the piece heavier and it will want to comply with gravity :)

I hung the piece (also temporarily adhered via the same duct tape) for the photoshoot and to also get a good look at how it will function on the wall. I have an old painted fire place in my studio that is a great surface for hanging things, I love the contrast of textures between the bricks and the paper, as you know, the shadows will be super cool to see too.

Once I had the whole piece constructed I took a few pictures of it. I immediately wanted a clean vector line drawing of the whole character. I brought the photo into adobe Fresco and used a vector brush to draw this lovely variation. This is how my brain works, I switch paths because I know they are really pipelines to the "next thing" that I will push this to, so forward we go.

Then, it was light source and photo shoot time. Im not really happy with these picture as traditional "photographs" as I know I can do a much better job, but, as a series of "sketches" for a planned photo shoot, these will really help to make those plans a reality. I love neon colored lights. I have a bunch of them from various places and spaces that I found on the internet. Amazon has a great selection of flashlights with various colored light options. Get a few and play around with how the light can effect your work and the shadows that it creates. This is where the depth and gauge of your pieces play a role. The photos below are also a part of the same session, which all took place over a few days.

Here is another variation with a different character.. What do you think? Shall I make more?

[strangesthirdeye]

ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ (sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ x ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Summary: Born in a wise family does not mean that one person is the same.

Warning: IT'S SHERLOCK AS A DAD! WE LOVE HIM! medium angst, sad, not so bad achievements, stress, Sherlock being a great dad, struggling to achieve better results, comparison, inadequate feeling, fluff, love.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Not good enough. That's what you think in your mind when you see the exam trial results on the school's official website. Passed but not enough. No A's, no B's but lots of C's. That's it. Passed but did not achieve excellence.

You don't know whether to feel relieved, happy or sad. Because all the feelings are mixed inside you. You just stare at your laptop screen with a blank face. Is this what you got after a long effort? Is this the result of your hard work? What is missing? what needs to be added? what else do you need to do to get the best results?

More importantly, is this the result you will show your father in the hope that he will be proud of you? You are just dreaming. Your body doesn't move and everything is quiet in your bedroom. Only the sound of your father's and John's voice can be heard in addition to the sound of traffic outside the flat. You let out a shaky breath and slowly closed your laptop. eyes are closed tightly and both your hands are clasped in front and placed on your face. You then lean your head on your hands.

Tired, disappointed, sad and the feeling of failure in yourself is bubbling up in your mind. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Born in the Holmes family that has intelligent family members makes you feel like you are the lowest in the family. Although your grandmother is a genius woman, you are only close to your grandfather because you feel that your grandfather is the most normal person for you because he understands and is quite familiar with everything. No wonder you'll just stick with your grandfather every time you go to Musgrave Hall.

Not only that, Your uncle Mycroft and your father inherited your grandmother's wisdom making them a successful and genius in all things. Your uncle Mycroft works with the Government while your father is a consulting detective. Isn't that work only for geniuses?.

After a few months of hard work that's all you got? What will your father say later? did he scold you because you didn't get the best results? Oh god, now you think you are the weakest in terms of wisdom in the Holmes family. Lots of your friends get the best results in their exams even though they don't have genius family members. But you?

you sighed in frustration before getting up from the chair and plopped down on the bed face first before wrapping your head with both of your arms as if you were trying to hide yourself. You father and uncle John are still arguing about God knows what. Probably about the cases they receive. You are not someone who likes to know about other people's affairs. It's just none of your business so you just leave it alone.

But right now you care about what your father would say and do if he knew your achievements. Your bad performance.

The arguing between two adult men seems to have subsided, which makes the flat peaceful and quiet. Probably they are tired of arguing again so they just decided it would be better if they both shut up. At least you have time to cool down from feeling disappointed and anxious.

The two men seemed to be whispering about something that you can't catch with what they are talking about which is okay because well it's probably about cases. You don't always follow them solving a cases because that's not what you're interested in. And one more thing, you don't possess deduction ability like your father so you think you better stay behind. You let out a small sigh that seemed almost to cry.

Yes, you are crying but you don't want your cry to be heard by the two grown men outside your room. Your father is not the kind of man who always shows his affection to others, which is a little difficult for you to deal with. So mostly all your problems will be told to John as John always gives good advice.

You raised your head and wiped your tears with your sleeve before returning to your position before. Maybe you were too busy crying because you didn't hear the knock on your door followed by your father's voice calling your name.

"Y/n, dinner is ready" Sherlock said behind the door.

"In a second!" you replied loudly, managing to hide the hint of sadness.

The other side is silent Probably your dad has gone. You sighed heavily before getting up from the chair and brushing yourself with your hands trying to get rid of the wrinkles on your shirt. You wipe your tears with the sleeves of your shirt several times. You saw your face in the mirror, you sighed again when you noticed that your eyes were red and slightly swollen from crying. Well, you can't hide this.

"Dammit" you cursed under your breath. Ignored that, you moved yourself toward the door.

There your dad is standing motionless in front of your door with his neutral face. You jerked in shock and took a few stepped back. You looked up at him in skepticism.

"What are you doing?" You frowned, looking down, wiping your wet cheeks with your sleeves.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowed at you. " you've been crying"

"I'm not" you denied, walked past him after trying to close you door room but then Sherlock put his hand on your door room with his hand. Blocking the door slammed shut.

"You are" Sherlock replied, walking into your room, ignoring your protested. His eyes scanning your room, looking through the cause of your sudden emotion. His eyes suddenly stopped at your laptop that still on. He bowed slightly to looked at you laptop screen, he squinted his eyes at the brightness.

You pursed your lips. "dad, can we just-"

"what's this?" Sherlock muttered, eyes still focusing on the screen.

You were silent. Not brave enough to answer what your father asked. It's like the sentence you wanted to say has disappeared like dust in the wind. Nothing. Your mind goes blank.

Sherlock turned his gaze on you. "Y/n"

"It's-" you paused. "can we just have dinner? please" You pleaded.

"Why are you hiding this?" Sherlock replied, ignoring your previous question.

You are silent again. Sherlock looked back at your exam results.

"Yo-"

"I've tried my best!" you cried out.

Sherlock became silent upon hearing your confession.

"I tried but it's still the same. I studied day and night really hard but it's the same. All those revisions and studying I did didn't yield the results I thought. It's like I'm destined to fail in everything even though it's very simple. Seeing my friends getting good results and being able to make their family proud makes me wonder if I can make my family proud, especially my own dad. I mean, he's a detective and he's very smart. He probably has a daughter who is also smart like him but not. His daughter is just a teenage girl who works really hard to fail again and again. Why? Because she does not possess the same wisdom as her other family members. She just.. Normal" you confessed.

Sherlock stared at you for a moment. You pursed your lips as you tried not to cry, tears started to form on your eyelids. You looked at your dad who was still silent and stared at you with an unreadable reaction. You sighed.

"nevermind about that.. I'm just overreacting.. I'm too emotional. You don't need to do anything.. I can handle it.. I'm just going to dinner" You walked closer to your study table to close the laptop .

Sherlock grabbed your hand making you stop moving. You pulled your hand to let go but you dad just tightened his grip making you stop struggling. You suddenly feel like crying. You don't know why you suddenly felt like you were returning to the body of a little girl under his gaze.

"Sweetie.."

Hearing that old nickname you were given as a child brought tears to your eyes. Sherlock then pulled your body closer to him. Hugging you as if you were still a child. A little girl who is always tailing her dad no matter where.

You sniffles as Sherlock rubbed your back a few times to coax you. He may not be good at expressing his sentiment towards others but he will show it in his own way even though it is a bit eccentric but he tried.

" I know you work hard to make dad proud, I know you spend time studying to achieve good results. I know you are always smart but in your own way. Failing is not forever, you can try and try again. Even if you don't being good at something doesn't mean you can't try to succeed. I don't care if your results are lower than your classmates or you don't get the high results you want, you still make me proud, you are still able to stay standing even though reality doesn't allow it. Being a Holmes doesn't mean you have to be intelligent. You are you. You have your own way of expressing your wisdom to everyone. Even though the exam results disappointed you, it still made me proud" Sherlock said in your ear as he keeps rubbing your back.

" I'm scared that you're disappointed with me.." you muttered while sniffling.

"No I don't, you will never disappoint me. I know you will try and try to succeed. I may seem not to express any sentiment to others but I will show it in my own way. Especially when it comes to you" your dad replied as he kisses your crown of hair.

You nuzzled against his neck. "I don't know what to do if you are disappointed with me, that's why I try to hide it from you.. I'm sorry"

"No, don't be sorry for things you can't achieve. You've tried, I won't be disappointed or angry with you. If I'm angry and upset with you, probably your uncle John will shoot me in the head with his gun" Sherlock smirked.

You smile at that as you keep hugging your dad. Head nuzzled against his neck finding comfort in his arms.

"I love you, dad" you whispered early, loud enough for your father to reply.

"I love you too, sweetie"

[lalunanymph]

𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌 — naoya zen'in

the color red has never held this much meaning for him until you came along

tw. femdom, heel f/etish, foot worship, b/ondage, collaring, leashes, toe sucking, sub!naoya, fem!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears nail polish, a corset, heels), o/ral s/ex, unprotected s/ex, o/rgasm denial, o/rgasm control, misogyny, repressed emotions, classism, mentions of sexism, mentions of pregnancy, lots of religious imagery, mild angst

a/n. this was supposed to be a purely h/orndog fic but picture you by chappell roan started playing and it became a sadfest instead

Everything’s quiet except for his laborious breaths.

The persistent tick tick tick of the clock is second to the blood drowning in his veins, his mouth going dry at the sight before him. 

The red of those heels lovingly encasing your stockinged feet was a glaring sign. 

A sign that for tonight, his pride, body and integrity did not belong to him; laid bare for you to control and bend to your whims.

But, Naoya didn’t mind. He wouldn’t have it anyway. In fact, if you batted those pretty lashes and asked him nicely enough, he would give you the world.

Everything you touched was all yours. 

Including himself.

The leash around his neck was a pleasant suffocation, second to the loving graze of that Louboutin tip caressing his jaw, trailing down his neck—leaving a trail of heat wherever the rubber sole touched.

“Look at you,” your exhale made the hair on his neck stand. You shifted in the sofa chair, and those sharp eyes couldn’t keep from flitting right between your legs where the short, black leather skirt could barely cover your glistening pussy. 

The tightness of the corset accentuates your curves, swathes of silk covering your shoulders like a gauzy dream. Naoya finds himself dumbstruck, staring right at the rise of your breasts fighting to spill out of the restrictive cups. You look like a fallen angel astride her throne, bearing down on him with a leer while he’s the foolish mortal worshipping you at your desecrated altar.

He fights back a groan when the sharp edge of your heel presses against his sternum, and you hum, slowly move it to his neck, prodding his Adam’s apple. 

“Like what you see?” your husky voice sends tingles straight to his leaky, neglected cock. 

It’s almost embarrassing how he’s standing at attention while you seem so unfazed, cool eyes roaming down the leather ties winding around his torso, binding his arms behind his back; leaving him trapped in your web of seduction.

Naoya fights back a sneer, taming his first instinct to spit back a derogatory word to your face.

You lift a brow, as if to goad him. Well, where is your fight now, Zen’in scum?

“Just because I’m on my knees doesn’t mean you're above me, whore.”

The second those words leave his toxic lips, he internally cringes.

Shit, no. I didn’t mean—

But, he doesn’t get to take his words back, not when you give the leash a harsh tug so he has no choice but to stumble even closer, shuffling on the cold floor with his sore knees. 

Clicking your tongue, you fix him with a devastatingly disappointed look. “And here I thought you were going to play nice tonight. You wouldn’t want a word of your little… habit… to reach your family, don’t you, Zen’in?”

Unlike alcohol or drugs, his addiction had no physical detriments. But, if someone were to ask him what he couldn’t live without, that tight little hole clenching right in front of him would be his answer.

He can’t help but slobber like a dog whenever he catches a whiff of you, spit pooling in the back of his throat, hastily swallowed down when you smirk. 

“You still want to taste me? After what you said?” You kiss your teeth, and this time, your right heel is flat on his chest. You exert the slightest force to push him back, and he clenches his core with his entire strength, determined not to bow to your desires. “Pathetic.”

That incriminatory word accompanies your heel moving downward, and he almost murmurs a whine when he feels the pointy tip caress his stiff cock. Your cruel, red lips twist into a sneer, and you don’t stop for him to take a breath, flexing your toes and nudging the hard rubber against his weeping tip.

“Look,” you coo. “You made such a mess.”

The expensive leather of these heels he painstakingly scoured day and night for you was besmirched with his own pre. Naoya feels his face heating up, especially when you push your heel under his nose, your next command implicit and unmistakable.

Despite his pride, none of his blue-blooded dignity is a match for all that lustful blood and desire pooling south right in between his legs. Cheeks pink, pupils blown wide with lust, he bends his head forward, pink tongue flitting out to lap at the smooth red surface, a low groan tumbling from his swollen lips when he tastes himself right on the imported leather.

“Good boy.”

Giddy with relief, he eagerly expresses his gratitude, continuing to lick and polish your shoe with his tongue.

You hum, evidently impressed. Chucking your right heel off to the floor, he’s left impressed by your red polished toenails straining past the thin black panty hose stretching across your delicate and graceful foot.

His cock throbs, silvery drops staining the floor. 

Without warning, you grasp his chin, forcing him to look right into your fervent eyes. Your hair flows wildly, cheeks warm and lips so swollen from biting down on them. 

“You’re really such a messy, boy, aren’t you, Naoya?” 

He almost groans when the rough nylon touches his jaw, your foot right in his face. The smell of your arousal is strong enough to make him dizzy, and he’s almost delirious, wrapping his lips around your toes, sucking and licking them until the black fabric is drenched with his spit. The artificial plastic taste gives way to the softness of your skin, and he’s sure he would’ve exploded all over untouched if you hadn’t removed your toes from his mouth. 

All worked up and tied down with no friction, his hips buck, veins popping up on his neck from trying his hardest to not plant himself face first into your inviting cunt.

You’re not making it any easier.

Your whispery moans, feathery sighs. Naoya feels like he’s died twice and still missed his chance at heaven.

The leash in your hand clinks, and you give one harsh tug, getting his attention.

“Tell me,” you start, foot resting right on his neck. “What always brings you here? To me?”

Naoya’s a man of many vices. Drugs, pretty girls, alcohol—everything under the sun is what he’s sampled during his wretched time at the Zen’in estate.

No one has ever said ‘no’ to him. Worst of all, they let him run rampant.

But, you… 

You’re the first to ever keep him in line.

Those pretty eyes blink, hazy and lowered. “It seems you’re not as serious about this as I thought.”

Slim fingers topped with a pearlescent nail polish tug at his collar; reminding him of his spot below you.

One errant glance, and he drinks in your soft curves, the fleshiness of your sacred thighs.

Holy. Beautiful. A sin dangling right in front of his face. 

You’re still waiting for an answer, but what could he say?

That he’s fucking sick in the head and everytime he closes his eyes, all he sees is your face hovering in the darkness behind his lids; beckoning him to burn everything he knows and step into the void beyond with nothing but your hand to hold?

How could he—the only Zen’in son—even think to leave the lap of his luxurious life just for the chance to lay his head on yours? 

You don’t care about his worries or why he suddenly lapses into silence.

You’re waiting for his answer.

“I…” he licks his lips, wetting them. If he had puppy ears, they would’ve dropped by now. “I… n-need you.”

“What was that?” 

Your taunts, your sly ways… 

Naoya could never have enough of you. 

“I need you,” he confesses in a low murmur. 

The red hue of your lips perfectly matches your shoes, and Naoya wonders how the pigment will look smeared all over his pale neck and chest. He wants you to mark him; to make him yours.

“You can taste me.” Finally giving him the permission he’s been aching for, the Zen’in heir can’t hold back his excitement at getting to bury his tongue in your cunt. 

You spread your legs, manicured nails parting your folds to show him the glistening heart of your arousal ready to be devoured.

Naoya licks his lips, shoots you one longing glance. May I? 

Still obedient. Still waiting. 

A hopeless devotee waiting for his final blessings. 

You nod imperceptibly, giving him the green light.

He moans at the first taste of you, sublime and musky—you melt right on his taste buds. Your thighs twitch in the periphery, breaths hitching. 

The first time he ever ate you out, Naoya had put on such a horrible performance, you sent him back home with an explicit command to study how to pleasure a woman before you let him back into your sheets. The second time was marginally better, and by the third, he had you gushing down his chin, crying out in lusty surprise. 

No one could say Zen’in Naoya did not put in the effort when the rewards were far too tantalising to give up.

The soft suction he has around your clit sends shocks of pleasure up your spine. A whimper drops from your parted mouth. Smaller fingers twine in his hair, holding him in place while your free hand tugs on his leash, reminding him of his place. 

What good is having everything handed to you on a silver platter if it doesn’t even taste this good? 

He's a lazy piece of shit in every part of his life except this one which he gladly works for. 

And your hard earned taste is sublime. Sweeter than sin. He’s drowning in such honeyed humiliation, he’s grown to crave it. 

Naoya is careful to use the exact pressure you love. The speed and consistent strokes you always came undone for. 

In return, your sounds give him an insight to how well he’s doing. Your elated sighs, hitched moans, broken whimpers.

There’s an endless want taking root, bleeding and rotting right where he supposes his ego should be. 

A want that turns into a need to be like this forever—to be the only one who touches, teases and tastes you.

To see the desperation glossing over in your eyes. Feel your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

For his devotion, he wants you to use him thoroughly. Impeccably. You should always get your way with him—that is the law of his Universe. 

“So good for me,” you breathe and everything in his world is ablaze. “My obedient pet.”

Yours. Yours. He was all yours.

He looks good right in between your thighs—even more handsome when his mouth is busy. 

The bridge of his perfect nose brushes your clit, that toxic pink tongue so used to spewing hate buried right in your tight heat. 

Neglected and leaking freely, almost pathetically, his cock is red raw and angry; shallowly humping the air. You want to laugh at him—at this humbled, spoiled rich boy who was being put in his place.

Whores like you are only good for one night. Those haughty words from when you first met him stains your memories, making you seethe. 

You want to slap him for what he said. Kiss him stupid until his blind prejudice turns to love.

Naoya tenderly touches the tip of his tongue back to your clit, those hazel eyes flitting up to your face, as if searching for approval. You hum, fisting those dark-tipped blonde locks. 

“Go on,” you coax. “Make me cum on your tongue like a good boy.”

Good boy.

Good boy. 

Good boy. 

Triggered, his entire body reacts, shuddering almost violently. His chest squeezes, and something deep in his soul breaks. 

I love her, Naoya thinks fiercely. A bound worshiper on his knees—that’s what he is. And like a mad devout, he would serve you for the rest of his life. I can’t live without her.

He bathes his devotion right on your perfect cunt with his tongue; unable to get enough of your pleasurable sighs.

“You’re making me feel so good.” 

He groans, wishes you would unbound him so he could show you how much he wants to adore you. 

Naoya would serve you on his hands and knees for as long as you want him because fuck his family.

His father could kill him. His brother would make fun of how far he’s fallen. 

His entire world could come crashing down, but if you were there, he would gladly let it all burn. 

It feels like hours he’s been in between your thighs. Naoya would’ve thought his tongue would give out, but even if it did, he would force the limp muscle to work. 

He must pleasure you. He must please you. It’s the very core of his being.

Your hand leaves his hair, and he chances a quick look to find it slowly undoing your corset, one devastating button at a time. Your aching breasts spill out, sweet and tender, nipples sharp and ready to be sucked on. 

He chokes on a moan, feeling his head growing lighter. You’re sucking on your own fingers, gooey strands sticking to those damp digits as they glide across your stiff nipples. It makes him cross eyed how you're  kneading your tits and playing with yourself while he services you. 

With every encounter, he’s grown more accustomed to your reactions. Learned how to trace the path of your release with his fast reflexes and mind. 

Your feathery moans, hitched sighs. A soft cry and your plush thighs twitching. 

Give it to me. He nearly cries out. Give me that sweet nectar, my love. All of it. For me—just for me.

“I’m cumming,” you gasp. He doubles down on his efforts, trying to get you to lose it all. “Shit. Shit—”

You curse, grasping his hair as you work yourself to the edge, back bowed and head tossed back. 

More, more, more. 

He growls, aggressively working his tongue back into your little, pulsing hole. Your clit is throbbing, and his chin is slick with your juices. 

So sweet. You taste too fucking sweet. 

Naoya drinks from you like a starved man. Your thighs are shaking, whimpering gasps slipping past your trembling lips. 

His lips leave your cunt with a slick pop, and he flickers those sharp hazel eyes across the soft expanse of your belly; sweeping past your hard nipples and your flush throat.

He eases back on his haunches, waiting for your next command. Always eager and ready.

“Come here.”

You lean forward, grabbing him by the shortened leash and tugging him closer.

He barely has time to prepare himself for your kiss searing across his mouth, his groans lost in the frenzy of your tongue fighting to quell any errant sound.

Naoya kisses you until spit runs down his chin and you’re lapping right at his teeth, his gums. He feels your tongue twine with his own, smearing red lipstick all over his open and heated mouth. 

Growing dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he cracks open his lids at half-mast, tracing your movements as you lean back into the couch, sated and content.

His knees are surely bruised by now, and the circulation in his legs could be cut off for all he cares. And yet, he never wavers in his devotion, awaiting your next word.

“Can you stand?” 

You get to your feet, kicking off your errant high heel and stretching your calves. He shifts forward, wincing when blood comes rushing back to his stiff limbs. 

Naoya braces one foot on the floor, trying to get himself up with sheer strength and stubbornness alone.

For a man who spent hours on his knees, he’s surprisingly limber when he staggers to his full height. 

Your palms smooth across his broad pecs, trace down his muscular obliques and sinewy biceps; feeling his traps stiffen under your touch. 

Despite standing a head shorter than him, his presence dwarfs your own—you're a supernova and he's flickering starlight about to fall into the center of your gravity. 

There’s a smudge of red by the corner of your mouth, and he fights the urge to lean forward and kiss it. 

Your fingers play with the hair on the nape of his neck, and you grab it, pulling it with enough force to make him wince. With what easy force you have, you push him back, little by little; testing his give. Until it’s him who’s sat on the couch, legs spread wide and completely pinned under the weight of your heavy-lidded stare.

Mounting him, you push back your hair, and he can’t help to stare at the graceful curve of your neck—how your perfume drowns him in waves.

Strawberries and cream. Something warm underneath the current, like freshly done laundry. 

Sweetness and sin all wrapped in one with a little red bow. 

All he can see is red.

Your red lips, softly tracing kisses from his jaw down to his chest.

The red shine of your leather heels, haphazardly tossed onto the floor.

Red on the inside of your mouth where your gum meets teeth; he feels like you could devour him in a heartbeat.

Naoya wishes he could drown in the vermillion hue till all he lives, breathes and loves is red.

You reach for his cock, stroking it slowly, watching his reaction. 

A vein pops from his forehead. His breathing goes from hard to laborious. 

You mess with his mind. 

Take away his resolve. 

Naoya’s lips hover in the orbit of your own, two stars that flirt with a colliding end. 

You’re the first to chase destruction, kissing him while you stretch yourself over his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans into your hair. “You’re going to kill me one day, darling.”

And Naoya’s not one to say such pretty words, but something about the sincerity in his gritty baritone, how those hazel eyes flutter close, makes you want to believe in anything he says. 

There’s a picture of two not quite lovers silhouetted in the dim darkness, her arms around him; his face finding solace in the crook of her neck. 

His hands twitch, sliding in their bonds, and he wishes he could hold her—wishes she could move her hips faster. 

“Naoya,” you moan into the sensitive shell of his heated ear.

Indescribable. You’re a vision he can never get enough of.

Someone who knows him inside and out despite not sharing his family name. 

You’re the antithesis of everything he should want. You’re not particularly powerful or famous. Not from a family worthy of joining your names together.

And yet, he’s stuck here. Chooses to be under your indescribable touch while you rock your hips, taking him deeper where he’s never gone before.

“I—hah…” he trails off, throat going dry. 

You’re astride his lap, staring down at him, but he doesn’t feel small under your scrutiny.

If anything, something warm wraps around his throat, making his chest ache.

He wonders if you’re hurting the same way. 

Naoya can’t form any words. Your pussy’s taking him so well. 

He’s delirious. Wishing he had half of his wits left to stop you from distracting and disarming him. 

“Does it feel good?” You tantalize in a teasing coo. “Being fucked by someone lower than you?” 

He’s stammering, unable to hold back any longer. Fight back any pretenses. 

“Yes. It feels so good.”

You hum. “You should see yourself. All sweaty and fucked out—just for me.” 

His glassy eyes and gritted teeth almost make you laugh. Naoya sniffles, unable to hold back his baser needs.

He would do anything to make this moment last. He doesn’t want to return back to reality once this is all over.

“You want to cum so badly inside of me.” It’s not a question but a statement. Naoya can’t even deny it. He would be a fool to lie to himself. “Don’t you?”

You push him for an answer, intentionally slowing down your hips. Your smaller hands wrap around his throat, squeezing down, choking him whenever he starts to buck too soon.

“Don’t,” you warn. Strained and breathless. “You’re nothing but my tool, Naoya. I cum first.”

He nods, panting with his mouth wide open. A desperate dog for your affection. 

“Yes. Yes.” 

You scrape your fingers through his hair, grabbing a fistful of it. Naoya loves it when you start to tug.

It means you’re close enough to lose your control. 

He feels it in the faltering of your hips, your pretty lips parted to emit breathless whines. 

Your eyes screw shut, head lolling back to expose your pretty neck to his scrutiny. Naoya wants to taste your skin, feel your pulse ticking under his lips.

“Please,” he manages to strain out. “C-can I lick your neck?” 

You slow the roll of your hips, a confused tilt of your head. “You want to—what?”

“Neck,” he pants out, unable to hold back his hips from shunting deep inside you, feeling your gummy walls fluttering around him. He swears he’s about to lose his entire mind. “C-can I taste your skin?” 

Your answer comes in pushing his face right into your neck, like he’s taking shelter from the world right in the crook of your body. 

Naoya doesn’t hesitate to leave indents of desperation on your skin, where they tingle and are sure to blossom into hickeys later. He paints your neck with his tongue, tasting salt, skin and an undercurrent of sweetness which he can’t shake off.

You’re grinding on him, clit bumping the coarse terrain of his pubic hair. His mouth is devoted to leaving as many marks as he could on your skin. 

It was the breaking of an unspoken rule—Naoya was never allowed to claim you like this. 

A dark thrill shoots up his entire body. 

Could you finally be warming up to the idea of him?

Taboo. Hidden. 

That is how his love for you is forced to be. 

The Zen’ins could never know of your existence. If they did, no doubt the elders would try to remove you from his life whether through force or coercion.

Damn them all to Hell, Naoya thinks, fighting back a groan when you release a string of mewls, his name mingled in your sounds of you losing to the deep end. 

You’re so close.

His bound arms ache not from the restraint but from the inability to hold you. Naoya knows that if he does, he may never let you go.

It’s a blessing and downright atrocity how magnificent you look when you cum.

Cheeks all warm, kiss-bitten lips parted, legs splayed wide to show off his raw cock slicking in and out of you.

You’re so wet driblets of creamy white rivulets down his balls, streaking your thighs.

He wants to ask if you’re still on the pill. Naoya thinks the one surefire way to force his clan’s acceptance is if your body yields and gives him a son. 

Only then will this union stand a chance to shine.

But, the words get trapped in the back of his throat; he can’t help thinking that even if he remains your plaything, he would give up the entire world to watch you cum. 

The tips of your hair touch his thighs, and your breasts look inviting enough to suck and bite, jiggling right in his face. Tempting him like twin apples of sin, promising him more than what the Zen'ins’ long dead garden could give him. 

“Kiss me,” he pleads.

You laugh, airy with a hint of triumph. 

“Why should I do that?”

He can’t think. 

Can’t feel anything except for your slick walls melting around him, your soft arms holding him right to your chest. 

“Please,” he tries again, more desperate. “I need to kiss you.”

You relent, just this once. 

Your lips touch his, velvet soft and tasting of him. He moans into your mouth, his entire body jerking as if touched by a livewire.

He’s trying to hold back—to buy his body more time so he can pleasure you.

Naoya’s never been one to put someone else above his own needs but with you, it comes naturally. 

He lives and breathes for your praise. Needs to feel your pride for him or else he thinks he might just die from its lack.

“So good for me,” you give it without a second’s thought. He thinks you’re sent from somewhere up above. “Does my pussy feel good?”

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. It’s too good.

You’re teasing him now, all lidded eyes and wet lips. “Don’t you just want to cum in me? Isn’t that what you want?” 

He’s about to answer when your thumb presses into his pulse point, middle finger digging into the side of his neck. 

Naoya chokes on his reply, managing a teary little nod.

“Want to flood all inside of me—so hot and heavy. Isn’t that right?”

He whimpers at the mental image of white coating your walls, getting sucked into your body, trickling past your cervix.

Where it might take and bloom.

“Yes,” he gurgles, looking at you like you hung the moon. “Y-yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I-I want—” he’s unable to speak, afraid that if he does, he will cum. And he can’t do that yet. 

You haven’t given him permission to.

A slap across his cheek. Naoya’s cock jumps from the bite of pain, fire crawling across the reddening skin. 

It’s his ego that feels the sting more than his face. He’s already a disappointment to you. 

“Are you forgetting?” You snarl, tightening your fist around his throat. “You answer me when I ask you something.” 

“—Cum,” he spits out, every fiber in his body growing numb except for the spot between his legs; the sensation amplified by the lack of oxygen. You’re fucking him harder and faster now. 

You release his throat and he sucks in a few jagged breaths. 

His cock is too heavy, red and swollen with the load he’s been holding back for the past hours of your torment.

How long has it been since you’ve kept him strung and on his toes?

One hour? Two?

Naoya doesn’t want to count down the minutes; he wants to take in every second of your attention. 

Slowing your hips again, you coo, toying with him like a precocious little kitten finding a mouse. “Is that it?” 

You sink your fingers in his hair, adjusting yourself so your thighs are splayed further apart on each side of his hips. 

If his hands were free, they would run up the smooth expanse of your back, down your plush thighs. Softness gliding across his fingertips, your body an open map to explore. 

He would ask you to put those heels back on for him, but as it was, Naoya could barely form a coherent thought.

“I want to taste you,” he confesses with an errant sniffle. “Put you on your back and fuck you—shit.”

He curses when he feels you clench down on him. 

“And then what?” you breathlessly prod.

Splashes of white behind his closed lids. Naoya’s so close, he could cum with one more thrust.

Your soft palm flushes flat against his pelvis, holding him in place. Keeping him skewed in this limbo of motion and pleasure.

Adjusting yourself, your cunt molds around him more snug than before; your position shifting along with your intentions.

You keep him inside you, warm and inert, ticking your hips in slow, sensual circles to goad him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Feels so good, you feel so good.

“Need you,” he whimpers hoarsely.

You laugh, a pretty chime that makes his heart hurt. “I know. But, you still haven’t answered my question yet.”

You shunt your hips forward, egging on his reply.

There’s something underneath those airy words. A fissure of need; curiosity waiting to be watered.

Why do you come to me when you could have anyone else in the world?

He blinks the gloss of tears, gritting his teeth. The last of his patience is wearing fucking thin. 

“I want to fuck you until you’re mine—until you’re pregnant.”

The image of you, round and sweet, carrying his sons, makes Naoya almost lose it. His cock pulses in pathetic response, and your faded red lips quirk into a secretive smile.

“Pregnant, huh?” You pick up the speed, clipping your hips with his. 

Naoya isn’t prepared, his body tightening against the assault of pleasure you so casually wreck onto him. 

“Y-yes.” He nods, and it’s adorable how desperate he looks.

The famed Zen’in heir, reduced to a sentient dildo for a woman his family would call ‘lower class trash’. 

It would make your entire soul soar if you weren’t so concentrated on mocking him.

“And do you think I would allow it?” You sneer. “I don’t want your babies.”

Worse than your slap, Naoya actually feels his heart breaking.

His jaw clenches and he grits his teeth. The tears in the corner of his eyes are mingled with both pleasure and heartbreak.

“Why?” He groans, tilting his head back when you start to breathe heavier, your trembling body a shivering blanket over his own. 

His arms ache, his cock is about to burst and he’s been digging his heels into the carpeted floor for the past minute trying his damndest not to thrust into you.

If you want to break him, you might just succeed tonight.

You tip your face closer to his, and he drinks those poisonous words straight from your lips which intimately brush against his.

“You will never be enough for me.”

He wants to argue—I have money, riches, houses. I could treat you better than any asshole. 

But, what comes out instead is, 

“I would be if you let me.”

Your sensual grinding falters, and for a split second, he sees the emotions waver across your pretty face. 

You cup his cheek, thumb brushing his lower lip. Naoya’s eyes flutter close when he feels you sliding your digit past his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

He obediently sucks, desperately wondering if you would respond. A tremor of sadness ripples across your pretty eyes.

You defy his assumptions once more, pressing your mouth to his lower lip, hot breaths hitting the sensitive strip of his jaw. 

“Don’t make me promises you know you will never keep.”

I won’t. He can’t fight back, not when you kiss him like you want to consume him. 

You pick up speed, using him to get yourself off; barely caring about his deep reverberated groans and clenching fists behind his back.

“Don’t cum,” you whisper, breath tickling the shell of his ear. “Hold it for me, baby. Hold it.” 

He tries. Oh god, he’s trying.

You’re the vixen coming straight from his horrors of hell, here to torment and tease him with your vice-like cunt and seductive ways. He presses his face to your neck, trails his lips down a heated path to the tops of your tits. 

Your groan reverberates in his hair when he starts to suck on your nipple, tonguing and teasing them to stiff, swollen peaks.

It sparks the pressure in your lower body, makes you fuck him harder again, taking him deep enough for the mushroom tip to touch your cervix. 

Naoya fights against the band waiting to explode, nails digging into his palms and leaving crescent moon indents. 

Not yet, the shrill reminder sets off everytime he desperately wants to explode. Not yet.

He nips on your stiff nubs, getting them all wet and perky before he moves his mouth back to the juncture of your throat.

You’re making it hard for him to focus, moving your hand south to cup his balls, squeezing them lightly in tandem to you sinking down his length. 

Sweat bullets down his back, his chest. It sheens over his skin, glosses across his face. 

Naoya’s panting now, glassy hazel eyes locked with yours. He can’t look away, not when he’s drowning in such a pretty death. 

I can’t, he mouths, unable to use his voice. His hips move without warning, pushing up into your tight heat. I need you. 

Such desperation makes you see stars, eyes squeezed shut and your thighs stiff—shoulders locked as you grab his hair harshly with two fists. 

Naoya cries softly when he feels your velvet walls melt all over him, going gooey and spurting warmth till it trickles down his balls. You crumple limply onto his chest, breathing hard.

His head thumps back on the headrest, feeling your body jerk and tremble like the last leaf of autumn. 

You lift your head, kitten-weak, and nuzzle his jaw. 

Naoya tilts his face forward, and you kiss him, leaning up slightly so that your bare and sweaty chest is pressed with his own. 

He takes your docility for his own selfish reasons; thrusting up into your tightening cunt, feeling your cum sloshing around and trickling further down to stain the sofa seat. 

The balls of his feet press firmly on the floor and he rocks your world slowly, surely. Even without the use of his arms, he’s a good fuck, hitting that one spongy spot inside of you with ease.

You spill out moans, his name lifting off your lips.

“Can I cum?” he manages to whisper. 

You’re too tired to speak, nodding.

Thank you. He fervently murmurs inwardly. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 

Naoya lets you hold onto him as he jerks himself off using your body, every hard thrust making you whimper and the couch creak.

With every muscle tensing, his release bursts like the hottest, ripest fruit; coating your walls and mingling with your essence to run white down his thighs. 

Your walls spasm around him again, a tinier tremor and you sigh, palming the collar around his neck.

Naoya’s spinning head barely registers you unlocking the damn leather circle, loosening the bonds around his arms. They hang free, blood running back into them and he wilts under your tender touch massaging the locked joints.

Once he’s limber and lucid, he scoops you into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest.

You want to scold him, to tell him this isn’t right.

He shouldn’t be holding you like you mean something to him.

It’s unheard of: a man like him and a woman like you.

But, drowning in the circle of his embrace, there’s no rank or rule. Just two people holding each other, skin melting onto skin, breaths shared as one.

“I want to stay here,” he breathes, eyes drooping close. He reminds you of a tired puppy, worn out from a rough day of play. “Sleep here. With you.”

Your rebuttal is swift. “You know you can’t.”

Lethal as you are, you’re still a woman and at every core of one is a tender romance waiting to be nurtured.

Naoya hopes his pout will move you, but your heart must be made of brambles when you shake your head, refusing his sway.

He falters, and that stupid, stupid ache is back in his chest.

“Can I at least hold you then?” 

It’s a meager trade-off when all he wants is to melt into your life and become the air you breathe.

This time, you don’t fight him off, wrapping your arms tighter around his broad shoulders, sinking your fingers into his hair.

“For how long?”

This vulnerability is new. A reveal you hadn’t expected to make.

Naoya must also sense it. He hums. How adorable can she be? 

“As long as you want me to.”

He thinks you murmur the word “forever” into his shoulder. You kiss his neck, underneath his ear. Dew drops of devotion landing upon his skin.

You don’t demand it of him, however. 

You could never ask that of him.

— reblogs and feedback will earn you a big wet kith <3

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, edit or claim characterisation and storyline for your own.

[thylacines-toybox]

A strange find from the local recycle shop, an oddly seal-like plane with a dog pilot who can sit inside! Made by Clifford B McGuire, who upon searching seem to make a lot of pilot/aviator animals.

Process of cleaning them up below...

The sealplane caught my eye in the big toy bin first! A friend looked it up and discovered it’s meant to come with a pilot, who I found hiding way at the bottom of the bin. They made me laugh so I had to save them, either for me or for somebody.

The sealplane had a couple of stains on its wings and body, while the pilot had a very stained shirt and torn tie, and was just a bit scruffy looking. Apparently the sealplane is supposed to have a couple of engines under the wings too, oh well! Guess it just glides now.

First I unpicked all of pilot dog's clothes to clean and fix separately! The different materials would need cleaning different ways, especially felt which doesn’t wash well.

To help the hat hold its circular shape better, I turned it inside out and trimmed down the edge of the seam on the inside, then added a circle of foam to help keep it flat.

I decided not to wash this part, I just trimmed off the bobbly and tufty areas on the surface of the felt to neaten it up.

Dog had a hole in his neck so I stitched that up too. Actually I stitched all the way around his neck just for some extra strength.

Wash time! Using some warm water and a little dish soap, I gently scrubbed the sealplane's yellow spots without soaking it entirely, then brushed clear water through to rinse. I avoided scrubbing the felt pieces.

Dog actually wasn't too dirty under the clothes! I just gave him a little bit of cleaning, mainly on the light areas.

Since the shirt looked like normal shirt material, I tried soaking it in normal shirt stain remover! It worked really well! (Also it looked cool in the cup because a rainbow was shining through it while it fizzed!)

All the parts hung on the line to dry. Flying! Dog pilot must have pressed the eject button.

Once dried, I stitched the clothes back on to the pilot. I used the remaining piece of his tie as a template to cut out two new pieces of black felt which tie together.

Sealplane’s printed lettering was lifting up in a few spots, so I used a teeny tiny dot of superglue on the end of a pin to just dab under the letters and pressed them back down with my nail. I trimmed stray tufts off the felt around them too.

It would have been nice to touch up the flaked paint on the plane’s zipper too, but I don’t really have the right stuff for that, so I’m calling them done!